Every Christmas during his childhood in Minnesota, Jimmy Darts received $200 from his parents: half for personal spending and the other half to give to a stranger. Today, with a following exceeding 12 million on TikTok and millions more across other platforms, he has turned his philanthropic efforts into a full-time career.
Darts, whose real last name is Kellogg, has emerged as one of the prominent figures within the “kindness content” genre of social media, which primarily focuses on creating videos that assist those in need, often featuring cash giveaways funded through crowdfunding initiatives like GoFundMe. Many creators, similar to Kellogg, distribute substantial amounts of money in their videos while also motivating their followers to contribute to charitable causes.
“The internet can often be overwhelming and harsh, but there are also positive actions taking place,” Kellogg stated in a recent interview. However, his videos do spark criticism, with some viewers labeling them as either performative or exploitative depending on how they are presented.
Critics express discomfort with the practice of filming strangers, usually without their knowledge, just to garner social media fame. Beyond the allure of clout, creators can profit from video views; those with millions of views, like Kellogg and his contemporaries, often make enough to sustain themselves solely through content creation.
Comedian Brad Podray, who previously went by “Scumbag Dad,” critiques this trend by creating parodic content that scrutinizes the nuances of “kindness content.” He highlights an issue he perceives among younger viewers who adopt a utilitarian viewpoint, focused solely on measurable outcomes, and often ignore the deeper implications of their actions.
Diverse recording methods raise ethical questions regarding consent and privacy in “kindness content.” Creators follow a wide spectrum of approaches, from engaging strangers directly to offer rewards for their participation. Kellogg conducts what he calls a “kindness challenge,” in which he requests something from a stranger and reciprocates positively. While many subjects may not initially know they are being filmed, Kellogg often seeks consent after the exchange, remarking that most are eager to participate as they feel empowered by the experience.
Another creator, Josh Liljenquist, utilizes a visible GoPro camera to ensure transparency, emphasizing the importance of obtaining consent. Despite their careful methods, some observers consider this practice predatory. Podray claims that creators target vulnerable individuals in economically deprived areas, allegedly seeking those in dire straits to film for views.
Karen Hoekstra, a marketing specialist at the Johnson Center for Philanthropy, argues that such videos sometimes exploit their subjects by presenting their struggles primarily as captivating content. She refers to the practice of filming a stranger receiving money as “poverty porn” that raises problematic ethical questions.
Accusations of exploitation often arise when creators repeatedly feature individuals, especially those facing homelessness or addiction issues. Liljenquist argues that he has established friendships with these individuals and believes that his intentions are noble and well-received.
Critics have pointed out that the spectacle of “kindness content” can overshadow the serious implications of laying bare people’s hardships for entertainment. Kellogg is known for initiating GoFundMe campaigns based on his videos, often resulting in significant financial contributions from viewers. While Liljenquist and others rely on platforms like Venmo, CashApp, and PayPal for donations, questions about the transparency of how funds are used linger.
According to Tory Martin from the Johnson Center, there is no regulatory framework for these digital creators akin to nonprofits, leaving the management and distribution of donations unmonitored. Although asked to operate with integrity, some sceptics suspect that a number of creators may not play fair, with allegations of deceptive practices and faux giveaways surfacing in the discussion.
The controversy surrounding these videos does not seem to deter the trend’s popularity, with millions of viewers engaging and donating after watching. Despite misgivings about the methods employed, Hoekstra recognizes that these videos can spark a new wave of interest in philanthropy among younger audiences, making charitable giving feel more accessible and approachable.
Skeptical individuals can become supporters; for instance, Kyle Benavidez transitioned from doubting the sincerity of “kindness content” to praising it after his mother was showcased in one of Kellogg’s videos, resulting in over $95,000 raised via GoFundMe for their family during a tough time.
Kellogg, who continues to churn out videos almost daily, emphasizes that genuine philanthropy should persist beyond the cameras. He believes that true intention behind charitable acts matters most, insisting that one’s heart and motivations cannot be disguised by the performance alone.