31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Stop, sob, scroll: A look at the viral formula of ‘crying videos'
Tears have never been so profitable.
Influencers on Instagram, TikTok, YouTube and X are making millions on the strength of videos in which they cry about… how much they love their mother, how heartbroken they are, how tragic their lives have turned out.
It's being called 'sadbait', and the term has interesting roots too. 'Sadbait' evolved from 'sadfishing', coined by journalist Rebecca Reid in 2019, in an article about a Kendall Jenner video. Jenner had posted an angst-filled series of clips about her 'debilitating' struggle with acne, in what turned out to be a marketing gimmick for a skincare product.
Sadbait is different in one key respect: it isn't manufactured grief aimed at selling a product or an idea ('I'm sorry'; 'I'm innocent'). With sadbait, grief is the product; and catharsis is the promised reward for the viewer.
The need for catharsis, of course, is an ancient one. Cinema has recognised and milked it since the dawn of moving pictures; theatre tugged at heartstrings before then.
Add social media to the mix and it's no surprise we have what we have. And what is that?
Well, the videos with the highest views tend to feature guilt and vulnerability. People cry over the life of sacrifice that a parent or sibling has led, detail messy breakups or discuss sudden layoffs.
In India, a lot of the content is young men in tears over how much they love their mother.
Sawan Mahali of Jamshedpur aka Motherman aka @Garibboi14 on Instagram, for instance, has collected 602,000 followers with videos that deal primarily with the challenges of a poverty-ridden life and the emotions of growing up and being the one to care for the mother who until recently cared for him. He often lip-synced to powerful lines from Hindi-film dialogue.
He was 16 when he started making his videos. Now 22, he has made such a killing from them that he has moved on to videos about how much money he makes, often lip-syncing to popular songs as he celebrates. His mother now features in Reels that highlight their improved lifestyle, one of hotels and airports, and reminisce about their past.
Meanwhile, in his early videos in 2019, Sagar Goswami (@sagar_goswami89) from Jharkhand positioned himself as a teary teen let down by girls who didn't recognise the purity of his love. In his videos, he lip-synced to songs of heartbreak against the backdrop of an unfinished brick wall.
Now 24, Goswami has 906,000 followers on Instagram, and his backdrops have shifted to luxurious travel destinations and elaborate photoshoot settings. He still talks and sings of lost love and of being misunderstood.
Tear factor
There is so much of this doing the rounds that researchers are already peering under the hood, trying to decode what's driving the trend.
Soma Basu, a media-studies researcher specialising in digital culture and online virality at Tampere University, Finland, says she began to study 'Indian crying videos' during the pandemic, fascinated by their 'unique aesthetic and visual vocabulary'.
She was intrigued, Basu says, by how the content kept evolving. Teary eyes and weak smiles alternated with melodramatic crying, real tears and filters. Themes got remixed but remained within the range of the familiar: financial worries, big dreams, sacrifice, feelings of love, and the pain of not being able to do more, all circling back to the overarching themes of guilt and vulnerability.
Interestingly, these narratives require little effort or investment (unlike a lot of influencer content), Basu says. Poor production quality and glitches only underline the emotion, adding to the illusion of rawness or realness. And yet they provide a sustainable livelihood.
In the attention economy, such a combination is gold.
As the fame and wealth accumulate, some sadbait content creators have become local celebrities, paid to attend weddings and inaugurate new businesses.
Hashtag healing?
Would a different kind of emotion work as well?
Sadness resonates deeper, its effects last longer, Basu says. 'While other emotive videos — ones that unsheathe anger, fear, disgust, happiness or surprise — feel fleeting, sadness is a more lasting emotion.'
There is also negativity bias at play, says Audrey Tang of the British Psychological Society. We are hardwired to pay more attention to negative posts, because as we evolved, it was often from negative experiences that we learnt the most important lessons: fundamentally, what to do or not do to survive.
Sadbait plays into this. 'Listen… there could be a lesson for you here,' it whispers.
It then offers the comfort of an easy fix: tell your mother you love her, hug your girlfriend, be grateful you still have your job.
Finally, there is the catharsis, as viewers see some of their own deep-seated feelings reflected on their screens. Comments frequently reflect this, with statements such as 'More power to you for being this brave' and 'I've been there too, so I feel you'.
Particularly among individuals who were not taught how to process their emotions, this kind of release can feel like a drug.
'If, as a child, you were told to 'Stop crying', 'Cheer up', or simply never had your feelings acknowledged, you may grow up with a need for acknowledgement, but none of the tools to provide that acknowledgement for yourself,' Tang says.
Sadbait provides the acknowledgement and the outlet.
