Social media is far from democratic.
Although you can find such mythical encounters as a bat lover schooling Pope Francis on Twitter, it is generally observed that the rich and the famous have more followers and influence.
The phenomenon is magnified multiple times over in Thailand, where celebrity culture is taken very seriously.
Thailand’s most followed instagrammers are all of this creed – the Channel 3 / record label -associated likes of Bella Campeden, Bambam GOT 7 and God Jirayu.
Their polished, fair-skinned (of course!) glamour suits Instagram’s aestheticism.
Tik Tok seems to be different.
Already, its most popular stars are those whose fame is homegrown. Thailand’s top tik tokker, Rachnok ‘Janey’ Suwannaket, rose to fame with her sister Lily singing the viral folksy hit “I’ve Stopped Talking to Everyone Else in the District.”
Their story is the epitome of the ‘Thai dream’: from an indebted single-parent home in small-town Thungsong to YouTube stardom and beyond.
Thailand’s third biggest tik tok star, Nutticha ‘Kaykai Salaider’ Namwong has a similar story, her YouTube stardom literally propelled by a song called “Paying Off Mother’s Debt.”
Perhaps this is because the platform lends itself to unvarnished authenticity and self-ridicule – something YouTube stars are more familiar with. And perhaps the platform will give birth to a new breed of stars of different class backgrounds, stars that might even defy the informal ‘tall, skinny, white’ rule of Thai fame.
Security Guard Kana-o Kanaja is one example. He has amassed nearly four hundred thousand followers, and his most popular videos are shot in his security guard uniform, a corrugated iron sheet as his background. Leaning against his work desk, he re-enacts scenes from popular Thai or Melayu dramas. His most popular video has him dancing with passion to SPIDERMEI’s ‘My Heart is Not a Seven-Eleven’, before the concrete building he guards.
In real life, Kana-o goes by the name of Nasron Jaedochae. His entire disposition is quiet and unassuming. Walking past, one would easily miss his desk in front of the Institute of Dermatology, a multi-storied building within walking distance from the Victory Monument. He himself admits that he’s remarkably shy. “Most of my friends make fun of my Tik Tok, because usually I’m very timid. But when I’m with myself in front of the camera, it feels like I’m another person.”
Nasron hails from Narathiwat and identifies as Melayu. In videos and pictures from home, he proudly sports his Baju Melayu in intensely bright colors. Bangkok is far from home. He only moved here two years ago at age 17, after dropping out of high school. Nasron gives a gentle, nervous laugh as he recounts this.
“I followed my father here. He was also a security guard.”
But his father soon returned to Narathiwat, so Nasron now lives alone, sending money back to his parents. He works every day from 7AM to 7PM, even on weekends. “I usually go home once a year, during the festival season. This year, because of Covid-19, I haven’t had the chance.”
His Tik Tok career began early last year, and for a long time his videos had zero views. “Now, well there are some,” he quietly laughs. “It’s only in the past three months that people have started to pay attention.”
When asked about the reason behind his recent fame, Nasron is even more reticent. “Perhaps people follow me because my identity is different from others,” he tentatively offers. “in terms of my expressions, the way I look.”
“Different from famous people,” he clarifies.
There is something to this notion that people want something different. The official marketing machine behind Tik Tok Thailand has capitalized on celebrity culture as a way of penetrating the Thai market, with hopes of emulating Instagram’s success. It’s relied on household name Vuthithorn “Woody” Milintachinda to launch its new live feature, while rushing to verify Thai celebrities of all stripes, from singer Vatanika and Ticha from The Face.
But while their video likes go into the thousands, that’s often less than some of the people Nasron duets: among those whose videos regularly get millions of views are ‘Saichai’, a tanned Isaanite with unruly hair, ‘Anna Narak’, a Thai Muslim woman from the South, or ‘Wila’, another Isaanite whose brand is his buck teeth.
They all speak in local dialects, enunciating the slang with satisfaction. Far from the bright lights of Bangkok, it is a Tik Tok of motorcycles skidding on dirt roads, of metal fans and worn football jerseys, of headscarves both worn by religious women and farmers. It brims with authenticity, and people watch.
This is the thriving subculture of the subaltern that exists on Thai Tik Tok.
Others don’t perform so much as capture the happenings of their daily lives – in a Tik Tok with two million views, a woman wearing the headscarf of an outdoor worker captures the crowded border crossing between Thailand and Myanmar, as migrants struggled to return home after the Bangkok Shutdown. Another viral slow-motion video shows construction workers boarding a crowded songtaew, piling on in their blue long-sleeved shirts until the stragglers are left clinging on to the songtaew’s metal frame.
For Nasron, Tik Tok is a great source of joy. He enjoys creating content, but also watching people like him – people dancing in one-bedroom apartments or speaking Melayu – gain modest fame. He himself has been recognized by strangers in real life, coming up to tell him they like his content. The prominence makes him feel happy, but deeply embarrassed.
Tik Tok is also a small source of side income. “In one month, I might get one or two requests from people to duet their songs – that usually pays me 500 baht per clip.” It’s become something of a part time job, one that will hopefully speed up his return home to Narathiwat.
“I don’t really like Bangkok. I’m much happier at home,” he admits, “with family, with my friends.”
“Eventually, I want to own a small business – a laundry business back home.”
He aims to stay in Bangkok for another two years and will send money back to his parents every month. It is uncertain when or if he’ll be able to go home this year. In the meantime, he will keep making Tik Toks.
“Hopefully,” he laughs, “people will keep watching.”
