The gym has morphed into a content creation hub. Pls can we not?
Have you ever been to hell? I have. So imagine a gym during peak hours, Monday 6PM – and after finishing another day at the email factory, you’ve optimistically crammed yourself onto a sweaty bus with a rucksack stuffed like it’s for a DofE expedition (laptop, remnants of a sad homemade lunch, gym clothes…). But despite the shoulder strain, you’re proud that you’re about to deal with your frustration towards John from accounts in a healthy way. Then you arrive.
What greets you is a sea of bodies: curling, thrusting, swinging. You set your sights on your target: the leg press. You weave past fellow exercisers sharing the familiar refrain of “excuse me mate, how many sets have you got left?”, but just as the machine is within touching distance, a person cuts in front of you – and she’s armed. You trip on the leg of a mini tripod, temporarily blinded by the clip-on selfie light. Game over.
Okay so maybe that was a little dramatic. But is it just me, or is the gym feeling less like a space to work out in and more like a congested film set, with endless would-be (and actual) influencers capturing content in the space? And not all of them do so mindfully.
My journey to a joyful fitness routine is likely not unique. Growing up, I couldn’t outrun my body image issues – I’m built for comfort not speed – and it wasn’t until I discovered strength training in my early twenties that I finally began to enjoy exercising. Now I’m a regular gym goer, but I’m still prone to panic during peak times. I’m never brave enough to ask how many sets someone has left, and if the machine I want to use is occupied, I’ll probably just… leave. Even more so when there’s someone flexing (and filming) their abs in the mirror beside it.
Viral videos have shown fitness influencers annoyed at civilians encroaching on their shot. In one clip, one woman is asked to leave a gym after allegedly filming content for her OnlyFans. At my own gym, I’ve seen someone not just filming their workout, but interrupting other people’s sessions and asking if they can step in as a cameraman, before reviewing each snap and instructing the other person on how to improve the angle on the next set. Seriously.
This content creation factory environment, of course, began outside of the gym. In the 2010s, when TikTok was a twinkle in its predecessor Musical.ly’s eye, Instagram reigned supreme and this was where the fitness industry sought to capitalise on the opportunities social media presented. Gyms began offering not just classes but experiences. Listicles of the most Instagrammable gyms and classes gave rise to more visually interesting workouts like aerial yoga and bootcamps. One US gym planned a dedicated selfie room in 2018 after finding that 43% of gymgoers had taken photos or videos while at the gym (27% had taken selfies).
In the present day, the hashtag “fitness” has over 40 million videos on TikTok and over half a billion (yes with a “b”) posts on Instagram. We’re living through the continued merging of online and offline worlds: on a typical high street at any given time, you’re likely to see several clean girl aesthetic babes filming fit checks, two buzzy restaurants full of diners snapping stories of their pasta served on anything other than a plate, and a TikTok street interview taking place, where the name of the game is ‘ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer’.
But back to the now heavily-lensed gym floor. I truly do commend people committed to chasing the influencer dream. It certainly takes work to succeed in a saturated pool. The trouble comes when these goals of going viral collide with those of us that don’t share them – and in places (like gyms and fitness studios) that are meant to be a safe space, where we can quite literally let it all hang out. I already beat myself up about my body enough that I don’t take progress pics in the privacy of my own bedroom. Is it really fair that I now also need to be on high alert to ensure I’m not in the background of someone else’s content – and potentially face the scrutiny of strangers? I’m not alone in this worry either: Velotric found that 23% of people avoid public workouts for fear of being filmed and posted on social media, particularly TikTok.
Navigating around content creators becomes trickier still at busy periods. Are you planning on staying on that machine until you’ve got ‘the shot’? Am I allowed to ask how long you’ll be? The generally accepted wisdom among the online fitness community is to ask if people mind being in the background, but if I say no, what now? Do I have to find something else to do or will you move on? For me, that’s enough to derail my workout.
Though filming may be more prevalent, many gyms do actually have existing policies in place that cover this behaviour. The UK’s biggest gym chain PureGym states in its rules that permission must be sought before taking videos or photos and forbids posting anything that could lead to the identification of another member. But is anyone really paying attention to that? I fear not; they’re too distracted by catching their biceps in the right light.
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