Showcasing buses, cleaning people’s homes, celebrating the beauty of differences – we meet the people making online content that makes us feel a little better about the world
Afew months ago, I spent £50 on a device called a Brick. It’s a grey plastic square, no bigger than a credit card, and it’s currently stuck to the chest of drawers on my landing, next to my keys. I tap my phone on it any time I enter or leave the house, like I’m getting on the tube.
The Brick is a social media blocker – the company’s tagline is “take back control of your screentime” – and it is the latest in my increasingly elaborate attempts to stop myself from doomscrolling.
Some time during the pandemic, I lost the ability to read at night. A chapter of a book was replaced by an hour ricocheting between X, Instagram Reels and, embarrassingly, LinkedIn: a conveyor belt of outrage and envy. I would close the apps feeling overstimulated and miserable, then reopen one without thinking five minutes later.
By the start of this year, my screen time ticked past four hours a day – a figure that horrifies me but, I’ve learned, is extremely average. Britons spend about three and a half hours a day on a smartphone, and that number nearly doubles among 18 to 24-year-olds. A survey commissioned by Virgin Media O2 found that two in five UK adults feel they have “little to no control” over how they use their phones, while 37% describe themselves as “addicted”.
But my war on scrolling has also made me notice what I risk shutting out. I owe some of my best hairstyles to TikTok, many of my recipes to Instagram, and an unreasonable proportion of my happiness to memes. Every day, people use these platforms to share knowledge, raise money, make people laugh and offer kindness to strangers.
My favourite is a man called Husk (@husk.irl), whose videos I watch on Instagram (he is actually a TikTok-er, but deleting that app was the first step in my doomscrolling recovery). He uploads videos of himself talking to ChatGPT on voice mode, having chosen the chatbot’s objectively funniest voice, an American man with a deep and confident drawl, who sounds like a frat bro. The videos exploit the gap between ChatGPT’s air of authority and its frequent inability to do basic things. In one, Husk asks it to time him running a mile. He returns seconds later and asks for his result. ChatGPT congratulates him on finishing in 10 minutes and 12 seconds, then insists that its timing is correct.
Lately, for reasons I don’t quite understand, my algorithm has turned Spanish. I grew up in Madrid, and perhaps it senses I am homesick. Or maybe I lingered over one video for half a second too long. Either way, this unexpected homecoming has become its own kind of joyscrolling. I have bookmarked recipes from elderly women making gazpacho for the hot weather, and a video of a Sevillian comedian baffled by the British tourists who descend on his landlocked city every summer, voluntarily, even as the weather creeps up past 40C.
So the truth is that I don’t always want to be kept out of social media. I want to enter deliberately, to find the people who make the internet funny and sweet. And then leave again when I choose. Amid all the noise, these are the people who give me a reason to tap back in.
Patricia Clarke is The Observer’s technology editorBemi posts cheerful videos of herself in front of London buses as they pass, earning her the moniker ‘Bus Aunty’. A recent post shows Bemi and the new prime minister Andy Burnham celebrating a cap on all bus fares to £2.
“From the moment I arrived in London from Nigeria, I’ve loved everything about buses. Oh my God, I wish people could use my eyes to see their beauty. Something about their size, colour – even their smell – is majestic. Life can be lonely when you don’t have family close by, but on the top deck you can meet new people and see the city.
I’ve been a mental health nurse for 28 years. My patients call me Aunty. I sing on the ward and try to make them laugh, but sometimes it’s difficult to be strong. What helps is knowing I can be a positive influence to someone at their worst moment.
“Life can be lonely when you don’t have family close by, but on the top deck of a bus you can meet new people”
When I got TikTok, the plan was to get 1,000 followers and talk about mental health. God had other ideas. I posted a video of me with a bus, then another, and within a month it blew up. My daughter called and said: “Mummy, you’ve gone viral. What have you done?”
People sometimes think the buses are going to hit me, but I’m not actually close and would never put myself in danger or disrespect the bus drivers. I just know where to stand to showcase them as they turn.
At my age, I didn’t expect to be living this life. I’m so grateful that loving buses has led to meetings with politicians and the King, and working with brands like Burberry. Now, I’d love to start a young person’s mental health charity. All this has helped me to dream big.”
Bea, 28, deep cleans the homes of vulnerable people, free of charge, offering tenants a chance to start afresh. With their consent, she posts the transformations online. More recently she has campaigned against domestic animal abuse.
“The first flat I shared with my boyfriend was overrun with black mould. Our dodgy landlord wouldn’t help, so I posted videos of trying to clean it myself on TikTok. They got so many views that I started earning money from them. Then, I started getting messages from renters with the same issues. One was from a heavily pregnant woman who lived with her two young children and her husband, who was immobile after a car accident. I used the money I’d made to get on a train and spent three days cleaning her home.
“A lot of people I clean for are in the darkest period of their life – I hope it restores some of their dignity”
After that, everything snowballed. Cleaning wasn’t part of my plan – I studied Classics at university – so I had to learn the proper procedures on the job or by speaking to other professionals. I’ve spent thousands of pounds on biohazard specialists, but the people watching my videos help to fund it. We’ve worked really hard to pay it forward. Now we can pretty much take any home on.
A lot of the people I clean for are in the darkest period of their life and deserve empathy. What I do isn’t an automatic fix, but I hope it restores some of their dignity and reminds them that they’re worth a better life. No one should feel ashamed to ask for the help they need to become safe and comfortable in their own home. It’s very taxing work, but I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it. And no, my house isn’t spotless. I’m so OK with that!”
Akilah, AKA Kilah Gram, creates high-energy videos that document the highs and lows of renovating two dilapidated houses in London, interspersed with her love of fashion and beauty. She believes passionately that social is the future of media.
“When my partner and I started renovating our house, we’d share silly updates on Instagram. The first video that took off was ‘Get ready with me for a day of DIY’ about the imperfections of our life – waking up at sunrise because there are no curtains and wearing a paint-splattered tracksuit and knitted bonnet. It racked up 2m views.
“Social media is a democratic space for anyone with something creative to say”
A few months later, design-led estate agent the Modern House asked if I wanted to be their ‘resident snoop’, presenting tours of their properties for their socials. I was stunned and had to check they weren’t confusing me with someone else.
We’re still renovating and have expanded into lifestyle videos. I think they’re popular because I’m not afraid to laugh at myself. Social media often presents women as into either makeup, fashion, DIY or as a mum. The women I know are all of those things. I might be doing DIY, but I also want a nail appointment and a little luxury in my life.
Social media is a democratic space for anyone with something creative to say. If your niche is that weird thing in your village no one cares about, you could make a film about it and get immediate feedback from your followers, who are basically your bosses. I try to respect and honour that process by telling my stories, pursuing my love of design and having a raucous, joyful time.”
Nikki, 22, has a rare condition where areas of arteries and veins form without capillaries. Her content advocates for those with this condition, and shares her love of fashion and makeup.
“When doctors told me at the age of six that I had AVM (arteriovenous malformation), I lost my childhood in an instant. As my appearance started to change, watching YouTube videos about makeup was my escapism. Two years later, my parents agreed I could start posting wholesome content, like reviewing my mum’s eye shadows or doing my dad’s makeup.
After TikTok launched, I posted a few videos and within a month I had 1m followers. I still don’t know how. Partly, I think that someone who looked different was a breath of fresh air. Teenage girls appreciated that I wasn’t trying to change my appearance. But, while some build you up, others break you down. People have used AI on pictures of me to remove my condition, commenting on the “wasted potential”, which was incredibly disheartening.
Since my diagnosis I’ve had 98 surgeries, but I’ve also won a Bafta and an Emmy for my work on TV, spoke at the UN twice, attended the Oscars and walked in Paris Fashion Week. Social media can sometimes feel like a game with infinite levels, but it has also made me feel I can still live a life. Growing up, there were no toys or people in the public eye that looked like me and I was constantly made to feel as if I didn’t have a place. Now, everything I do goes back to being what my younger self never had. The more you see difference, the more normal it becomes.”
This Brighton couple shows the pandemonium of raising their three-year-old daughter, nicknamed Moo, whether that’s her “going feral” at a trampoline park, or trying to deal with her creepy doll, Mary-Therese.
“One thing we’ve learned since starting our account is that people don’t want perfection. Last year we went to a butterfly house, thinking we would capture some cute moments, but our daughter wasn’t impressed and it all went to hell. Everyone loved it. Our audience includes a lot of slightly older women who remember what it was like to raise children and relate to the joy and chaos we share. We feel so happy they can see themselves in us.
When you put yourself out there, you’re also putting yourself on the line. We’ve been lucky in that 95% of people leave positive comments, but it’s hard not to focus on the remaining 5%. Sometimes we reply, but mostly our followers jump on anything negative. At one point it got overwhelming and we weren’t sure whether to continue. Then, we started getting messages from mums with gay sons, and others saying that watching us had changed their opinion on same-sex parenting. We thought, actually, this is having an impact.
We’re very careful about what aspects of our lives we share. It’s a one-minute snippet, a couple of times each week. We rarely mention our own names or what we do for a living, and we use a specific nickname for our daughter. We’ll only do this for as long as she’s happy being filmed. Mostly, we feel privileged. It’s easy to forget gay dads are relatively new, but we fought for these rights and will never take them for granted.”
Moses, 22, explores and reviews high-end and gentrified cafés across London, in a series called ‘Endz Department of Research’. His review of a branch of Gail’s bakery has received nearly 1m views across his channels.
“I’m a north Londoner and have seen the area change a lot. The people who have always lived here have never even considered visiting the cafés and bakeries that blow up on social media. That’s why I review them, so the locals can decide if they want to go as well. I try to bring as real an experience as possible. My humour, the way that I speak, it’s all me.
Now, things are mad. The most exciting opportunity was being on one of the biggest billboards I’d ever seen for Ray-Ban Meta. I took my mum so we could see it for the first time together. She was gassed!
Being recognised is surreal. Like, you’re coming up to me, a regular guy from the ends and you’re acting like I’m a celebrity? Mind-boggling. Some have even freaked out and started touching me to check if I’m a hologram. I’ve had people try to follow me home, but I don’t take it much to heart. If your content has 60m views in a year, it’s bound to happen.
I’m not gonna lie, I feel lucky to grow up in this generation. Seeing how the content creators of the 2010s were affected by cancellation, or by people chatting about their appearance, has trained me in what to expect from social media in 2026. If I do get negative comments, I’m braced for it and ready to brush it aside. I mean, if I wasn’t doing this, I’d 100% still be working in Wetherspoons.”
Christine, 73, has travelled across the globe to complete 125 marathons in 13 years. Her posts document her running journey as well as share home-based fitness tips that encourage healthy ageing.
“After a spectacular career in education, I was frightened to death of retiring. Six months before, my daughter encouraged me to join her running club, and through that I got a place at the London marathon. I retired on the Friday and ran my first marathon on the Sunday.
Since then I’ve run 125 marathons across the continents, and won the Guinness World Record for being the oldest person (at 69 years and 154 days) to complete the Antarctic Ice Marathon. It was my granddaughter who told me that TikTok’s the place to be and taught me how to post. She got a bit fed up with me, but we got there in the end.
“I didn’t want to be given anything. I wanted to be let out of my cage so I could get it myself”
The video that went viral was demonstrating how to incorporate fitness into everyday life. In the final shot, I ran up the stairs and said: “I don’t train for the gym. I train…” – and I paused in the right place – “for life.” I think people like that I’ve been there, done that and showed it. Some of them even loved my Huddersfield accent.
My first ex-mother-in-law (I’m on my third one now) said to my then-husband: “You’d be better getting rid of her. Because if you gave her the moon, she’d only want the stars.” It was meant as an insult, but they got it all wrong. I didn’t want him to give me anything. I wanted to be let out of my cage so I could get it myself. I’m hoping to run the North Pole Marathon next.”
The Kabs family are Tay, Chan and their kids Teija (17), Maliya (9), TJ (7) and baby Rome. Their most popular videos are their ‘school-run roasts’, where Tay, who we speak to here, is ribbed about his age by his giggling children.
“Roasting each other happens in our house every single day, not just on the school run. People ask us if the videos are scripted, but they’re not. They’re a one-minute edit of a longer version where the kids are having a normal conversation. I just press record and see how it goes, then watch it back afterwards and decide what’s funny.
The children read the Bible before they go to bed and we all pray before we eat. That’s why their roasts often include biblical figures, because they know a lot about them. It’s not just on camera either. Family members have heard Mali and TJ tell them Chan’s hair came from Samson [who in the Bible gets his mighty strength from his hair] many times.
“People ask us if the videos are scripted, but they’re not – I just press record and see how it goes”
I’m a workaholic that does most of the editing and posting, but Chan is the peace in our family. She schedules days off from filming and organises time together without cameras: walks, parks, cinema trips. We sit together, put the phones away and talk about how far we’ve come in 10 years, from one simple video of me getting annoyed by Teija’s loud music in the car.
We’ve always been close. It sounds corny, but we’re best friends. There’s a lot of teasing, and sometimes we have to reel things back slightly, but everybody’s on the same page and having so much fun. There’s a lot more to come from the family, separately and together… We have one life. We’re just trying to do all of it.”
Hair and makeup by Juliana Sergot