“Kindness” influencers on TikTok give money to strangers. Why is this controversial?

When Jimmy Darts was growing up in Minnesota, his parents gave him $200 in cash every Christmas: $100 for themselves and $100 for a stranger. Today, with over 12 million followers on TikTok and several million more on other platforms, philanthropy is his full-time job.

Darts, whose real last name is Kellogg, is one of the biggest creators of “kindness content,” a subset of social media videos dedicated to helping strangers in need, often with money raised through GoFundMe and other crowdfunding methods become. A growing number of YouTubers like Kellogg are giving away thousands of dollars — sometimes even more — on camera while encouraging their large fan bases to donate.

“The Internet is a pretty crazy, pretty evil place, but good things still happen there,” Kellogg told The Associated Press.

However, not everyone likes these videos, and some viewers find them performative at best and exploitative at worst.

Critics argue that often unwittingly recording a stranger and sharing a video of them online to gain influence on social media is problematic. Beyond clout, content creators can make money from views on individual videos. When views reach millions, as Kellogg and its peers often do, they earn enough to work full-time as content creators.

Comedian Brad Podray, a content creator formerly known online as “Scumbag Dad,” creates parodies to highlight the flaws he finds in this content – and its proponents – as one of the most vocal critics of “kindness content.”

“Many young people have a very utilitarian mindset. They only look at things in terms of measurable value: “It doesn’t matter what he did, he helped a million people,” Podray said.

From the recording devices and methods to the choice of topics, “kindness content” – like everything on social media – runs a wide spectrum.

Some creatives approach strangers and ask for advice or a favor, and if they bite, they get a prize. Others reward strangers who see them do a good deed. Kellogg is doing a “kindness challenge” where he asks a stranger for something and gives it back in kind.

Many of these strangers don’t know they are being filmed. Some YouTubers use hidden cameras and aim to capture subjects in a discreet manner. Kellogg said he wanted to be “as secretive about it as possible” but asked for permission to share the video after the interaction. Kellogg said most agreed because his challenge made them look “like a superhero.”

Another nonprofit content creator, Josh Liljenquist, said he uses a GoPro camera and tries to make the shot “extremely eye-catching,” adding, “Consent is the most important thing.”

Regardless of the recording method, the process is viewed by some as predatory.

“These people always find someone with cancer or someone who can’t pay their bills because they’re wandering around underserved and poor areas just waiting,” Podray said. ‘He looks pitiful enough’.”

Karen Hoekstra, marketing and communications manager at the Johnson Center for Philanthropy, studies influencer philanthropy on TikTok and says the videos sometimes exploit their themes.

“The model of the man on the street walking up to a stranger and giving him money — we’ve all heard that phrase, as terrible as it is — just seems like poverty porn to me,” Hoekstra said. “It’s exploitation.”

Calls for exploitation often come when YouTubers feature the same people in multiple videos, especially if they appear to be homeless or addicted to drugs. Liljenquist frequently features some people and claims that his recurring subjects are like his “best friends.”

One user commented on an Oct. 5 video that recent content made it seem like Liljenquist was playing “views case worker” because he posted several videos of a woman who followers suspected was struggling with a drug addiction has. He films himself bringing her food, giving her rides in his Tesla and asking her questions that are often answered with just one word.

Liljenquist said criticism doesn’t bother him because he knows his intentions are good.

“I love these people,” he said. “You love me.”

Some criticize the sensationalism of “kindness content,” but visibility is crucial to the model, which relies heavily on crowdfunding. Kellogg has been known to launch GoFundMe fundraisers on behalf of his video subjects, which typically bring in tens of thousands of dollars in viewer donations.

Kellogg, Liljenquist and numerous other creatives also use their personal accounts on payment apps such as Venmo, CashApp or PayPal to accept donations.

Tory Martin, also director of communications and strategic partnerships at the Johnson Center, said transparency around donations is “not an option if they only go to an individual.”

Although these creatives aren’t bound by standards and regulations like nonprofits, Liljenquist feels that donor dollars go much further in his hands than in the hands of traditional organizations, which he says are “doomed to fail.”

“Nonprofits — not all of them, there are some good ones — but I would just recommend that you do your homework on the nonprofits that you give money to because there are a lot of them that are taking advantage of the system,” he said.

Some YouTubers have set up nonprofit organizations or foundations to support their work, but this is not a widespread practice.

Podray said he is “100% sure” that some YouTubers are “accounting for something or there is some nonsense going on.” He also claims that select YouTubers are issuing counterfeit money to capitalize on the trend.

Kellogg said it was difficult for him to see fraudulent or exploitative videos, worrying: “Gosh, every Facebook mom just fell for it and thinks it’s real.”

While these videos are controversial in some online circles, they are part of a hugely popular social media trend with millions of supporters and thousands compelled to donate after watching.

Although Hoekstra has concerns about some YouTubers’ methods, she said the introduction to charitable giving of these videos is valuable for young people.

“Anything that can present philanthropy to them in a new way, make it accessible and exciting, I think is a good thing,” she said. “Of course there will be a learning curve, but I think it’s really exciting to see philanthropy need to be as accessible and understandable and embraced in these new spaces and in new ways.”

Some skeptics have become supporters. Kyle Benavidez said he always saw “kindness content” on social media and thought it was fake. But after his mother appeared in one of Kellogg’s recent videos and a GoFundMe Kellogg created for her raised over $95,000 to support her family while her husband was in the hospital with cancer, he said, that Kellogg’s online persona was true to his real-life character.

“There is a chapel in the hospital and I go there every morning to pray. “Hopefully something happens.” And then Jimmy came into our lives,” Benavidez, 20, said. “It’s like God sent him.”

Kellogg shows no signs of slowing down his philanthropic work any time soon, posting videos on his social platforms almost daily. Still, he says good deeds in front of the camera only matter if he and his colleagues keep going even when the cameras aren’t rolling.

“You can deceive people all day long, make money and do this and that, but God sees your heart,” he said.