How TikTok is changing the rules in the world of cosmetics

They went to have fun at “the last lit corner of the internet”, according to the definition of the writer Jia Tolentino. To laugh at themselves and at half humanity. The more sacred the cause—with the honorable exception of climate change—the more mockery, and the greater mockery, the greater success. In the first half of 2020, 315 million people signed up for TikTok, an invention so addictive that, according to some studies cited by Bloomberg, the average user enters up to 13 times a day and stays there for an hour each time.

If glitter and glamor prevail on Instagram, Tiktok boasts of imperfect and unedited life, with easy-to-consume videos and formats designed to be copied on a loop. An ecosystem that is not at all arrogant that has proven to be very useful for elevating beauty items and routines, as long as its effectiveness meets the demanding expectations of generation Z and its prices are at the level of the minimum interprofessional salary. Its algorithm, more democratic, lax and random than Instagram's, rewards creativity. TikTok puts things in front of you that you would never see on other social networks, those whose programs assume that once you have bought a solid shampoo you will always want the same thing.

52% of its users say, according to a study by the social network itself, that TikTok is a good place to "discover new products". 56%, that "helps decide what to buy." For some brands TikTok has been a miracle that has catapulted them to success overnight. Among the items whose sales have skyrocketed on the social network is Maybelline's Lash Sensational Sky High mascara; The Ordinary Acne Peel; the Instant Detox mask, by Caudalíe, or the Hydrating Facial Cleanser, by Cerave. Cosmetics not especially promoted by their houses, or only prescribed in dermatologists' offices, but that conquered the severe skinfluencers. This is the name of the tiktokers dedicated to skin care and dominated by three obsessions: good ingredients, efficacy and a reasonable price. "That they work and that we can afford them," they proclaim. According to The Business of Fashion publication, the main mission of these prescribers is to convince their followers that the most expensive is not always the most effective.

@skincarebyhiram is one of those accounts that has worked miracles. Its creator is Hyram Yarbro (25 years old), an ex-Mormon, raised in Arizona. The New York Times calls it Gen Z's skincare whisperer. He evangelizes with poorly produced videos of him and the cry of ingredients do n't lie, bitches! (the ingredients don't lie, bitches!). The spectacular sales growth of the Cerave companies and The Ordinary are, in part, his doing. Hyram has signed a commercial contract with Cerave, but he had been recommending the products on TikTok for months when they contacted him. With The Ordinary he has no agreement.

He boasts of honesty and has earned the respect of his audience by making disgusted faces at industry totems such as the Fenty company, created by Rihanna. He sleeps little and is now working on launching his skin care line, called Selfless by Hyram; a brand aligned with climate change and access to drinking water for disadvantaged populations. Anyone who has studied the post-Covid market knows that members of Gen Z prefer to spend their money on products associated with social causes, and you will be able to calculate the audacity of this movement.

Some experts point out that TikTok has only deployed a broad base of operations where there are still few real opportunities to sell. There was also a time, around 2008, when Facebook was “the lit corner of the internet” and no one was trying to sell anything. But that changed. And observers believe that if TikTok wants to gain power, influence and money, it will have to mature, open up to advertising. And spoil. It is the path traveled by Douyin, his Chinese predecessor, who already publishes videos of up to five minutes (those on TikTok last at most three) with serious lifestyle messages or recommendations from the police. Its e-commerce business reaches 26 million dollars (about 22 million euros). TikTok doesn't provide figures on its revenue from advertising alone.

In September 2020, 41% of the 123 top luxury beauty brands had a TikTok account, compared to just 8% who were there in 2019. Before that, the consumer goods companies (pharmacies and drugstores) had arrived, almost always trying to master its language with more desire than success. It is an established truth that once you reach the age of majority you have to make a cognitive effort to understand the language of that social network. It has been a mystery even for its founder, Zhang Ximing (38 years old), who admitted to the South China Morning Post that he was older for TikTok and had long behaved like a voyeur. In the marketing departments of many brands, they ensure that they keep their accounts open but empty of content. Others have experimented with shorter versions of their Instagram content. “An error in the manual”, as Pierre-Loic Assayag, CEO of Traackr, a global influencer marketing agency, explains via email, because “on Instagram only cuteness matters and on TikTok that is irrelevant.” Other firms watch and wait. Some officials admit off the record that they are shooting blind because "no one of voting age understands TikTok." “Fast-market brands are doing better than luxury brands on TikTok because their audience, young and looking for good prices, is, at the moment, the majority there,” explains Assayag.

Luxury beauty companies, with their daydreams and aspirational consumption, have to survive this bath of pragmatism. “The tone of TikTok is, at least for now, contrary to classic luxury. If other platforms like Instagram tend to promote varnished and highly produced content, something else works on TikTok, real videos, without filters, which are recorded as fun from the comfort of the sofa, with a tracksuit and slippers. In this context, it is easy to understand why TikTok is a territory of risk for luxury, which traditionally broadcasts meticulously controlled, careful and professionally produced messages”, says Assayag, who supports his observation in figures: although luxury brands publish three times more in this social network than those of great consumption, these are the ones that succeed and get more interactions (15.7% compared to 20.8%).

@Givenchybeauty opened their TikTok profile in November 2020, and @kenzoparfums in mid-2021. “We tried very visual content that featured the product, but it didn't work. What we knew about Instagram is of no use to us and we are learning as we go”, says Alejandra Da Cunha, director of Communication and Social Media of both companies, belonging to the LVMH group. "A lot falls by the wayside from being too bold, or just the opposite." Da Cunha acknowledges that for a luxury brand it is "a challenge" to create content that generates laughter, surprise and is minimally authentic. "It's very rewarding when you get the perfect mix." In the end, she has chosen to hire a specific agency to carry her TikTok profile.

Irreverence, agility and practicality are the keys to capturing the attention of an audience made up of 40% centennials, who will not spend more than 15 seconds listening to the ancient heritage of luxury brands. In the opinion of Dionne Lois Cullen, vice president of The Ordinary (another successful firm on TikTok), the native generation of that social network is "immune to branded content" (content paid by companies), and only follows the recommendations of their peers. Any prescription that marks hierarchy and authority, such as that of experts, manufacturers and adults, will be ignored. “You have to look for other ways”, which, indicates the CEO of Traackr, go through leaving “absolute creative freedom” to those who dominate the tool and know their audience: the tiktokers. "The least important thing here is that the influencer is aesthetically aligned with the brand," he says.

And why then would the high-end beauty want to be on TikTok? Alejandra Da Cunha is clear: "This is our opportunity to try to speak in their language to a younger consumer, perhaps today they are not going to consume our products, but they will in 10 or 15 years." The YPulse consultancy confirms that the next generation of buyers, those who are between 18 and 24 years old today, have spent the pandemic and their successive confinements challenging themselves on TikTok and repeating their insistent choreographies. A gregarious practice that creates a feeling of urgency and universality, which is another of the successes of this social network: the certainty that one is part of the tribe and that they share the right rite —or article— at the right time.