Written and Graphic by Ella Orlando

TikToks promoted as core videos typically consist of collages of photos or videos that encapsulate the given aesthetic. In 2018, cottage-core swept over social media like a gust of wind over a grassy field. Not only did it have millions wearing corsets, ribbons, and flowy dresses; it urged us to pose in thickets, cuddle cows, and cultivate our own sourdough starters. The trend became a lifestyle for people. 

Cores or “-toks” continue to evolve. Us viewers are easily swept in and out by the trend tide. Typical content gets so boring after a while. So, obscurity and absurdity grow, bolstered by Gen Z’s love of irony. Niches like bean-tok and doubloon-tok blossom and wither, along with bro-core and Karen-core. The jokes get old, like the trends do. New jokes replace them, spreading and spreading until there are just too many people in on the joke. This phenomenon leads toks and cores to strange places.

Niche-tok is an attempt to be the ultimate obscure content core—a niche of niches. Niche-tok has a wide range of content under its umbrella. A collection of obscure memes or nostalgic imagery from the early 2000s can both be branded as niche-tok. From nichetok, core-core (appropriately named) sprouted. Alone, the clips in core-core videos can be a little unclear. But core-core collages them into one unifying message. The message varies, but basically, core-core aims to show the human experience. Cottage-core showcases a self-sufficient, simple lifestyle on a homestead. Core-core showcases the “lifestyle” we all share.

Watching a core-core video yourself, with no context, is the only way to garner its full impact. We all know the usual content we stumble across on TikTok doesn’t typically have a deeper meaning. The algorithm is a very, very well-oiled machine with only one goal: spoon-feeding content that keeps us latched to our screens. TikTok’s escapism embraces us like our childhood bedroom.

In comes core-core. Videos begin to harbor harsh realities: themes of consumerism, capitalism, conformity, mental health, global warming, and so on. In the midst of other desensitizing videos, our situation, our “childhood bedroom” becomes absurd. Our feet stick off the end of our twin-sized mattress, all our toys are broken, and we no longer find comfort in the pacifying nature of our content carousel. New emotions arise—ones that find roots in our chests and not just our brains. Core-core videos pull us into a message. We drown in whatever emotion they want us to feel. When we surface again, we have a new perspective. The realization is heart-wrenching enough for some that they've claimed core-core is the beginning of a movement that could change the world. 

Can core-core change the world—or is that a massive stretch? A few million video collages can’t really stack up against protests, votes, or volunteering. Core-core isn’t quaking governments like the Civil Rights movement. And it isn’t going to. Core-core isn’t the answer to all our problems. But maybe it is beginning to address the nature of TikTok: the brain-softening, lulling rabbit holes of content. When a core-core video finds us, it’s a wake-up call. Maybe core-core isn’t a revolution, but it has thousands of people talking about the nature of the world—the good, bad, ugly, and pretty.

Every meaningful action starts with an emotion. Core-core, if we’re lucky, could be the spark to ignite the masses. Or core-core could die like any other trend or silly joke, stored in the backrooms of our memory, until we happen to stumble upon it again.