The 22-year-old woman partially submerged in a bath of milk and flower petals slowly removes the mask obscuring her face. In doing so, Eloise Fouladgar revealed she was a resident of Britain’s latest so-called TikTok house to 53 million viewers.
It was a typically lavish “reveal” clip — a common promotional video used by teenage and twenty-something creators to announce they’ve moved into luxury multi-million-dollar mansions to make content for social media platforms, and promote brands for the marketing agencies that are picking up the bills.
It’s an all-expenses paid arrangement that sees savvy agencies lease aspirational homes on behalf of young creators with existing fan bases. The luxury pads are filled with branded goods, food and drink, cameras and, on request, helicopters, snakes or whatever else might lead a doomscroller to pause for 15 seconds.
Photo: Reuters
Pioneered in the US, British real estate is being snapped up by marketing agencies who want to replicate the successes of their American peers as TikTok rises to prominence to become the social network of choice for fans of short-form videos of dance routines, goofy comedy and pranks.
The trend on UK soil started with agency Fanbyte’s central London Bytehouse in March, and was followed by Yoke Network’s Essex county Wave House in September, and WeRmedia’s multi-million-dollar west London Icon House last month. It isn’t all spa days and fun, however.
“It may look like they are just there enjoying a lavish lifestyle, but the reality couldn’t be further from the truth,” said Kelly Levi, who along with Elad Panker co-founded WeRmedia in October last year. “Working and living under the same roof 24/7 can be challenging.”
The original Hype House in Los Angeles is often used as a blueprint, having played home to TikTok stars like Charli D’Amelio and Addison Rae. Both young women became major celebrities, taking the top two spots in a Forbes assessment of TikTok’s highest earners last year. Rae topped the list with an estimated US$5 million.
“If each of our creators can aim to do anywhere near that over the next 12 months, we will all be very happy,” said Levi.
The influencer advertising market may be worth as much as US$10 billion this year, according to marketing firm Mediakix. Data compiled by Influencer Marketing Hub suggested a figure of US$9.7 billion. And Bytedance’s TikTok, while still catching up to Instagram and fighting off a potential ban by the US government, generated more than US$3 billion of net profit on US$17 billion in revenue last year.
Influencers with large fan bases tend to make their money from brands who pay them to create posts about their products. Creator houses are an evolution of this model, with agencies underwriting living costs and attracting sponsors.
In return, their affiliated influencers continually churn out viral videos that can incorporate client products and expose them to millions of potential consumers. As book deal or offers of TV jobs roll in, those agencies are on hand to take a cut of the takings, too.
Timothy Armoo, the 25-year-old chief executive officer of Fanbytes, the agency behind Bytehouse, added that his UK “Bytesquad” influencers can “comfortably make high five-figure or six-figure” sums on brand deals and endorsements.
The group was among the first to move into a TikTok house in the UK and comprises six creators aged between 17 and 21 years. Videos from the central London residence have racked up more than 50 million likes. The creators have also amassed large individual followings — Sebby Jon and KT Franklin securing 2.8 million and 2.3 million followers respectively.
Since launching in March, the group has worked with companies such as Samsung Electronics and Huawei Technologies, as well as the UK government on its public health campaign during the pandemic, Armoo said. A cut from such deals goes to Fanbytes, although the CEO wouldn’t say what the split was between creator and agency.
The Wave House opened next. The sprawling £5 million (US$6.5 million) mansion is now home to the milk-bathing Fouladgar, as well as five other creators aged 20 to 22 years. The agency behind them, Yoke Network, was founded by 26-year-old CEO Jide Maduako, who said he wants to build his brand into “the Disney of TikTok,” referring to Disney Channel celebrities of the early noughties such as Miley Cyrus.
The University of Lancaster business graduate founded Yoke in 2018 with school friend Mustafa Mohamed, and said he took inspiration from his time as an ex-professional soccer player for Leicester City as a teenager.
“All you had to do was focus on football and be the best that you could be,” Maduako said.
Whether bathing in milk under a bejewelled mask was also drawn from his sports background was left unmentioned.
The canonical shot of an East Asian city is a night skyline studded with towering apartment and office buildings, bright with neon and plastic signage, a landscape of energy and modernity. Another classic image is the same city seen from above, in which identical apartment towers march across the city, spilling out over nearby geography, like stylized soldiers colonizing new territory in a board game. Densely populated dynamic conurbations of money, technological innovation and convenience, it is hard to see the cities of East Asia as what they truly are: necropolises. Why is this? The East Asian development model, with
Desperate dads meet in car parks to exchange packets; exhausted parents slip it into their kids’ drinks; families wait months for prescriptions buy it “off label.” But is it worth the risk? “The first time I gave him a gummy, I thought, ‘Oh my God, have I killed him?’ He just passed out in front of the TV. That never happens.” Jen remembers giving her son, David, six, melatonin to help him sleep. She got them from a friend, a pediatrician who gave them to her own child. “It was sort of hilarious. She had half a tub of gummies,
The wide-screen spectacle of Formula One gets a gleaming, rip-roaring workout in Joseph Kosinski’s F1, a fine-tuned machine of a movie that, in its most riveting racing scenes, approaches a kind of high-speed splendor. Kosinski, who last endeavored to put moviegoers in the seat of a fighter jet in Top Gun: Maverick, has moved to the open cockpits of Formula One with much the same affection, if not outright need, for speed. A lot of the same team is back. Jerry Bruckheimer produces. Ehren Kruger, a co-writer on Maverick, takes sole credit here. Hans Zimmer, a co-composer previously, supplies the thumping
There is an old British curse, “may you live in interesting times,” passed off as ancient Chinese wisdom to make it sound more exotic and profound. We are living in interesting times. From US President Donald Trump’s decision on American tariffs, to how the recalls will play out, to uncertainty about how events are evolving in China, we can do nothing more than wait with bated breath. At the cusp of potentially momentous change, it is a good time to take stock of the current state of Taiwan’s political parties. As things stand, all three major parties are struggling. For our examination of the