From this perspective, the notion of digital platforms like TikTok refactoring basic elements of city life, such as eating in restaurants, seems less ridiculous, however unappealing certain manifestations of it may be. As digital channels continue to absorb cities’ traditional functions, cities’ role as generators of symbolism and narrative—which those channels in turn amplify and monetize—will continue to grow, supported by an ecosystem of brick-and-mortar business that reciprocally benefits from a wide array of digital activity. The Grub Street piece illustrates one strange facet of this shift.

Ironically, if TikTok suddenly became unavailable in the U.S., it would leave behind an internet landscape that has been completely rebuilt in its image. Even without TikTok, short-form video would still be king. There is also nothing in the Restrict Act—or any other proposal from Washington—to address the fact that users can easily download TikTok videos and upload them to other platforms. So yes, maybe our data would be safe without access to the app, but we would likely still see plenty of TikTok content from outside the U.S. across all their feeds. We just wouldn't be able to make any of our own. That makes you wonder if it’s worth fundamentally altering the legal architecture of the U.S. internet just because we’re uncomfortable with the popularity of one Chinese-owned app. Maybe—just maybe—all this ado isn’t really about TikTok, at all.