We get asked a lot: “Why aren’t you on TikTok?” or “Why don’t you post more content for social media?” It’s a fair question in a time when visibility is currency. The simple answer is what we’re building can’t be compressed into 30 seconds of vertical video. And more importantly, we refuse to shape our work around an algorithm designed to reward “me first” spectacle over substance.
Most of us just aren’t interested in turning community art into that kind of content, for those kinds of platforms.
Here’s the problem: TikTok—and platforms like it—are built to maximize attention, not connection. They reward virality, trends, and polished personas. But the kind of community work we do is quiet, slow, and rooted. It grows through trust, not followers or individualistic hustle. The most meaningful moments can’t be filtered, edited, and posted without losing something vital. And frankly, we don’t want to perform those moments for strangers.
This isn’t just about us. It’s about the youth we work with, too. A lot of them already feel how extractive and performative these platforms are. They’re not trying to go viral. They’re not chasing likes as a form of status. Many actively avoid posting on TikTok because it feels fake, overwhelming, or like it turns real life and lived experiences into something cheap and consumable. They’re tired of being reduced to content and it’s a game they have no desire to play.
Not a week goes by where some project asks the artists—especially the youth we work with—to make TikToks. And each time, they decline. They have no interest in what they see as performative or extractive. Their refusal isn’t about being difficult—it’s a boundary. A clear line drawn in defense of their integrity, their process, and their right not to be turned into someone else’s deliverable.
We’ve seen what happens when young people are pressured to become personal brands before they even know who they are. It’s unhealthy. It creates a cycle of comparison and performance, where value is measured in engagement metrics instead of authentic relationships, creativity, or contribution. We’re not here to push them into that cycle—we’re here to interrupt it.
And here’s the irony: even without TikTok and all those other platforms, their work reaches people. The youth we support aren’t chasing clout—but their stories, art, and ideas resonate. Their videos and projects have quietly pulled in millions of impressions, views and six-figure audiences online to their own platforms. Not because they gamed an algorithm, but because they showed up with honesty. Because they were speaking to something real. Because community doesn’t need to be viral to be visible.
So no, we don’t make TikToks. Not because we’re out of touch, but because we’re paying attention. Because we care about the difference between performance and participation. Because we’re trying to build something that can’t be reduced to cheap, performative content: trust, belonging, shared purpose are where it’s at.
We believe in slowness. In depth and authenticity. In community that doesn’t need to be broadcast to be real. We’ll keep creating for each other—not for the algorithm. And that’s more than enough.
