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Abstract

This article investigates the intersection of identity, power, and knowledge production on U.S. ConspiracyTok, a genre of TikTok videos promoting conspiracy theories ranging from harmless speculation to harmful disinformation. Drawing on qualitative content analysis of 202 highly viewed videos, we examine how identity markers such as race and gender shape who is empowered or undermined in conspiratorial narratives, and how creators construct and circulate “evidence” to support their claims. We find that American ConspiracyTok is populated largely by young, non-White, and/or female creators who challenge the stereotype of the White, male conspiracy theorist. These creators interpellate audiences through visible identity markers, fostering a sense of intimacy and trust. Marginalized groups are often cast as victims, while institutions like science, government, and media are portrayed as villains. Creators construct legitimacy through visual media, personal anecdotes, deep lore, and remixing fictional and mainstream texts—engaging in a form of populist knowledge production within a generous epistemology that welcomes divergent truths and alternative worldviews. These practices blur the lines between entertainment and ideology, often mimicking academic, or journalistic knowledge production while rejecting institutional authority. While ConspiracyTok can serve as a form of standpoint epistemology that empowers minoritized creators and critiques systemic injustice, it can just as easily reinforce bias and spread disinformation. ConspiracyTok is a site of vernacular theorizing where epistemology and identity are deeply entangled, offering both a critique of mainstream power and a cautionary tale about the populist appeal of conspiratorial thinking.

Keywords

TikTok conspiracy theories disinformation conspirituality epistemology evidence knowledge production

How individuals and groups are located in broader systems of sociopolitical power impacts their access to legitimated modes of knowledge production (Moletsane, 2015; Weiler, 2011). Legacies of exclusion from science, academia, journalism, or government can lead members of minoritized or marginalized groups to seek alternative means of producing knowledge. Conspiratorial narratives and communities may appeal to such groups, framing themselves as “oppositional readings of hegemonic truth” (Grusauskaite et al., 2022, p. 1; see also Harambam & Aupers, 2015; Sunstein & Vermeule, 2009).

Despite studies repeatedly showing that conspiracy beliefs are widespread across social groups in the United States (Bost, 2018; Uscinski et al., 2022), enduring stereotypes continue to portray the prototypical conspiracy theorist as a middle-aged, White man—an identity with relative access to social power in patriarchal, White supremacist social systems (Drochon, 2018; Smallpage et al., 2020). To understand how diverse identity groups may find empowerment or be undermined through the proliferation and adoption of erroneous conspiracy theories, we use qualitative content analysis to examine 202 TikTok videos promoting conspiracy theories as part of TikTok’s conspiratorial community, “ConspiracyTok.” Created mostly by young individuals of color and/or women, ConspiracyTok subjects range from the relatively innocuous to harmful disinformation. Together, they function as a cluster or genre, sharing aesthetics, techniques, and referents (Schellewald, 2021). We take a critical, feminist approach—focusing on TikTok creators’ perceived identities, the power differentials they explore, and the evidence they employ to buttress their claims—to investigate the relationship between identity and epistemology on ConspiracyTok. Furthering a generous epistemology that allows for wildly variant viewpoints and experiences, ConspiracyTok encourages audience members to take pleasure in the process of conducting their own research and close readings, uncovering “hidden knowledge” that otherwise serves as a boundary object between diverse communities.

Disinformation, conspiracy, and identity

Conspiracy theories are a prominent form of online disinformation claiming powerful individuals secretly drive social phenomena (Sunstein & Vermeule, 2009). Although specific topics vary, they often stem from concerns about losing control to complex forces, resulting in shared themes and narratives (Byford, 2011; Melley, 2016). Knowledge is co-constructed through social interactions (Douglas, 2013), and conspiracy theories flourish in social networks, providing members with infrastructures to interpret knowledge claims outside mainstream institutions like journalism or science (Enders et al., 2023; Harambam & Aupers, 2017; Mahl et al., 2021). Conspiracy theories are thus a form of knowledge production taking place within online communities of practice.

Conspiracy theories are deeply rooted in American history, merging with traditional American values and beliefs (Goldberg, 2003). While the stereotypical conspiracy theorist is a “white, working-class, middle-aged man” (Drochon, 2018, p. 344; Smallpage et al., 2020), many different groups embrace conspiracy beliefs (Bost, 2018, p. 270) and studies indicate widespread belief in conspiracy theories (de Wildt & Aupers, 2024; Smallpage et al., 2020). Across demographics, people are drawn to conspiracies victimizing their ingroup (Smallpage et al., 2020, p. 265). Black Americans are more likely to believe that the U.S. government deliberately employed the AIDS virus to take Black lives (Goldberg, 2003, p. 11), while conservative Americans are more likely to believe that White Europeans and Americans are being strategically replaced by non-White immigrants to reduce White political power (Miller, 2022).

However, as Joseph Heller wrote in Catch-22, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.” Some conspiracy theories widely circulated among minoritized groups are true, partially true, or based on a factual history of state violence (Orr & Husting, 2019, pp. 87–88; Waters, 1997). Other conspiracy theories help minoritized individuals cope with the disconnect between the ideals of democratic governance and their lived experiences (Dozono, 2021). The term “conspiracy theory” is negatively loaded, however, allowing authorities to minimize and ignore minoritized groups’ concerns (Olmstead, 2019; Orr & Husting, 2019). For example, Fenster (2008, pp. 4–5) demonstrates how journalists and scholars dismissed the Black community’s historically justified concerns about the CIA and drug trafficking as conspiracy theories.

While identity is important in determining what conspiracy theories people believe and how believers are treated, research on this complex relationship remains limited. Even when scholars assert that many conspiracy believers share common identities—like Ellefritz’s (2014, p. 145) observation that most 9/11 Truthers were “white and male U.S. Americans”—research rarely explores why this is so, instead examining specific theories and related identities, or offering theoretical insights (Harris, 2018; Mahl et al., 2023).

To understand the role of conspiracy theories in disinformation, we must examine their creation and adoption relative to identity markers like race and gender. We turn to TikTok, a popular platform for short video sharing, given its youth appeal and potential for disinformation spread (Grandinetti & Bruinsma, 2023; Vogels et al., 2022). Rather than viewing disinformation as a recent phenomenon wherein factually incorrect information disrupts a homogeneous realm of truth, we follow Kreiss (2021) and others in analyzing the “deep-rooted political, social, and racial contexts” in which disinformation is created. Online, people signal their affiliations through identity cues and symbolic markers (Donath, 1999), prompting us to explore how ideologies and identities, including Whiteness, manifest in TikTok conspiracy videos. Hypothesizing that TikTok’s youthful, diverse userbase would offer insight into the persistent allure of conspiracy theories, we ask:

RQ1: How do race, gender, and other identity markers connect to who is empowered, and who is undermined, in conspiratorial TikTok videos?

Identity and epistemology

Framing conspiracy theories as a form of knowledge production, we turn to feminist standpoint theory and the sociology of fringe communities to understand the relationship between identity and epistemology.

Scholars studying epistemologies focus on factors that determine the credibility of beliefs, such as evidence, justification, and reliability, rather than personal identities when assessing knowledge in a particular epistemology (Toole, 2021, p. 338). In contrast, standpoint epistemologies stem from the idea that knowledge is context-dependent. Individual interpretation tools arise from one’s position and what aspects of the world one needs to comprehend (Harding, 1987; Hill Collins, 1990; Toole, 2021). This results in people extracting meaning from information based on what grabs their attention and contextual lens, often influenced by personal interests and broader societal factors like race, gender, and sexuality. Identity frequently shapes epistemology, as epistemologies often uphold identity-centric viewpoints by reinforcing existing beliefs rather than driving people to seek new understandings (Khan, 1999, p. 118).

Originating from feminist science studies and Black feminist theory, standpoint epistemologies are born from marginalized groups contesting dominant knowledge systems (Harding, 1987; Hill Collins, 1990). This perspective offers “emancipatory potential” by prompting awareness of knowledge creation and credibility, enabling challenges to prevailing epistemologies (Jones, 2020). Standpoint epistemologies hold significance for diverse, frequently marginalized groups including Black women, Indigenous peoples, transgender individuals, and Muslims (Austin, 2018; Cooper, 2017; Hinzo & Clark, 2019; Jones, 2020), aligning with their needs and worldviews (Toole, 2021). While considered “emancipatory” or “oppositional,” standpoint epistemologies can inadvertently strengthen existing beliefs due to their reliance on identity-driven perspectives. Applying standpoint epistemology helps us understand conspiracy theories as knowledge tailored to specific identities, thereby reinforcing pre-existing beliefs.

Standpoint epistemologies share intriguing parallels with fringe or conspiratorial belief epistemologies. Just as acknowledgment of oppression is integral to creating standpoint epistemologies, the “conspiracy mentality” is characterized by emotions like paranoia and distrust of power (Olshansky et al., 2020). The process of building knowledge around a subjective experience is common to both standpoint and fringe belief systems.

As with standpoint epistemologies, conspiracy theorists justify their beliefs using evidence ranging from personal experience to science to religion (Harambam & Aupers, 2021). And just as minority groups’ concerns are dismissed, scientists often discredit conspiracy theories, fueling perceptions of scientists as an exclusionary power elite (Harambam & Aupers, 2015, p. 469). In turn, conspiracy theorists sometimes challenge scientists and other legitimated knowledge producers on epistemic battlegrounds, privileging accounts of firsthand experience over scientific “facts” (Carrion, 2018; Sobo et al., 2016; White, 2014). Alternatively, those with fringe beliefs construct “scientistic selves,” rationalizing subjective experiences through appeals to science (Proctor, 2018, p. 506). This alignment might make conspiracy theories more compatible with various standpoint epistemologies by accommodating valued evidence types. Thus, we ask:

RQ2: How do ConspiracyTok creators construct and present “evidence,” and in what ways does this evidence challenge or reproduce hegemonic knowledge frameworks?

Method

Data collection

We collected TikTok data during May to September 2022. As a “side” of TikTok, ConspiracyTok constitutes a genre with similar techniques, aesthetics, and references, influenced by platform trends, stitches, and shared sounds (Schellewald, 2021). We triangulated sampling techniques to create a diverse, highly viewed corpus of videos that represented ConspiracyTok as a genre, focusing on videos described by their creators as conspiratorial.

First, we searched hashtags corresponding to conspiracy (#conspiracytok, #conspiracy, #rabbithole, #flatearth) and specific communities like QAnon (#greatawakening) and anti-vaxxers (#nojabforme) and collected the highest-viewed videos from the results. Second, we collected the highest-viewed videos from creators who regularly posted conspiratorial TikToks. Third, we identified sounds frequently used on ConspiracyTok and collected the highest-viewed videos related to conspiratorial topics. Finally, we tracked two popular “stitches” (two videos combined, often in a question and answer format) related to conspiracies, and collected the most popular videos. We collected about 250 videos and eliminated the ones thematically beyond the scope of this study, resulting in 202 videos from 153 unique creators, 48 of which were eventually deplatformed.¹ We watched each video and recorded creator, date posted, number of likes, views, and comments, caption text, background sound, and URLs for videos and creators. For nondeplatformed videos (n = 156), the mean view count is 3.6 million views, 433,000 likes, and 6,852 comments, representing videos highly viewed by TikTok standards (Table 1), as they exceed those of TikTok mega and macro-influencers (Dencheva, 2023), showcasing substantial engagement.

Table 1.

Engagement Metrics Across Nondeplatformed TikToks (N = 156).

Descriptive statistic	# Views	# Likes	# Comments
Mean (rounded to 1)	3,671,918	433,831	6,852
Standard deviation (rounded to 1)	8,417,281	1,050,335	17,518

Genre

As scholars have noted, TikTok videos are often connected through shared “communicative forms and memetic dimensions” that shape them into “unique genre[s]” (Stein et al., 2022, p. 1324; see also Maddox & Gill, 2023; Zulli & Zulli, 2022). These genres, commonly referred to as “sides of TikTok,” emerge through the repetition of specific visual, structural, and auditory elements across videos (Eriksson Krutrök, 2021, p. 5; Maddox & Gill, 2023). As Zulli and Zulli (2022, p. 1883) argue, this results in “imitation publics,” where collective participation is primarily “processural” rather than “interpersonal,” “discursive,” “affective,” or “experiential.” In other words, TikTok genres are shaped as much by technological and stylistic conventions as by content similarities (Maddox & Gill, 2023, p. 2). They originate not from a shared ideological stance but from a common practice of imitation (Zulli & Zulli, 2022, p. 1886).

This dynamic helps explain how the videos in our corpus, which represent a broad range of often contradictory conspiracy content, coexist within the #ConspiracyTok genre. While hashtags frequently serve to categorize videos within a genre (Basch et al., 2022; Pryde et al., 2024), the genre-defining mimetic patterns extend beyond hashtags. Users replicate distinct audio, visual, and structural elements of #ConspiracyTok videos, regardless of the specific conspiracy theory being discussed. Although our corpus captures only a small fraction of #ConspiracyTok content, it encompasses a diverse array of conspiracy narratives, all linked by these “memetic dimensions.” Analyzing these videos offers insight into how #ConspiracyTok’s genre affordances enable a formulaic mode of spreading conspiracy theories—one that operates independently of any single identity or ideological position.

Qualitative analysis

We employed qualitative content analysis, with two team members coding each video using a codebook written by the first author and refined through pilot coding (n = 20 and n = 3)² and subsequent discussion. For each codebook item, we recorded descriptive (denotative) information and wrote optional analytical (connotative) memos on our observations.³

Identity markers

First, we recorded perceived identity markers for each creator, including gender, race, age, sexuality, political affiliation, appearance, voice, setting, and emoji/text use. Many identity markers are difficult to determine based solely on visuals. We thus feared making inaccurate or biased assumptions about people’s identities, especially since all team members are White, cisgender women with positionalities informed by dominant White American discourse. This is especially complicated when considering issues of race and ethnicity, which are socially constructed, deeply contextually dependent categories (Baumann & Ho, 2014; Longas Luque & van Sterkenburg, 2022). Please see Supplementary Appendix A for details on identity coding and how we countered ambiguities in perceived identity categories.

Evidence

We defined evidence as “the available body of facts or information indicating whether a belief or proposition is true or valid” and listed evidence presented in each video to support claims.⁴ These included fictional media, Wikipedia page screenshots, Google Images search results, historical and stock images, news articles, video clips, dictionary definitions, book covers, and personal experiences.

Power

We operationalized power in reference to conspiracy by identifying “villains” and “victims” in each video. We also wrote qualitative memos guided by Reddi et al.’s (2023) questions: “What societal power structures and cultural beliefs about social hierarchies are being exploited? Which social groups are given power through these narratives, and which have their autonomy undermined?”

RQ1: Identity and power in ConspiracyTok

To answer our first research question (How do race, gender, and other identity markers connect to who is empowered, and who is undermined, in conspiratorial TikTok videos?), first we establish the identity markers displayed in our corpus. Second, we explore which social groups are empowered or undermined in ConspiracyTok videos by categorizing subjects as either victims (lacking power) or villains (wielding it).

RQ1: identity markers

Table 2 illustrates perceived race and gender among unique creators in our corpus (N = 153). Our sample displays notable racial and gender diversity: nearly 1 in 3 creators (N = 50) are women of any race, and roughly the same proportion (N = 55) are perceived as non-White of any gender.

Table 2.

Perceived Race and Gender among Unique Creators (N = 153).

Race, gender separate	Race, gender separate# Creators (%)	Race-gender intersections	Race-gender intersections# Creators (%)
White	65 (~43%)	White men	38 (~25%)
Black	38 (~25%)	White women	26 (~17%)
Other	17 (~11%)	White multiple	1 (~0.5%)
Other	17 (~11%)	Black men	21 (~14%)
Men	69 (~45%)	Black women	17 (~11%)
Men	69 (~45%)	Other men	10 (~7%)
Women	50 (~33%)	Other women	7 (~5%)

We coded creator age using perceived age ranges: teens/twenties; thirties/early forties; and mid-forties/older.⁵ Unsurprisingly given TikTok’s youthful userbase, most (64%) creators in our corpus were perceived as being in their teens or twenties—notable considering almost one-third did not appear in their uploaded videos and thus had unknown ages. Fewer creators (approximately 10%) seemed to be in their thirties/early forties, and even fewer (approximately 5%) appeared to be mid-forties/older.

Our qualitative analysis delves into the dataset for deeper insights into a sample of creators notably younger, more racially diverse, and more feminine than the American stereotype of a middle-aged White male conspiracy theorist.

Racial and gender markers

Most Black creators in our sample wear natural hairstyles like dreadlocks, braids, twists, and afro-textured hair (N = 19), or protective headgear like durags, headwraps, silk headbands, and bonnets (N = 12). The politics of Black hair are complicated, but such hairstyles are often perceived as inherently political regardless of intent (Siebler, 2022). While not all Black creators use AAVE, many do (N = 19).⁶ Black symbolic markers included Kente cloth, songs by Black artists, and screenshots of Black-oriented social media sites. This predominance of Black identity markers suggests these videos are made by Black creators for a Black audience, or at least that creators saw no reason to codeswitch.

There were fewer markers of other racial identities in our sample, although this may be related to the paucity of non-Black people of color. Some creators explicitly define their race for their audience, using skin-tone emojis in their bio or video captions (N = 7) or stating their race in their bio (“Kanaka,” a name for indigenous Hawaiian people, “Indigenous American Indian and German,” “I’m. . .Black”). This was more likely for non-White users, although one White user used an emoji with a White skin tone.

A significant number of female creators (N = 26) display what we call “curated femme” markers, modifying their appearances to align with heightened notions of femininity. Common modifications include long nails, apparent makeup, noticeable cosmetic interventions like lip fillers, and styled hair. Such markers are typical among fashion and beauty influencers on image-centric social media and reflect a degree of intentionality in creators’ self-presentations. Fewer creators adopt analogous “curated masc” appearances (N = 5), though we did record several conservative/patriotic creators (N = 12) displaying masculine symbols like trucks, guns, trucker hats, and hunting jackets. This asymmetry reflects differences in masculine and feminine expectations for on-camera appearance and higher standards for feminine grooming. None of the creators in our sample are outwardly nonbinary or genderqueer; thus, masculine and feminine markers in our corpus map onto a gender binary.

Americanness

Our sample is overwhelmingly American, though some creators possess non-U.S. accents. This could be attributed to English-language hashtag searches, TikTok’s primarily American English-speaking userbase, and our American research team’s search results being impacted by algorithmic curation. The U.S. government emerged as a major villain in our sample, raising questions about Americans’ inclination toward conspiracy theories and serving as a potential future comparison point for studying other communities. A small percentage of users display explicitly patriotic iconography, including the American flag and a large tattoo reading “We the People.” Notably, this userbase coincides with White working-class markers like trucker hats, hunting jackets, and political conservatism.

Conspirituality

Many creators (N = 25) display visible “hippie” or “bohemian” identity markers like tie-dyed and patchwork clothing; crystal, leather, and feathered jewelry; ankh, mushroom, and Egyptian eye symbols; and crystals, tapestries, and plants. Most Black creators in this category wear natural hairstyles like dreadlocks, twists, and braids. Conspiritual creators often make videos on topics like aliens, astrology, tarot, and veganism. Bios include lines like “Greetings Exalted Ones ” or links to (paid) tarot readings, psychic consultations, or yoga classes. Overall, these markers confer a somewhat spiritual or “otherworldly” feeling.

Intimacy

Many videos project intimacy, as if creators started talking directly to viewers through their phones. TikTokers frequently make videos in their car (N = 17), their home (N = 38), or in bed (N = 5). Such “pillow Toks” make viewers feel they are participating in intimate conversations.⁷ Other common locations include work, bedrooms, living rooms, bathrooms, backyards, porches, and kitchens. We categorized many creators as “regular dudes” (N = 37) or “regular gals” (N = 20) who look like “regular” people rather than influencers, wearing simple clothing like t-shirts and hoodies with messy hair or no makeup. Similarly, 12 Black creators wore bonnets and durags, typically worn at home or in relaxed settings. These creators do not adopt “curated” looks like their counterparts on other visual platforms; instead, they seem like they just got home from work or decided to post a TikTok while watching TV.

ConspiracyTok creators in our sample are primarily American but otherwise embody diverse racial, ethnic, and gender identities. Most Black creators interpellate Black audiences using explicitly Black identity markers. The significant presence of “spiritual” or “hippie” iconography also confirms the overlap between New Age beliefs and conspiracy theories on TikTok for Black and non-Black audiences. TikTok’s affordances, combined with many videos’ casual settings, contribute an intimacy furthering the everyday nature of modern conspiracy theories. The diversity explored in this section also plays into the second part of our first research question, addressing whose power is enforced and whose power is undermined.

RQ1: Power

To answer RQ1, we also had to determine what social groups are given power through ConspiracyTok videos and what groups have their power undermined. We operationalized this question by identifying victims and villains of conspiracy theories, assuming victims lacked power and villains held it. Our coding reveals diverse notions of “power,” like fame, wealth, governmental authority, supernatural forces, and access to social networks or interpersonal relationships. The most common villains represent a widespread lack of trust and suspicion toward powerful institutions in the United States, including science, politicians, the government, companies, and celebrities, while most victims are “the general public,” who fall victim to the “powers that be.”

The unsuspecting public and the powers that be

Overwhelmingly, the most common victims are “the unsuspecting public” (N = 63), encompassing anyone affected by a conspiracy. Several videos outline how historians are lying to “us” about the sophistication of ancient civilizations, while others discuss how NASA hides Earth’s flatness, causing “everyone” to erroneously believe it is round. These videos often involve grandiose claims, like the Illuminati controlling the world or the world ending due to a CERN-created multiverse. Such claims must be enormous to affect the entire world, distinct from smaller conspiracies affecting individuals or groups. The general public’s villainous counterpart is “them” (N = 33) or the “powers that be,” who conspire to oppress or withhold information from the public. This vagueness typically indicates a general mistrust of the other, particularly when the other party is seen as more powerful.

Celebrities, famous people, and musicians

A surprising number of videos feature famous people (N = 13) and rappers and musicians (N = 14) as victims, but just as many appear as villains (N = 29). The predominance of celebrity-themed videos reflects their power and influence, the vast information available about them, young people’s general interest in celebrities, and such videos’ viral potential. While celebrity victims involve everyone from Jim Carrey to Nicole Brown Simpson, rappers and musicians are predominantly Black and often depicted as victims of the music industry or the Illuminati. Celebrity villains are accused of selling their souls to the devil, joining the Illuminati, or having connections to Epstein’s pedophile circle. Thirteen videos claim Hollywood and the music industry are corrupt, Satanic, and decadent, often incorporating QA non-adjacent claims about cabals of pedophilic elites. In these, Black rappers and musicians often appear as victims subjected to “humiliation rituals” or sexually exploited by music industry executives as precursors to fame.

The United States

The most common villain in our America-centric dataset is, unsurprisingly, the U.S. government (N = 43). It is accused of nefarious actions ranging from unlikely claims (like secret treaties with an alien-led Galactic Federation or invading Iraq to obtain a dimension-traveling “stargate”), to legitimate, if widely unknown, government actions like Operation Paperclip and the Philadelphia MOVE bombing. People across ideologies criticize the government, from liberals concerned about the lack of universal health care to conservatives claiming the Biden administration lies about COVID vaccines. Flat and Hollow Earthers believe the government covers up Earth’s true nature. “Americans” are also the third largest group of victims (N = 22), as many of the government’s actions, including controlling the weather to prevent Texas from seceding, putting microchips in vaccines, or orchestrating 9/11, impact them directly.

Christianity

A significant number of videos (N = 16) reference Satan and demons. These videos encompass diverse beliefs, from Fundamentalist Christianity to the Black church to conspirituality.⁸ Among them, ten assert powerful satanic entities are attacking Christians, including government, schools, and corporate entities like Disney and Taco Bell. A subset of Flat Earth videos uses scripture to challenge the idea of a round Earth and accuse NASA of deception.

Black and White people

All but one of the TikToks framing Black people as victims (N = 6), while tagged as “conspiracies,” voice theories based in fact. One video asserts that after the Civil Rights Movement, the U.S. government aimed to undermine the Black power base by eroding the Black family. They removed factory jobs and training from Black areas to render Black men “economically irrelevant,” compounded by the CIA’s introduction of crack to Black neighborhoods. These beliefs are widely held by Black Americans (Hall, 2006) and mirror real patterns of White flight, urban disinvestment, and other structural factors marginalizing inner-city Black Americans (Wacquant & Wilson, 1989). The remaining TikTok was made by a White woman and remediates a video by Black conservative congressional candidate Billy Prempeh claiming that White liberal support of COVID vaccines is racist. Just two videos claim “white people” as victims, one made by an explicitly White supremacist group and another asserting progressive White liberals are racist against Whites.

Science and scientists

Distrust in science is evident in our dataset, as science and scientists appear as villains 29 times, but never as victims. NASA (N = 7) is vilified for concealing the Earth’s flatness and/or faking the moon landing, while CERN (N = 5) purportedly conspired with Hillary Clinton to summon demons and created a “multiverse” via the Large Hadron Collider. Others accuse scientists of hiding ancient civilizations, sea monsters, and giants from the public. This mirrors heightened institutional mistrust during the COVID-19 pandemic. Twelve videos address the danger of COVID-19 vaccines. Some frame vaccine recipients as victims due to harm, civil rights violations, or death from vaccination (one memorable video claimed the bodies of vaccine victims would be liquified and turned into fertilizer). These videos reflect common conspiracies among anti-vaccination advocates (Introne et al., 2020) and stem from our data collection timeframe, spring and summer 2022.

Children

Unsurprisingly, children appeared only as victims in our dataset (N = 17), primarily relating to QAnon concerns involving sex trafficking, pedophilia, or Pizzagate. A smaller number involved children being corrupted by Disney, the “woke mob,” or queer celebrities like Lil Nas X. These videos reflect social concerns over children’s vulnerability, common in conspiracy theories like QAnon and the “satanic panic” of the 1980s (Hearst, 2022).

Unclear victims and villains

A significant number of videos defied victim and villain categorization. One video stating that Hitler was killed by a time traveler did not endorse Hitler or glorify the time traveler, nor even claim this knowledge was deliberately withheld. Rather, the creator presents the theory as if it were an obvious corrective to the idea that a man imprisoned in a bunker could shoot himself in the head. Occasionally, actors could be considered either victims or villains depending on one’s perspective. One TikTok suggests Tom Brady sold his soul to the devil to achieve his athletic accomplishments, possibly villainizing him for taking shortcuts, yet also portraying him as a victim of supernatural forces. Other TikToks seemed to be produced for entertainment, like one playfully claiming that mountains are the remains of giant, fossilized trees, with the creator stating, “I f*** with this conspiracy—I think it’s cool.” (In this context, “I f*** with” is slang for “I approve of or enjoy.”)

In summary, to explore which social groups are empowered or undermined in ConspiracyTok videos, we categorized conspiracy theory subjects as either victims (lacking power) or villains (wielding it). The findings reveal widespread distrust of powerful institutions—especially the U.S. government, science, and celebrities—while the general public, children, and marginalized groups like Black Americans are most often portrayed as victims, with complex and sometimes contradictory representations of fame, power, and truth.

Summary

Our research finds that race, gender, and other identity markers significantly shape who is portrayed as empowered or undermined in ConspiracyTok videos. Black creators often center Black audiences through symbolic identity markers (e.g., natural hairstyles, AAVE, cultural references), and Black people are frequently depicted as victims of systemic oppression—conspiracies that align with real histories of structural racism. Similarly, children are consistently portrayed as vulnerable victims, especially in QAnon-influenced narratives. Women are visible both as creators (especially with “curated femme” appearances) and as subjects, though their depiction is often shaped by broader gendered expectations around appearance and vulnerability. White male creators are less visible in this dataset than in traditional conspiracy theory spaces, suggesting a shift in who produces and consumes conspiratorial content on TikTok. Overall, ConspiracyTok reflects both the everyday intimacy of the platform and broader societal power dynamics, where marginalized groups often appear as victims, while institutional actors (governments, scientists, celebrities) are cast as villains.

RQ2: Evidence

We analyze a broad spectrum of presented evidence to answer RQ2, “How does the evidence presented by ConspiracyTok creators relate to processes of knowledge production, social location, and institutional and social power?” We highlight the significance of visual media, close reading and fictional media, and personal experience and “doing your own research.” TikTok’s affordances enable creators to present evidence in various modes, as detailed in Table 3.⁹

Table 3.

Structural Clusters.

Name	Description	# Videos (%)
Curated evidence collection^a	Creators build their argument using visual evidence like photographs, Google results, documents, and video clips. They may or may not appear in the video, using the Greenscreen feature.	108 (~53%)
Personal experience	The creator speaks directly to the camera without showing visual evidence, often expressing personal opinions or narrating personal experiences.	44 (~22%)
Remediation	The video showcases an external video clip, screenshot, or image chosen by the creator to highlight. The creator may or may not be visible in the video. Usually, the content they present serves as their argument.	38 (~19%)
Other	Videos not falling into the preceding categories.	12 (~6%)

The Greenscreen affordance was only present in Curated Evidence Collection and Remediation since it involves extratextual material.

While some creators rely solely on personal feelings and experiences, others use TikTok’s affordances to remediate single pieces of evidence, like blurry CCTV footage of a supposed shapeshifter. Other creators use TikTok to create rapid-fire compilations of diagrams, images, and symbols. Most commonly, ConspiracyTok videos provide multiple pieces of evidence using a method we call “curated evidence collection” (N = 108). Here, creators speak to the camera while visuals like photos, Wikipedia pages, documents, or maps appear behind them, typically through TikTok’s Greenscreen effect (Figure 1). Creators’ voiceovers explain their interpretations of the evidence.

Figure 1.

Curated evidence collection using the greenscreen affordance.

Visual evidence

Most ConspiracyTok evidence is visual, including photographs (N = 74), video clips (N = 61), stock images or b-roll (N = 38), screenshots of search results (N = 37), illustrations and art (N = 34), symbols and logos (N = 25), news article screenshots (N = 29), and maps (N = 22). Reliance on visual evidence, often unsourced and steeped in the “myth of photographic truth” (Sekula, 1982), characterizes ConspiracyTok. While photographs and historical imagery are frequently of uncertain provenance, the ubiquity of screenshots from mobile devices provides a paper trail for viewers, serving as a quick-and-dirty citation practice and allowing viewers to “follow along” at home.

This evidence most commonly appears in greenscreen videos. Roughly half of the videos in our dataset employed the greenscreen effect, using photos or videos as backgrounds. These videos frequently mimic documentary genre conventions, often considered a legitimate medium of knowledge production even when they are not (e.g., Plandemic). This explains the widespread use of stock photos and “b-roll” footage. A video disputing modern human evolution concepts for excluding ancient “giants” used stock footage of the earth rotating and snowy and sunny fields. This visual content captures attention and helps visualize videos’ narratives, lending apparent validity. Claiming “there are tunnels under the Denver Airport” over a photograph of tunnels provides no more proof than the same claim without visual evidence. Nonetheless, visuals enhance legitimacy, given that baseline “research” is necessary to edit a screenshot or documentary clip into videos. They also show how well-crafted TikToks can feel credible regardless of the claims or “quality” of presented evidence.

Other videos rely on “seeing is believing” to validate their claims. A video of Bill Hader morphing into Tom Cruise (a deepfake created from a talk show presentation where Hader impersonates the action star) is presented as evidence of reptilian shapeshifters. Although digital manipulation of images and videos is commonplace, ConspiracyTok creators often presented obviously fabricated imagery as if it were authentic.

Fictional media and deep lore

Twenty-one videos used fictional media like movies, cartoons, and television shows as evidence. The popular internet theory that The Simpsons predicts the future was taken as a given, and it and similar cartoons appear in our corpus.¹⁰ The use of science fiction films like Dr. Strange and the Multiverse of Madness or The Day the Earth Stood Still was more confusing. We found two explanations. First, the theory of “predictive programming” holds that elites use depictions in popular media to prime the masses into accepting something horrible. A second explanation, “occult splashback,” claims that the Illuminati, Satanists, or other nefarious groups must disclose their evil deeds to avoid spiritual consequences, often through fictional media, music videos, or celebrity photoshoots.

Many videos involve close readings of texts, like a distorted version of media studies. Two videos by different creators analyze music videos by Megan Thee Stallion and Lil Nas X to portray the musicians as “Satanic.” Despite the overt nature of these videos—one depicting Megan in hell lying in bed with a serpent, and the other featuring Lil Nas X performing a lap dance for Satan—ConspiracyTok creators present their analysis as groundbreaking revelations, further contributing to the concept of “hidden knowledge” they purportedly unveil. Like fan theories, these TikToks extend the pleasure of close reading to a broad audience.

Fiction is also woven into ConspiracyTok narratives through the construction of what we call deep lore. The Hollow Earth conspiracy, for instance, includes maps of imaginary lands, an intergalactic cast, and its own jargon, connecting it to historical, supernatural, and religious contexts. Deep lore resembles knowledge about rich transmedia texts like Game of Thrones or the Marvel Cinematic Universe, requiring intense study to master. When we “did our own research,” we found that much of this deep lore originated in books. The Kingdom of Agartha: A Journey into the Hollow Earth, published in 1886 by Marquis Alexandre Saint-Yves d’Alveyde but available for $9.99 on Kindle, contains much of the Hollow Earth deep lore seen on TikTok. Similarly, books by David Icke and Zecharia Sitchin, who originated the reptilian shapeshifter and Annunaki theories respectively, are popular on TikTok and have thousands of Amazon reviews. ConspiracyTok creators often adapt and present deep lore long predating social media to young, diverse TikTok audiences.

Personal experience and doing your own research

Personal experience is highly valued and creators often share their own encounters. One creator breathlessly relates his late-night cryptid sighting, and another explains why he abandoned the starseed theory.¹¹ This form of evidence is challenging to dispute, as skeptics cannot negate a personal experience.

However, more common than personal experience is a reliance on audience interpellation. Creators encourage viewers to seek out and evaluate evidence, fostering mutual trust. One flat earth creator says, “if you don’t believe me, type in ‘biblical cosmology,’” while another demonstrates how to search Google for FBI documents about Illuminati bloodlines. Many ConspiracyToks contain lists of keywords providing blueprints for “going down the rabbit hole.” A video suggesting the United States invaded Iraq for a “stargate,” for instance, briefly mentions other topics like Prescott Bush’s ties to the third Reich, the Ziggurat of Ur, and CERN, each of which can be investigated independently.

Several of TikTok’s platform affordances facilitated the close collaboration between creators, viewers, and commenters. Sixteen videos employed the stitch effect, incorporating up to 5 seconds of another TikTok. In our sample, many stitched responses to two questions: “What’s a conspiracy theory that you 1000 percent believe in?” and “What’s a conspiracy theory that absolutely blows your mind?” Four videos used TikTok’s capability to respond to comments directly through videos, while another four used the duet effect, displaying two videos side by side.

Summary

RQ2 asked how ConspiracyTok creators construct and circulate evidence, and how this shapes or challenges dominant knowledge frameworks, social identities, and institutional power structures. We find that ConspiracyTok creators construct and circulate evidence through visual media, fictional texts, personal anecdotes, and collaborative research practices that mimic institutional knowledge production while rejecting its authority—producing alternative epistemologies rooted in social location, mistrust of power, and a populist ethos that values storytelling, intimacy, and the pleasure of uncovering hidden truths—what we call populist knowledge production.

ConspiracyTok creators weave unrelated evidence into a compelling narrative, capitalizing on apophenia, the tendency to find connections between disparate elements. By emulating documentary styles, using polished visuals, and citing sources through screenshots, creators legitimize their claims regardless of outrageousness. ConspiracyTok creators represent people who generate knowledge outside legitimated structures like academia, journalism, or science. They use readily available material, a “cultural toolkit” of media, to carefully construct “proof” for their often false claims. Fictional media, for example, is widely available, easy to understand, and has high production value that appeals to viewers. The internet has a wealth of accessible “evidence,” from Google searches to Kindle books to Wikipedia pages, that can be placed together in a documentary-like format to produce convincing support for even outrageous claims. Thus, we argue that ConspiracyTok creators engage in populist knowledge production, untethered from mainstream epistemic norms, relying on storytelling and intimacy to build trust in their ideas.

As conspiracies are positioned as light entertainment, they offer the pleasure of research, inviting viewers to explore interconnected ideas. Conducting close readings of popular media, recounting “deep lore,” and urging viewers to “do their own research,” ConspiracyTok creators encourage the audience to validate their theories. As one creator put it, “Remember to do your own research. I’m only here to plant seeds for you to grow.” This generous epistemology welcomes diverse explanations, adventurous exploration, and vernacular theorizing, freed from institutional authority and academic endorsement (Pippert et al., 2025). This is facilitated by the internet, where proof for nearly anything can be found. Anyone can create a ConspiracyTok on any subject with just a smartphone and internet access. Motivated viewers can connect seemingly disparate, or entirely discredited concepts, engaging in theory-building and knowledge creation. Conspiracy TikTokers mimic academic tools, working within alternative epistemes that legitimize different types of knowledge claims. The interpretive lens of conspiracy theories allows viewers to learn about a theory, gather evidence, and “decode” the world, revealing hidden messages themselves. This process is simultaneously a fun game, a means of gaining power through understanding, and a way to feel like an insider—legitimizing not just one theory, but the broader realm of conspiracies.

Discussion

Together, our findings reveal that identity and evidence are deeply intertwined on ConspiracyTok. The platform’s unique affordances enable a diverse set of creators—often younger, non-White, and female—to construct and share conspiratorial narratives that challenge dominant power structures not just through content, but through form. These creators mobilize personal experience, visual media, and collaborative research to craft alternative knowledge systems rooted in mistrust of institutions, centering identity markers that reflect their own positionality. ConspiracyTok becomes a site where power is both contested and reimagined, with marginalized groups often positioned as victims and powerful institutions as villains, underscoring how conspiracy narratives can both reflect and reshape cultural understandings of authority, truth, and identity. This discussion reflects on our findings and the inherent limitations of conspiracy theories as a form of standpoint epistemology.

ConspiracyToks, especially those on “conspiritual” topics, often unveil “hidden knowledge,” rarely meeting strict definitions of “conspiracy” and instead revealing information purportedly concealed by unspecified entities. It was frequently difficult to determine the actual extent of harm caused by denying victims the “truth” about topics like Khloe Kardashian’s paternity or the existence of a secret continent near Australia. But by foregrounding power, we can consider the indirect or symbolic harm of preventing access to privileged knowledge. This has historical precedent across marginalized populations, from poor Black Americans misinformed about their illness during the Tuskegee syphilis experiments to corporate cover-ups of hazardous waste in residential areas populated by marginalized ethnoracial groups (Bullard, 1993). Since powerful groups frequently deny that information exists—even when, demonstrably, it does—this legitimizes conspiratorial claims regarding knowledge hidden away by a shadowy “them.” The popularity of “hidden knowledge” videos also relates to the value imbued to personal experience on ConspiracyTok. People of color, women, queer folks, and members of other marginalized communities historically barred from producing legitimate, “mainstream” knowledge may turn to conspiracies as realms of knowledge production where their experiences are deemed valuable.

Importantly, who is seen as “powerful” varies depending on context and is defined by creators, viewers, or both. As Susan Lepselter (2016, p. 3) writes in her study of unidentified flying object (UFO) believers, the unspecific “them” embodies a sense of mistrust and unease, a feeling that “the true driving force of economic and political life . . . was not to be found in the surface ups and downs that might be declared on the news” but “a sense of occult and sinister operations . . . forces of good and evil, forces that became manifest in our politicians but far transcended them”. This could reflect general institutional distrust or stem from experiences not reflecting the “party line” of mainstream American politics (Dozono, 2021).

We find that some ConspiracyToks do follow a form of standpoint epistemology, including a video where a Black man discusses the suppression of the “Eve Gene” and the knowledge that Black women were the original people, accusing “misogynistic and patriarchal manipulation” of denying true history. In these videos, we can see resistance to hegemonic power, be it wealthy elites or White normativity, positioning ConspiracyTok videos as possible forms of empowerment for minoritized groups. Several videos in the corpus discussed obscure but factually accurate historical events, such as Ruby Ridge, the Philadelphia MOVE bombing, and Operation Paperclip. These are generally unknown among the general public, but serve as proof that the U.S. government is capable of horrific actions. Indeed, as Michelle Alexander (2013, p. 6) writes in The New Jim Crow,

conspiracy theorists surely must be forgiven for their bold accusation of genocide, in light of the devastation wrought by crack cocaine and the drug war, and the odd coincidence that an illegal drug crisis suddenly appeared in the black community after—not before—a drug war had been declared.

Similarly, while many videos feature celebrities as villains, an equal number feature celebrity victims, especially Black rappers and musicians. One video claims that the music industry imprisoned and cloned rapper Kodak Black and murdered the late rapper XXXTentacion for attempting to expose corruption and evil. While the fame and wealth accompanying successful music careers are forms of power, the exploitation of primarily young, poor Black artists by the music industry is a long-standing controversy. In this way, conspiracies are used to publicize and amplify evidence of structural inequalities long known by members of minoritized and marginalized communities—a clear form of standpoint epistemology.

However, just as common were videos accusing trans or nonbinary people of deception (N = 5) or the Rothschilds, Israel, or “the Jews” of controlling the world (N = 7). In such videos, the potential resistive power of ConspiracyTok is undermined, reinforcing hegemonic power relationships. In other cases, systemic problems were attributed to traditional conspiracy figures (reptilians, the Illuminati, Satan, aliens) rather than established systems of domination. This may stem from the simplicity of pinning deep-seated, seemingly unsolvable problems onto relatively flat villains. The U.S. government’s long and terrible history of exploiting marginalized groups and denying its actions does not mean the moon landing was faked or that a secret cabal of pedophiles controls the world. Similarly, the undeniable exploitation of Black artists by the music industry is attributable to complex interconnections between individual, relational, and systemic racism and corporate greed, not the occult or Satanism. This highlights the limits of conspiracy theories as forms of standpoint epistemology, as they reinforce both bias and factually inaccurate ideas.

Our study also underscores the importance of the religious positionality of TikTok creators, both Christian and New Age. Perhaps the association between religious figures and the supernatural is unsurprising, given both require faith rather than empirical proof. Connections between conspiracy theories and the occult are notable among both Christian fundamentalists and “new age” religious movements (Dyrendal, 2016; Jenkins & Maier-Katkin, 1992). Scripture and religious beliefs have epistemic authority in religious communities, but not in forms of institutionalized knowledge production like science or journalism. This may contribute to the sense of Christian victimization in videos positing marginalized groups like trans people or Black progressives as villains. While Christianity is not typically considered a form of standpoint epistemology, it is an alternative epistemology frequently conflicting with institutional knowledge production.

Our findings are also congruent with recent research exploring the links between spirituality and New Age beliefs and conspiracy theories, known as “conspirituality” (Ballinger & Hardy, 2022; Ong, 2021; Ward & Voas, 2011). Ward and Voas (2011, p. 103) describe this worldview as a synthesis of feminine New Age beliefs and male-dominated conspiracy theories, with two core beliefs: “1) a secret group covertly controls, or is trying to control, the political and social order, and 2) humanity is undergoing a ‘paradigm shift’ in consciousness.” While this maps onto conspiratorial viewpoints, it does not necessarily map onto right-wing viewpoints, discussions of “Pastel QAnon” notwithstanding. Jonathan Ong’s recent work explicates how spiritual influencers often straddle progressive ideals and viewpoints coinciding with the far right, like vaccine hesitancy or distrust of the mainstream media (Ong, 2021). This helps explain why so many Black creators, with little else in common with those believing far-right conspiracy theories like QAnon, may espouse the same fears of the “New World Order,” the Rothschilds, or shadowy “elites.” These topics thus serve as boundary objects between otherwise misaligned communities.

ConspiracyToks serve dual roles, as both relatively innocuous entertainment and reflections of genuine concern about powerful entities. Anxiety about the “powers that be” reveals unease with the status quo and the disconnect between “average people” and access to power and financial success. Conspiracy theories provide simple answers to complicated problems but perhaps accurately reflect the powerlessness that people feel in the face of rampant inequality. We find that while ConspiracyToks function as a type of standpoint epistemology for many members of historically marginalized groups, there is nothing intrinsically “empowering” or “resistive” about them. The same dynamics that enable creators to highlight historical examples of systemic injustice can be used to spread disinformation and falsehoods to spread widely and quickly. In some cases this is inconsequential, but in others—such as conspiracies about vaccinations, CERN, NASA, elections, and scientists—these claims undermine trust in institutions, decrease belief in scientific truths, and may even lead to violence, illness, or unrest.

Conclusion

ConspiracyTok’s popularity reflects the pleasure inherent in belonging, of feeling like an insider with access to secret information. This helps explain the many videos in our dataset that were tagged #conspiracy but, rather than focusing on conspiratorial themes, instead revealed hidden or “spiritual” knowledge. ConspiracyTok videos are also highly persuasive due to the sense of intimacy and trust cultivated by creators. This is partly due to the platform, where users swipe through full-screen TikTok videos primarily consisting of creators speaking directly to the camera, contributing to a sense of direct communication. This creates a parasocial relationship, engendering closeness through the informality and immediacy of the viewing experience (Giles, 2002). Such parasocial connection may increase trust in the creator and, potentially, an increased likelihood of believing what they have to say. And the primacy placed on visual evidence allows even the flimsiest theories to be supported by a seemingly meaningful series of backdrops.

The diversity of creators’ perceived identities in our dataset underscores the broad appeal of belonging through access to secret knowledge. This is augmented by creators interpellating audiences using shared identity markers, like Blackness or conspirituality, conveying trust and group membership. Creators frequently share personal experiences or engage in forms of standpoint epistemology, contributing to a sense of authenticity and honesty, especially as many look like relatable, ordinary people, in ordinary settings. ConspiracyTok creators welcome viewers to learn an intimate secret, conveying a sense of collective power and being on the same team against a common enemy.

The creators’ juxtaposition of their claims with discussions of power relations, though not always a simple victim/villain portrayal, explains the appeal of hidden knowledge. It highlights that, while access to knowledge historically favored privileged groups, digital platforms like TikTok democratize this belonging. The simplistic power dynamics inherent to conspiracy theories expose the allure of uncomplicated explanations for intricate societal issues, often scapegoating an ambiguous other; even historically privileged groups like White American men often framed themselves as victims of the “powers that be.” While standpoint epistemology can be liberatory when considering the oft-discounted experiences of marginalized groups, the form it takes on ConspiracyTok can be harnessed equally by White supremacists and QAnons. By telling conspiratorial narratives about the shadowy “them” victimizing “us,” the viewer is invited to share the sense of victimization with the creator.

ConspiracyTok’s generous epistemology allows viewers to participate, test theories against their own experiences, or engage in pleasurable “deep dives” into esoteric and often entertaining topics. They are provided with a toolbox to read media, politics, and the world around them, one that serves as a limited form of resistance to rampant inequality and seemingly unsolvable social problems. ConspiracyTok shows that conspiratorial thinking is part of everyday discourse taking place in everyday spaces. It is quotidian, not extraordinary, demonstrating conspiracy’s continued creep from X-Files stereotypes of shadowy basements into living rooms and kitchens.

Supplemental Material

sj-docx-1-sms-10.1177_20563051251357483 – Supplemental material for Shapeshifters and Starseeds: Populist Knowledge Production, Generous Epistemology, and Disinformation on U.S. Conspiracy TikTok

Supplemental material, sj-docx-1-sms-10.1177_20563051251357483 for Shapeshifters and Starseeds: Populist Knowledge Production, Generous Epistemology, and Disinformation on U.S. Conspiracy TikTok by Alice Marwick, Courtlyn Pippert, Katherine Furl and Elaine Schnabel in Social Media + Society

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank Yvonne Eadon, Parker Bach, and Jacob Smith for their valuable insights. This work benefited from feedback at the annual meetings of the Association of Internet Researchers and the American Sociological Association.

Authors’ Note

ChatGPT 3.5 and 4.0 were used to reduce word count.

An earlier version of this paper was presented as part of the Feminist Approaches to Disinformation Studies panel at AoIR 2022: The 23rd Annual Conference of the Association of Internet Researchers. Dublin, Ireland. (Marwick, A., Losh, E., Schluter, M., Markham, A. & Phipps, E. B. (2023). Feminist Approaches to Disinformation Studies. AOIR Selected Papers of Internet Research, 2022. ).

ORCID iDs

Alice Marwick

Courtlyn Pippert

Katherine Furl

Elaine Schnabel

Funding

The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research is supported by the Carnegie Corporation of New York and the Center for Information, Technology, and Public Life and its philanthropic supporters, including the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation, Luminate, and the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Supplemental material

Supplemental material for this article is available online.

Notes

Author biographies

Alice Marwick (PhD, New York University) is the Director of Research at the Data & Society Research Institute and a Senior Faculty Researcher at the Center for Information, Technology, and Public Life at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She studies the social, cultural, and political impacts of social media.

Courtlyn Pippert (PhD, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) is an Assistant Professor of Communication and Emerging Media at the University of South Carolina Aiken. She is a critical media studies scholar who studies how popular media functions as a form of knowledge production that upholds white supremacist and patriarchal power structures.

Katherine Furl (PhD, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at the University of North Dakota. Her research examines digital inequalities linked to gender, race, and class.

Elaine Schnabel (PhD, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) is an Assistant Professor of Organizational Communication at Weber State University. She studies identity, religion, and power.

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Supplementary Material

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Shapeshifters and Starseeds: Populist Knowledge Production,Generous Epistemology,and Disinformation on U.S. Conspiracy TikTok

Abstract

Keywords

Disinformation, conspiracy, and identity

Identity and epistemology

Method

Data collection

Genre

Qualitative analysis

Identity markers

Evidence

Power

RQ1: Identity and power in ConspiracyTok

RQ1: identity markers

Racial and gender markers

Americanness

Conspirituality

Intimacy

RQ1: Power

The unsuspecting public and the powers that be

Celebrities, famous people, and musicians

The United States

Christianity

Black and White people

Science and scientists

Children

Unclear victims and villains

Summary

RQ2: Evidence

Visual evidence

Fictional media and deep lore

Personal experience and doing your own research

Summary

Discussion

Conclusion

Supplemental Material

sj-docx-1-sms-10.1177_20563051251357483 – Supplemental material for Shapeshifters and Starseeds: Populist Knowledge Production, Generous Epistemology, and Disinformation on U.S. Conspiracy TikTok

Footnotes

Acknowledgements

Authors’ Note

ORCID iDs

Funding

Declaration of conflicting interests

Supplemental material

Notes

Author biographies

References

Supplementary Material