When algorithms break trust: Why is everyone deleting TikTok

Why is everyone deleting TikTok? Inside the glitches, power shifts and loss of trust driving the 2026 uninstall wave

A platform that suddenly feels unfamiliar

For nearly a decade, TikTok has been the rare social platform that felt alive. It rewarded originality, surfaced unknown voices, and turned ordinary users into cultural forces overnight. For millions, it became more than an app. It became income, identity, community, and in some cases, survival. That is why the sudden surge in people deleting TikTok in early 2026 has felt so jarring. This is not a slow migration or a passing trend. Uninstalls are reportedly up by around 150 percent, and the mood across the platform has shifted from excitement to suspicion, frustration, and fear.

The question dominating search engines and group chats alike is simple: why is everyone deleting TikTok? The answer, however, is layered. It sits at the intersection of technical failures, corporate restructuring, data anxiety, algorithmic instability, and a growing sense that the social contract between platform and user has been quietly rewritten.

The Oracle deal and the moment TikTok changed

The catalyst for the current crisis is the restructuring of TikTok’s United States operations following years of political pressure. After prolonged threats of a nationwide ban, TikTok’s American arm was reorganised under a new entity, TikTok USDS Joint Venture LLC. Oracle and a consortium of US-based investors now hold roughly 80 percent ownership, while ByteDance retains a minority stake of under 20 percent.

On paper, the move was designed to stabilise TikTok’s future in the United States, address national security concerns, and keep the app online. In practice, it marked a psychological breaking point for many users and creators. The app did not disappear, but it no longer felt like the same platform. Users began reporting widespread glitches almost immediately after the transition, from login failures to missing videos, zero-view posts, broken live streams, and earnings dashboards that no longer made sense.

For creators who depend on TikTok for rent, food, and healthcare, these were not minor inconveniences. They were existential threats.

The great glitch: when the app stopped working

In the days following the restructuring, reports flooded in from across the United States and beyond. Videos sat at zero views for hours. Some were flagged as violating community guidelines without explanation. Others were quietly marked ineligible for recommendation, effectively shadow-banned without notice. Live streams that once drew hundreds of viewers suddenly attracted only a handful. Follower counts dropped overnight. Monetisation tools displayed missing funds, phantom withdrawals, or empty histories.

TikTok later attributed many of these issues to a power outage at a US data centre, followed by a cascading system failure. Oracle-backed infrastructure was said to be recovering, and official statements promised a return to normal. Yet even as functionality partially stabilised, the damage had been done. Trust, once shaken, is difficult to restore.

For users watching their livelihoods flicker on and off without warning, the explanation felt inadequate. Technical failures happen, but this outage coincided too neatly with a major corporate and political shift. The perception that something deeper had changed proved impossible to ignore.

Algorithm anxiety and the fear of invisibility

TikTok’s algorithm has always been opaque, but it was also generous. It gave unknown creators reach that other platforms could not match. That generosity is what many now fear is disappearing.

Under the new US structure, TikTok has confirmed that its recommendation systems will be retrained, tested, and updated using US user data. While algorithm updates are nothing new, this announcement landed differently. Creators began noticing patterns that felt punitive rather than random. High-performing accounts saw RPMs collapse to fractions of a cent. Videos that once reached millions barely cracked triple digits. Entire niches reported simultaneous drops in visibility.

What unsettled creators most was not the change itself, but the lack of communication. Videos were removed without clear reasons. Appeals pages glitched or failed to load. Some accounts appeared normal to their owners but were invisible to followers. Others lost live access without any recorded violation.

For a generation raised on platforms where visibility equals viability, the fear of algorithmic erasure is profound. When creators cannot tell whether their work is being seen, monetised, or quietly buried, deleting the app begins to feel like a rational act of self-preservation.

Data collection and the shock of transparency

Concerns about TikTok and data privacy are not new, but the updated terms of service introduced under TikTok USDS reignited the debate in a more visceral way. Users scrolling through the revised language noticed explicit references to sensitive personal information. The terms outline the collection of data that may include racial or ethnic origin, religious beliefs, health information, sexual orientation, gender identity, citizenship or immigration status, and financial details, subject to applicable laws and permissions.

Many platforms collect similar data, but TikTok’s mistake may have been saying the quiet part out loud at a moment when trust was already eroding. For users outside the United States, the idea that American TikTok would function differently from the rest of the world raised additional alarms. A fragmented platform suggests fragmented rules, fragmented moderation, and fragmented values.

The reaction was swift. Even users who had long accepted data trade-offs began questioning whether the exchange was still worth it. For some, deleting TikTok became a symbolic act, a way to regain a sense of control in an environment that suddenly felt invasive.

Creators caught in the cost of living squeeze

The TikTok crisis cannot be separated from the broader economic context. Across the US, UK, and beyond, layoffs, inflation, and rising housing costs have pushed more people into precarious work. For many, TikTok filled the gap left by unstable traditional employment. Creator funds, affiliate links, live gifts, and TikTok Shop sales became essential income streams.

When those streams faltered, the consequences were immediate. Creators reported missing thousands of US$ in expected earnings. Small businesses lost access to inventory tracking and sales data. Live commerce events failed to convert due to technical issues. In some cases, entire months of work appeared to evaporate overnight.

Deleting TikTok, in this context, is not always an emotional reaction. It is a calculated decision by people who feel they can no longer afford to build on unstable ground.

Censorship, moderation, and the rise of automation

Another driver of the uninstall surge is growing concern about content moderation. Under the new structure, TikTok has signalled an increased reliance on automated systems, with human moderation reportedly reduced in some regions. Creators have linked this shift to an increase in unexplained takedowns, suppressed topics, and inconsistent enforcement.

Political content, social justice reporting, and breaking news have been particularly affected. Users describe feeling as though they are at odds with a platform that was once their ally. Videos covering major events are removed or throttled, while appeals vanish into a digital void.

For international users watching these changes unfold, especially those who relied on American TikTok for unfiltered perspectives, the implications are unsettling. The fear is not only about lost reach, but about lost relevance in a world where information flows are increasingly controlled.

A global reaction, not an American problem

While the restructuring directly affects the United States, the reaction is global. Creators in the UK, Canada, the Caribbean, and elsewhere report knock-on effects. Some worry that algorithm changes tested in the US will eventually roll out worldwide. Others fear a cultural shift, where American investor priorities reshape what content is promoted globally.

This uncertainty has prompted a broader reassessment of platform dependence. Users are asking hard questions about diversification, ownership, and digital resilience. Where should creators go next? Can any platform be trusted long-term? What happens when the rules change overnight?

For many, deleting TikTok is not a rejection of social media itself, but a pause. A moment to step back before committing further time, labour, and emotional energy to a system that feels increasingly unpredictable.