Can we talk for a minute?

TikTok irritates me.

It takes something great—like Tevin Campbell's 1993 classic—and reduces it to rapid-fire snippets of everybody and their grandma attempting the death-defying vocal acrobatics executed on the original track.

Now don't get me wrong, this is not a knock on the talent that’s present on the platform—there is an abundance. And frankly, many of the endless supply of versions of Can We Talk I unwittingly heard from Shiba's phone were excellent. Others not so much. But that's not the point!

What kills me every time with TikTok is the instant gratification of it all. Personally, it gives me no gratification at all.

It transforms something wonderful in its full form, into something maddening in short form—and then infinitely loops it like some cruel and unusual, hellish purgatory.

To my sensibilities, it seems like the exact opposite of hearing Lauryn Hill’s wonderfully produced songs stripped down on MTV Unplugged—just her voice, her guitar, and her stories. Or take your pick of just about any Tiny Desk concert or orchestral performance of 8-bit classics—performances that take the original and pay homage by transforming it into something novel.

These types of focused, slow-cooked expressions of creativity leave me inspired and full.

While TikTok’s schizophrenic stream feels like the fast food of the internet, leaving me irritable and regretful, longing for sustenance.