This year’s media issues and debates explore themes of the past and the future of the ever expanding media sphere.
Riot Grrrl resurgence and its reflection of current political landscapes
By Ellie Walker
The term ‘Riot Grrrl’ was coined by Jen Smith, a member of the band Bratmobile in the early 1990s, and was concretised by Kathleen Hanna, frontwoman of Bikini Kill.
Riot Grrrl beliefs are rooted in inequality and the presence of masculine privilege, encouraging women to challenge their anger concerning the injustices they face. Riot Grrrl promotes a ‘do-it-yourself’ attitude by raising awareness around independence and the patriarchy. This is evident in their accessible production of zines and music, which incorporate feminist agendas, driven by a punk rock aesthetic. Openness and awareness are encouraged as musicians create a safe space where women feel comfortable discussing their negative experiences with men. Although the original movement and definition of Riot Grrrl have adapted and changed over time, the values have resiliently held.
The Riot Grrrl movement began in the early 1990s, and reflected a time of political discomfort in America. Ronald Reagan’s presidential term from 1981-1989, often referred to as the ‘conservative revolution’, saw a patriarchal push for ‘conservative traditionalism’, encouraging men and women to conform to gender roles. The conservative nature of his term resulted in protests and activism from those affected by such values, including as women who did not fit into this agenda.
The appearance of Riot Grrrls was political and connected with third-wave feminism, which saw women standing up for issues such as sexual assault. The importance of engaging activism through music and media was integral to the Riot Grrrl MO, and the need to creatively enact feminism in a micro-political way was strategic. There is no specific catalyst against the beginning of third-wave feminism; however, the rise of Riot Grrrls, in connection to with the Hill case in 1991, were notable factors contributing to this wave.
The Anita Hill case was a sexual harassment case against Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas and created a wave of women voicing their own sexual assault experiences. Thomas become a member of the Supreme Court, resulting in an uproar with women everywhere feeling let down by men in power. The Hill case and its impact on feminist agendas are reflected in the initial Riot Grrrl music, such as that of Bratmobile. The creation of feminist anthems and the production of zines allowed women’s stories to be broadcast to the masses, beginning from the underground up. Women in music felt that there was a lack of space for them in punk and rock genres, as male bands in rock, such as Nirvana and the grunge movement, took over the world of music.
The Riot Grrrls surfaced in Washington as students produced their own zines to spread messages on feminism. Bratmobile, who met at the University of Oregon, were heavily involved in the origins of the Riot Grrrl and produced their own feminist agenda zine called Girl Germs. Their creation of music coinciding with topics in their zines soon followed, such as ‘Love Thing’, which expressed their discomfort with older men taking advantage of young women. Although the Riot Grrrl movement attracted many women all over America, this popularity was not welcomed by all. They aimed to go against the mainstream, not be a part of it, so the movement slowly disappeared, perhaps symptomatic of a faddish culture
The original Riot Grrrl movement brought social and political issues to the mainstream; however, it also alienated some minorities in terms, for example, of race, as the movement was rooted in white feminism. This was countered by the appearance of artists, such as the Sista Grrrls, who were made up of black women, who emerged in 1998. They aimed to create an inclusive place for black women who didn’t feel there was a space for them in Riot Grrrl culture, which still retained an underground presence. The resurgence of an inclusive Riot Grrrl movement is something that has naturally reappeared due to the appeal of nostalgia and in response to the identified lack of inclusion. Dream Nails, a punk band that formed in 2015, produces music that highlights issues surrounding inequality in many aspects, not limited to women’s rights.
For example, their song ‘They/Them’ contains lyrics surrounding non-binary identity and brings awareness to the challenges that many face. By including queerness, they allow space for other minority groups while using the same form of music and way that they connect with their fans as the Riot Grrrls. Their band came to fame with their song ‘Deep Heat’, which they released before Donald Trump won the 2016 American presidential election, in which they target his politics. The Riot Grrrl resurgence after political unrest aligns with the first appearance of the movement, continuing to be an art form that highlights the unjust treatment of women, and in the progressive Riot Grrrl agenda calls attention to issues surrounding racism and homophobia.
Although the Riot Grrrl resurgence is still rooted in feminist punk, the anti-establishment attitude, mixed with political engagement, is apparent in genres outside of punk. Amy Taylor from Amyl and the Sniffers, a band associated with the Riot Grrrl resurgence, stated that punk is not limited to the punk music genre but instead is more accepting of all genres. “I think it’s such a spirit…Like, I think there’s so many different versions of it and ways to rebel and to release the stresses, especially with like, you know, the governments in power at the moment.”
Charli XCX’s album Brat, released in 2024, contains similar narratives of politics and the patriarchy as the Riot Grrrl movement did, but within a dance and electronic genre, moving away from punk rock. A song on the album, ‘Girl, so confusing’, addresses issues with successful women being compared in the media and the complexities of women’s friendships. Brat began a pop culture phenomenon with people becoming ‘Brat’ in the way they dressed and the spirit and attitude they adopted, resulting in the album becoming much more than just the music. Charli XCX described the ‘brat attitude’ as one that is “very direct. It’s a little confrontational, but I think also it’s confrontational because sometimes when you’re at your most vulnerable, you lash out.”
This resonates with the Riot Grrrl agenda, which encouraged women to be confrontational and stand up for themselves against the patriarchy. Vulnerability is apparent in the roots of why the Riot Grrrl began, as women were vulnerable in society, and therefore, the need to stand together was integral. Similar to Riot Grrrl, Brat was used in the discourse surrounding American politics, specifically the 2024 election. Democrat Kamala Harris rebranded her campaign around Brat to attract a younger audience and in aim to win against Republican Donald Trump.
Charli XCX’s Brat is a reflection on the modern tendency of Riot Grrrl values being attached to the genre. Portraying the Riot Grrrl agendas through muliple genres allows political awareness to be accessed by a wider audience, being more inclusive, as not all women like punk music, and unrest can be shown in a variety of styles. It allows for more women, regardless of race, gender identity, and sexuality, to have a space to feel seen and heard in music and culture.
Are digital media, blogs, and micro influencers affecting the decline of traditional print fashion media?
By Jessica Heap
We are living in the digital age, where micro-influencers and celebrities hold significant power online in terms of the fashion industry.
They encourage people to follow trends, connect with different fashion aesthetics, and potentially broaden the variety of certain styles across a range of online platforms. This is, of course, impacting the sales of traditional analogue fashion magazines, which may be becoming a part of legacy media. Arguably, many positives appear with this shift. For example, global fashion trends can be circulated rapidly, and there is entertainment value in following emergent styles is not to be underestimated. In addition, online media is at times much more cost-effective, and access to technology is widespread, making it far easier for bloggers, influencers, and independent writers to gain a platform and find an audience online.
However, the rapid decline of people going to traditional print magazines to get their information and inspiration is part of the downfall of print journalism in general. The rise of influencers acting as journalists/fashionistas could be classed as controversial, as consumers may not be aware that many are sponsored by producers, and the appearance of DIY ‘truth’ is an illusion. Bloggers and micro-influencers seem to offer an authentic and relatable attitude online, and user-generated content allows communities to be built and engagement, with audiences participating simply through comments on social media.
This challenges editorial authority or ‘gatekeeping’ established through print media, which can be seen as a democratising plus. It is doubtless, though, that many fashion journalists have found themselves jobless as a result of such a sea change. Top title publications like Teen Vogue and Glamour have abandoned print media or gone digital only, and this destabilizes the notion of the fashion journalist as a viable profession.
Another problematic factor is the rise of fast fashion. In alignment with the dominance of influencer culture, there has been a significant increase in micro-trends: styles and fads that may only hold relevance for a few weeks. The constant exposure to different fashion trends and styles, along with the pressure to keep up with them, often leads to overconsumption and environmental damage. Mass production, along with cheap and undurable materials, creates a vast amount of waste, which is the last thing this planet needs. Alongside this, workers producing these materials often work in poor conditions – with inadequate pay, long hours, and in unsafe environments, exacerbated by the churn of fast fashion.
Before digital media gained such dominance, fashion content was exclusive and was usually published once a month, which established an authority for the top title magazines (such as Vogue, GQ, Harper’s Bazaar, etc.), dictating trends. In the 2000s, fashion blogs became popular, allowing for a shift from elite title gatekeeping to individuals creating inclusivity as bloggers offered a personal perspective that was often more affordable to consumers. This evolved into the vast environment of social media from the 2010s onwards, where the notion of the influencer changed from a curiosity to a significant and highly lucrative phenomenon.
With social media accelerating with the proliferation of users, alongside developments in technology, algorithms were created that directly track and respond to individuals’ search histories and purchasing choices. TikTok, Instagram, and a range of other platforms have promoted algorithmic consumerism, and for many, this is the main way in which they engage with clothing, cosmetics, and ever-changing styles. Some users may see this as a positive for the fashion industry, with new aesthetics and trends evolving overnight, allowing individuals to diversify and experiment with different fashion trends as a means of self-expression. This has always been at the heart of fashion culture, and can be viewed as simply more accessible and fast-paced than in the past.
However, for journalists, this has set their work back as people no longer rely on critical reviews and thoughtful articles as much, and it can become unseen and invisible to users, with the algorithm taking over with quick content designed for the user. Journalists and editors were once the gatekeepers of knowledge, and fashion magazines delivered more in-depth content concerning culture and society, which is arguably being eradicated in an ecology driven by algorithms.
Fashion, by nature, changes, so it should come as no surprise that the fashion industry has been deeply affected by how many people choose to engage with the commercial sector. One of the problems here, though, is perhaps choice itself. Many people of all ages find their sense of self through the choices they make in how they dress and look, and therefore, there is something at stake here.
The artist and critic Jean Cocteau said, “Style is a simple way of saying complicated things.” There is, then, to some, a depletion in culture if style (and what it can actually mean) is to be dictated by anonymous algorithms rather than thoughtful journalistic opinion in the
public sphere.
Livestreaming and Participatory Politics
By Lyss Leake
Livestreaming, most notably on the platform ‘Twitch’, has recently seen an upsurge in political commentary.
Online livestreaming offers a communal space to the demographic (of often younger people) who feel underrepresented in traditional news media. They offer commentary seemingly not dictated by established corporate ownership agendas. The interactive element of livestreaming adds levels of political mobilisation that can be categorised as ‘participatory politics’, a growing internet-exclusive phenomenon that has evolved out of traditional grassroots-level forms of political engagement. The impact of these political commentators can be seen on the left wing through the likes of Hasan Piker. But also, significantly on the right, through the more obscure concept of the ‘manosphere’. The biggest implication of this impact is the recent intersection between these communities and the wider political world, indicating that this type of platform has a growing clout in the world of politics, as demonstrated in the 2024 American election cycle.
Twitch is a streaming platform originally designed for creators to stream live gaming content to wider audiences, but it has developed beyond just video gaming. In recent years, there has been an increasing community for a non-traditional type of political commentary. Twitch involves hosts and guests commenting on live news to their audiences and responding directly, offering a level of interactivity that makes traditional news media look rather slow. The most prominent example of this is the chat feature, allowing streamers to talk directly to viewers. This encourages discussion that both stimulates the viewer and also serves as income for the streamer. This ‘feedback loop’ is core to the Twitch experience, and what sets it apart from mainstream media.
Arguably, the most prominent of these commentators is Piker, who has represented a demographic of people (mainly the young left) not typically represented in mainstream media. As a result, this outlet has been massively popular. His format utilises current technology. He interacts with mainstream news coverage in real time, and responds to incoming social media comments. This format derives from the idea of ‘second screen’ or ‘dual screen’ consumerism, where the user is viewing and participating with media on several devices at the same time, demonstrating a multi-modal literacy.
The idea of ‘participatory politics’ has been around since the conception of the internet. Henry Jenkins describes it as ‘that point where participatory culture meets political and civic participation.’ Hasan’s model of commentary, drawing from its roots in the gaming world, often appears to be a ‘talking heads’ entertainment channel. Biju states that ‘It is the political Internet which gives power to amateur activists a space which otherwise they would not get.’ Whilst Hasan’s streams are rarely a specific call to arms, they do provide an outlet for those who feel underrepresented. This notion goes hand in hand with the participatory element, which emphasises the role of both the viewer and the streamer.
The internet’s widespread capabilities cannot always be taken as a positive in the context of political commentary. For example, Hasan’s ability to target underrepresented audiences means that most of his viewers agree with his beliefs. This means, as is the case with many online communities, the potential for echo-chambers is significant. This availability of technologies also means that close to anybody can throw their hat into the world of political commentary, without traditional editorial systems. This includes some expressing more extreme politics that would be otherwise unwelcome on mainstream media due to censorship or broadcasting limitations. This lack of corporate workings allows for far-right fringe commentators to target an audience whose beliefs are taboo and inflammatory in the mainstream. This means once again providing an outlet for the underrepresented, but also potentially encouraging the platforming of harmful ideologies, as we have witnessed in the 2024 US elections.
One of the largest emerging contentious ideologies and current talking points is the ‘manosphere’. Usually not taking place on Twitch due to its strict rules on hate speech, but still appearing in the same format of livestreaming to a live chat, the manosphere embodies those considered too extreme to appear on platforms like Twitch. The manosphere embodies a new subculture of right-wing commentary that targets a white male audience with its call for ‘traditional’ values. This usually comes in the form of sexism, racism, and homophobia.
Reeves states that ‘Rather than helping men adapt to the new world, conservatives beguile them with promises of the old. This may provide some temporary psychological relief. But we don’t need painkillers. We need a cure.’ The interactive nature of a livestream also potentially emphasises this idea of ‘feeling heard’, with the echo-chamber capabilities additionally offering a sense of community and acceptability to extreme ideological positions.
During the 2024 American election, Donald Trump appeared on the platform ‘Kick’ with Adin Ross, an online streamer and supporter, notorious for being banned from Twitch after saying homophobic and racist slurs (NBC, 2024). This in itself is telling, as it demonstrates the changing state of media and political influence. Not least in the rapid rate at which traditional media outlets are becoming, to many, legacy outlets.
Livestreaming’s ability to emphasise the effects of participatory politics in young people is evident. Where mainstream news media fail to capture a young audience, online communities fill the gap. The implications of the growing viewership of these livestreams are clearly making waves in the ‘traditional’ political world. This can be seen by the popularisation of left-wing twitch streamer Piker, but also in the extremist views of the growing manosphere in the likes of Ross. The right wing’s ability to capitalise on the insecurity of young white men in America (and beyond) is evident via the intersection between influential politicians and what would usually be categorised as ‘fringe’ communities, and it seems to be paying off.
The Use of Generative AI in the Creative Industry: Authenticity, Jobs, and Ownership
By Eddie Sayburn
Technological advancements have often enhanced the creative process.
Photographers no longer rely on darkrooms to develop film; filmmakers can now use digital technology to edit, as opposed to the days of “splice and dice,” when they would have to cut and rearrange film reels physically. Musicians are no longer limited by analogue technology and can utilise digital tech to record many more takes. The internet has allowed for greater collaboration and connectivity between creatives.
Some would argue that many of these advancements take away the authenticity of a creative medium; however, others believe they still give the artist much control over the work they produce. But is there a threshold as to when art is no longer that of the artist but that of the technology used to create the art? The increasing rise of Artificial Intelligence (AI) has raised moral and ethical concerns in the creative industries. Issues such as the originality of AI-generated work, worries over AI replacing human workers, and debates on the nature of art itself come into play.
Is art less valuable if it lacks a touch of humanity? A personal connection is often considered a necessity in creative projects. Computer programs cannot consciously express skill or imagination in ways that a human can, so it could be (and is) argued that AI-generated artwork is not true art. In 2022, Jason Allen’s AI-generated work, “Théâtre D’opéra Spatial,” took first place in the digital category at the Colorado State Fair.
Allen stated that AI is a tool, like a paintbrush, and it is the human who is the creative force behind the tool. His winning piece received mixed feedback, with one Twitter user commenting: “We’re watching the death of artistry unfold right before our eyes.” Others, though, have defended it, pointing out that digital technology (CGI, Photoshop, etc.) is part and parcel of the creative world.
The diverse and passionate responses to Allen and others’ work are telling in that they only scratch the surface of what is to come in terms of AI and its accelerating ability to aid artists in the creative process, dispelling received notions of authenticity and artistry.
Many in the creative industries – and beyond – are worried about the impact that AI could have on their careers, so much so that it was a significant contributing factor to the Hollywood strikes in 2023, resulting in delayed production of a vast array of films and television shows. Developers claim that tools and applications that utilise AI can now exhibit creativity. If AI can be creative, then this gives uncertainty to many human workers and their livelihoods, as it seems to diminish their skills for a lower price. Sceptics think that it won’t be long before the majority of creative jobs are replaced by advancing AI, from writers and designers to illustrators and filmmakers; it is only a matter of time.
A 2023 survey found that 69% of 4,000 global marketing and creative leaders showed concern over AI’s potential to replace human workers. However, from a more optimistic standpoint, the survey also found that the incorporation of AI tools in their workforce enhanced creativity within their teams, and that 97% of them are comfortable with the rise of generative AI. (McKendrick, 2024). Integrating AI into creative workforces can potentially aid and enhance creativity, and it is possible to use AI’s capabilities to explore new forms of expression, opening an opportunity for AI tools to find new forms of creative expression.
AI uses machine learning to analyse large datasets. These datasets can consist of publicly available material, copyrighted material, and pirated material available online. If prompted to generate a specific image, AI will sift through copious amounts of original images, analysing and borrowing from them to generate a new, ‘unique’ image. Who gets credited for this new image? The artists from who it takes? Those prompting the AI technology? Or the AI system itself?
In the UK, the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988 states that a computer-generated work is “a work generated by computer in circumstances such that there is no human author of the work” and “In the case of a literary, dramatic, musical or artistic work which is computer-generated, the author shall be taken to be the person by whom the arrangements necessary for the creation of the work are undertaken.” So, in the UK, AI-generated content can be copyright protected, but it can be complex and raises the question as to who took the “necessary arrangements”?
There is no clear answer, as it could be in the scope of any of the previously mentioned contributors. US law states that only humans qualify as authors under US copyright law, meaning that AI-generated work is not eligible for protection, emphasizing that human creativity is a fundamental requirement for copyright eligibility. However, the law also states that if a human puts significant creative input into the work – arrangement, editing, or selecting the AI-generated elements – then it could be eligible for protection, further blurring the lines between the authorship of AI-generated content.
An example of generative AI infringing copyrighted works is the New York Times vs OpenAI case. In 2023, the Times filed a lawsuit against OpenAI and Microsoft for infringement, accusing the tech giants of stealing its content to train their AI models without its consent. They sought financial compensation as well as an injunction to prevent the defendants from continuing their unfair practice. The case is still ongoing as of 2025 and is just one example of the complexities regarding copyright and ownership over AI-generated content.
Generative AI is still in its infancy; however, its powerful capabilities are increasingly apparent. It’s clear that there are many intricacies regarding the moral and ethical concerns of AI in the creative industries, and these are likely to evolve and become more intricate as AI does so too. Pablo Picasso stated that, “Good artists copy, great artists steal.” Undoubtedly, this notion is about to be tested to its limits.
Loving a Face That Isn’t Yours: Beauty Filters and Dysmorphia in the Media
By Evie Lane
You wouldn’t say that you hate your real face, but you’ve started to reach for the filtered version first. Not dramatically or with disgust; only because it’s the one that feels like you.
Every morning, we brush our teeth and stare into a stranger’s eyes in the mirror above, a face both ours and not. The stranger blinks back, flesh and blood marked with smile lines from laughing too often and a nose shaped through generations, and yet they will never earn the applause that the algorithm showers upon their digitally enhanced twin.
Digital dysmorphia is the psychological condition in which a person’s self-image becomes distorted by social media comparisons, where they find themselves less attractive than their enhanced personas. For many, using filters has become an automatic reflex encouraged by the discomfort that seeing your ‘real face’ provides. You tell yourself that the edits that you make are barely noticeable; a little enhancement, a smoother forehead, a smaller nose. But then you struggle to post without these touch-ups, and slowly, the version of you that feels worthy of media acceptance becomes the one that doesn’t actually exist. This is not necessarily as a result of vanity or insecurity; most people don’t simply hate their natural appearance, they’ve just experienced a more palatable social media accepted and celebrated version of themselves, and how can they reject that?
Digital systems keep users hooked by slipping on subtle filters, conditioning them to believe that a specific app captures them better than the others and keep them coming back for another fix. You open the camera on TikTok, and immediately your teeth are whiter and your skin is smoother. It’s so subtle that you can’t quite tell what’s changed, only that you like what you see and that to reject this appearance would mean peeling it off your own face and exposing yourself to the one that you live with. These filters are engineered to be undeniably effective in training you to crave that ‘better’ version of yourself.
Then come the ultra-realistic tools, such as TikTok’s ‘no filter slim’ and ‘bold glamour’, or Instagram’s ‘AI glow’, which simulate perfect makeup looks and idealised facial proportions. These more extreme filters don’t just enhance features; they condition users to aspire to patterns of lightened skin, big eyes, small nose, symmetry, and feminine softness. It is in this way that platforms are striving towards embodying visual propaganda systems, subtly reinforcing narrow and unrepresentative beauty ideals whilst rewarding influencer conformity with likes and algorithmic favouritism.
As filters become further woven within feeds, their distortions stop feeling uncanny and become almost natural. Even when the linked word ‘FILTER’ sits boldly above the username, inviting viewers to use the effect and replicate the influencer in front of them, the likes and comments still pour in. This normalisation reflects a collective desensitisation, and the widespread acceptance of something so obviously artificial raises a concerning question: have we all agreed, consciously or not, to accept an illusion as reality? It stops being about whether or not filters make you look fake, but rather that they make your real self feel like the wrong version.
It’s taking place in cosmetic surgery procedures too. Where people once aspired to replicate celebrity facial features, they now arrive with their own. This change reflects a deeper transformation, proof that the physical world is increasingly reconstructing itself to replicate the digital sphere. It appears achievable because everyone has access to their own appearance, and many have access to the power of digital face filters and editing software. Patients neglect to recognise that filters often conceal lighting adjustments, the appearance of each modified feature from every angle, softened bone structures, and slimmed features, which quietly reshape the face. A good deal of patients still chase it anyway, and when the surgery falls short, it risks driving a cycle of desire, dissatisfaction, intervention, and emotional fallout, fuelling an endless pursuit of a version of the self that only exists on screen.
Modern media culture loves to preach the necessity of authentic celebrities, and yet their ‘natural beauty’ is still a brand. This is evident in the popularity of content like Vogue’s Beauty Secrets series, which applauds seeing celebrity faces stripped bare, framing their relatability. However, when a genuinely unfiltered feature slips into the feed, the internet circles it like blood in the water, invasively fixated upon its difference. Take actress Aimee Lou Wood (applauded for her role in Season 3 of The White Lotus), for example, whose natural teeth became the punchline of a viral Saturday Night Live sketch in 2025 and exaggerated her features into a caricature. Even as some rushed to her defence, the obsessive focus on that single feature only reinforced its status as an anomaly – something to brand and commodify. In embracing difference, the media often ends up flattening it under the guise of selling humanity.
Digital dysmorphia has evolved from being a private insecurity into a cultural default led by the media systems that we consume daily and the collective acceptance of an illusion. When the filtered self is more praised, it becomes difficult to return to the unedited version without dissatisfaction. If we can truly face our realities and accept our non-intervened appearances, we might just be able to protect ourselves and the forthcoming generations from the quiet violence of impossible beauty standards and instead promote a more inclusive and flexible definition of identity within the Media.
To love your fake digital face more is to emotionally detach from your true appearance, potentially committing to an uncomfortable life trapped within an unfamiliar body. This is how the media’s beauty standards are evolving; not driven by the pressure to look like front-cover models, but in the ritualistic practice of editing away who we are. It is in this pursuit that we lose the reflection of the faces that raised us, exchanging the warmth of shared history for the cold, distant glow of a filtered stranger.
The Hidden Horrors of Family Vlogging
A Case Study of 8 Passengers
By Rebekah Swales
For over twenty years,YouTube, has proven itself to be a continuously expanding phenomenon that has transformed digital entertainment and viewing experiences, surpassing other streaming sites, national TV and a range of entertainment forms due to its versatility and accessibility.
With billions of users, the platform offers every aspect of content and therefore, caters to many demographics. One of the most popular sub-genres among YouTube’s wide-ranging audience is family vlogging, which presents parenting as a digital discourse in the form of entertainment. With thousands of children growing up documented on camera, often as a source of income, some experience minimal privacy, living much of their lives in the public eye. From a baby’s first breaths, there are viewers watching its every move and projecting their opinions onto the child. While the channel’s intentions may appear authentic, the outcome is often anything but.
The Hulu documentary Devil in the Family, released in February 2025, investigated one of the most notorious family vlogging crimes in America, highlighting the risks and harm associated with the behind the scenes world of vlogging. The documentary exposed the family channel 8 Passengers, run by ‘mom’ influencer Ruby Franke. Launched in 2015, the channel documented the daily lives of the Utah-based couple and their six children. With a large following in the family-oriented Mormon state, the channel quickly grew, with each video garnering millions of views. The surge in popularity placed all eight members of the family under a public celebrity spotlight. Despite the channel’s success, the videos failed to conceal what was happening behind the lens.
Ruby’s disciplinary methods, which included publicly discussing her children’s punishments and enforcing strict boundaries, all of which were documented on camera, grew increasingly concerning amongst audiences. Her severe, publicised approach to discipline sparked significant backlash and ignited online debates about the ethics of family vlogging and the potential harm to children’s privacy and emotional wellbeing.
One notable incident shared on the family’s YouTube channel involved Ruby’s then 13-year-old son. When asked why he had been sleeping on the floor for several months, he explained it was a punishment for waking a younger sibling in the night with a prank about going to Disneyland. Though the prank was relatively harmless, the severity of the punishment (seven months of sleeping on the floor) sparked public outrage. The incident prompted widespread concern, with many questioning whether Ruby’s parenting had crossed into abuse. The hashtag #FreeChad2020 gained traction as social media users called for intervention to protect the children featured on the channel. This case underscores the ethical challenges of audience-driven parenting content. As viewership increased in response to harsh disciplinary tactics, critics argued that Ruby may have escalated punishments to boost engagement, raising serious concerns about the potential exploitation of children for online fame.
Authorities arrested Ruby Franke for child neglect and abuse in August 2022, after her youngest son escaped to a neighbour’s house appearing malnourished and with deep lacerations from being tied with ropes. The disturbing revelations showed punishments even more severe than those previously captured on video. The 8 Passengers channel was permanently shut down following Franke’s arrest. This case serves as an extreme example of the potential harms of family vlogging and the consequences of publicly sharing private family matters.
Over the years, the channel’s most viewed videos were those where the children were shown at their most vulnerable, discussing puberty, emotional struggles, or facing punishments which were the titles and thumbnails for the videos showing that Ruby, running the account, knew it would attract a wide viewership, only at the expense of her child’s privacy. Ruby, once seen as a trusted parenting influencer, shocked the internet. Her actions prompted broader conversations about how easily parental authority online can be misused under the guise of family content.
Family vlogging exposes children’s lives in ways that can have long-lasting negative effects. In the past year alone, the National Centre for Missing & Exploited Children (NCMEC) reported a 12% increase in online crimes against children. As it becomes easier to access and monitor children online, family vlogs that document every moment of a child’s life, can be exploited for harmful purposes, putting minors at significant risk.
Privacy on YouTube, especially for minors, has long been a major concern, prompting awareness campaigns to address the dangers. For instance, the American-based Ad Council’s 2007 campaign, ‘Think Before You Post’ aimed to make teen girls aware of the potential dangers of sharing and posting personal information online. However, many family channels dismiss these guidelines, profiting off the exposure of their children, leading to a huge consequence for the spotlighted children’s future as the global opinion of them has been shaped and their digital life story has exposed every detail of their childhood.
Following her mother’s arrest, Shari Franke, the eldest daughter from the 8 Passengers family, has emerged as a vocal critic of family vlogging. In her bestselling book The House of My Mother, she shares a first-hand account of the emotional toll of growing up in the public eye. Shari now advocates for tighter restrictions and even a ban on family vlogging, condemning the way her mother profited from exposing her most vulnerable moments to an unregulated global audience.
She argues that children featured in monetised family content face a distorted upbringing, where the constant presence of a camera compromises their innocence and leaves lasting emotional damage. She has stated that ‘There’s no such thing as a moral or ethical family vlogger.’ Shari continues to campaign for legal reform, calling for greater protection for children online and stricter regulation of family content on platforms like YouTube.
Even though family vlogging offers unique opportunities, the lack of privacy and consent for minors in this realm of entertainment can leave long lasting results. The case of the 8 Passengers shows the extreme results of dangers and loss of wellbeing due to the ever presence camera. A childhood broadcast online determines their future. As a result of family vlogging, innocent children are exploited for views, and their every move is being judged and peered on by a vast audience. Therefore, family vlogging is ethically suspect and results in negative effects that must be addressed.
Laws should clearly be enforced to stop the exploitation of children online. This can begin by focusing on parents who seek mine their children’s experiences for content.