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DJI Phantom 3 Professional Review: Stunning 4K Aerial Footage That Doesn't Break The Bank


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DJI Phantom 3 Professional review: Stunning 4K aerial footage that doesn't break the bank


DJI Phantom 3 Professional review: Stunning 4K aerial footage that doesn't break the bank

DJI's Phantom series have become a benchmark for consumer drones -- or quadcopters, if you prefer -- thanks to their simple setup, ease of flying and relatively low price. The current king of the lineup, the Phantom 3 Professional, raises the bar even higher with the addition of 4K video recording from its stabilised camera.

Its design is almost unchanged from the previous Phantom 2 series , with a chunky white plastic body, and it's still incredibly easy to learn to fly. It has improved image sensors too, which provide superior footage than previously available, and ground-scanning sensors to help it fly indoors. If you want to take your home movies to the next level, but don't want to fork out the many thousands for professional-level drones, the Phantom 3 is a superb starting point.

There are currently three versions of the drone available. The Phantom 3 Professional (which I review here) shoots video in 4K (3,820x2,160-pixel) resolution and retails for $1,259, £1,159 or AU$1,950. The Phantom 3 Advanced is functionally identical, but shoots video in 1080p (1,920x1,080); it costs $999, £899 or AU$1,550. Both of those debuted in April, but they were just joined by a third model, the more affordablePhantom 3 Standard ($799, £649 or AU$1,299), which strips away some of the better features of its sibling models and includes the same controller as the older Phantom 2 Vision+. (Meanwhile, DJI has also scheduled a press conference in Los Angeles later this month, making another new drone announcement likely.)

Ultimately, the Advanced is arguably the sweet spot, given the fact that its 1080p video will more than suffice for most eyes (discerning the extra detail on 4K displays is a challenge, to say the least). But for those who must have 4K, the Phantom 3 Pro delivers best-in-class video for many thousands less than you'll pay for professional drones.

Design

The Phantom 3 looks pretty much identical to DJI's previous Phantom models: a stout white plastic body, four rotors and narrow, fixed landing legs slung beneath. It's light enough to carry in one hand and, when you unscrew the rotor blades, it's just about small enough to fit into a decent-sized backpack. It's certainly more portable than the much larger Inspire 1 drone.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

It feels as well built as before, with the capacity to survive both the odd bump into a wall or a small crash while you're getting the hang of flying it. I managed to fly it straight into the roof of my house where it plummeted three storeys to the grass below. Aside from a few cosmetic scuffs, it was absolutely fine, and continues to fly without any trouble.

The rotor blades are easily replaceable if you snap a few. Just unscrew them from the motors on each of the drone's four corners. You'll know how to do it already, since the blades are the only parts you need to assemble out of the box.

The controller is roughly similar to previous versions, with two main sticks and a clamp to hold a tablet -- I used my iPad Mini without a problem -- which acts as the display for the drone's camera via the DJI Pilot app. There are small, fold-down brackets to hold a smartphone, with the app optimised for use with the iPhone 5S , 6 and 6 Plus . It was easier, however, to view the footage and use the app's small on-screen buttons on the the tablet's larger screen. Android device support is thin, with just the Samsung Galaxy S5 and Note 3 , Sony Xperia Z3, Google Nexus 7 II , Google Nexus 9 , Xiaomi Mi 3 and ZTE Nubia Z7 mini listed.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

On each top corner of the controller are buttons for starting and stopping recording and quickly changing camera settings like the exposure and angle of view. Using these physical controls is much easier than poking at the tiny on-screen controls while the drone is airborne.

Setup

Getting started with the drone is incredibly easy. When you take it out of the box, just start charging the battery and the controller (a supplied lead charges both through one plug), and download the DJI Pilot app onto your iOS or Android device.

Once everything is charged, switch on the controller and the drone, pop your phone or tablet into the bracket and connect your mobile device with its usual charging cable to the controller. Then, after a few simple steps on the app, you're connected and ready to go -- around five minutes of playing around had me up and running.

Before you take off for the first time, you can use the app as a training guide. You pilot a virtual drone around a field on-screen, allowing you to familiarise yourself with the main controls, without risking smashing your new toy into a tree. Even so, the first time you use it should be in a very open space, and you should stick to basic manoeuvres until you get the hang of it.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

When you first get your drone, it's worth checking DJI's downloads site for any available firmware updates -- oddly, I didn't see an update notification in the app, even though there was one to download. Updating the camera firmware is a long process, albeit fairly straightforward. You'll need to pop the camera's microSD card into your computer, download the firmware, unzip it and put it on the card. After you insert the card back into the drone and turn it on, it'll take about 20 minutes to install it, bleeping the whole time.

Flying the drone

The DJI 3 is every bit as easy to fly as its predecessors. Even just 10 minutes of casual flying around an open area is sufficient time to learn the basics. It helps that the drone is incredibly responsive and can accelerate -- and, more importantly, decelerate -- extremely quickly. If you see you're getting too close to some trees, a quick movement on the stick will instantly change its course to get you out of trouble or simply return the sticks to neutral to stop it in its tracks.

At close range (up to around 30 metres, or 100 feet) I find it easy to pilot the drone simply by looking at it. Once it gets a bit further away -- or it's above you, visibly lost against the bright sky -- then it's more convenient to use the camera view on your tablet, seeing what it's seeing, to help navigate. It automatically corrects for wind, so slight gusts won't throw it off course, but trying to get closeup footage of a tornado is not a good idea.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

New sensors on the bottom of the drone point down and detect patterns on the floor to lock on to, in order to remain stable when flying indoors, where a GPS signal (used for stability outdoors) isn't available. Although you could technically fly any of the previous drones indoors, the new sensors provide better stability, making it able to hover in a fixed location without any control from you. This made a big difference in my testing as I was able to fly the drone from inside my living room out of the window.

Of course, you have to be much more careful than when flying outdoors as there are various factors which make it less stable. Flying above a plain surface, for example, will give the cameras nothing to lock onto, and above about 2 metres (6 feet), it doesn't detect the ground at all and can easily start to drift off course. I managed to crash it inside the CNET office when I flew it about 6 metres (about 20 feet) above the floor and it wasn't able to hold its position. It was, thankfully, unharmed.

DJI reckons you can get around 20-23 minutes of flight time from a full charge of the drone's battery, which I'd say is accurate. It does depend on how vigorously you're flying though, so if you do plan on really hitting top speed at high altitudes, expect a little less time. Although that's pretty standard for this type of drone, it's still very limiting if you want to take it away to a specific location to capture footage.

The batteries are removable, and you can buy spares, but they'll set you back around £125, $149 or AU$205 each. Batteries compatible with previous models are not compatible with the Phantom 3.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

A return-to-home function will automatically bring the drone safely back to your location to land when it detects that the batteries are critically low -- it won't simply fall out of the sky. You can also press the return to home button on screen and there's one on the controller too. It will automatically bring the drone back to the location it took off from, which is a handy failsafe option to have if you begin to lose sight of it and want to bring it back to you safely.

Camera

As with the predecessor, the camera is slung beneath the drone -- but this time with a bunch of significant upgrades. It has the same 1/2.3-inch sensor, although it's been tweaked to provide better dynamic range. Exposure is generally more balanced. Bright skies are kept under control, while the darker ground is kept easily visible.

The Phantom Vision 2's camera had a habit of either exposing for the bright sky, plunging the ground into shadow, or exposing for the ground, resulting in a washed-out sky. The Phantom 3 does a considerably better job, producing rich, well balanced footage.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

The headline feature on the Professional model is its ability to shoot video in Ultra HD 4K resolution. It brings a tonne of detail when viewing the footage on a high resolution monitor, which is particularly noticeable when looking at small details on house roofs far below. The benefit of 4K footage isn't just to look crisp on a 4K monitor, it also gives you a lot of room to crop into the frame, while still maintaining full HD quality or better.

If you're shooting a specific object, this extra resolution allows you to digitally stabilise the footage, smoothing out any slight movements of the drone and ensuring the object stays perfectly central, without sacrificing any quality.

It can do this at frame rates of 24, 25 or 30 frames per second too, the latter of which will be great for long, smooth shots. If your shots require faster motion from the camera and the subject, then shooting at 60fps in Full HD will produce much smoother footage.

With the wheels on each corner of the controller you can tilt the camera up or down, and to pan simply turn the drone on its axis. You can point it exactly down, which gives a really neat view of the landscape, particularly when you take it really high. One of the main differences between this and the pricier DJI Inspire 1 drone is that there's no ability to control the camera using a second controller. If you want to shoot a subject with one person flying the drone past, with a second producer independently controlling the camera (which can pan and tilt in all directions), you'll need to splash more cash for the Inspire.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

The lens on the camera has a 90-degree field of view, which is narrower than the previous version. That may seem a step down, but it's actually for a very good reason. The extreme wide angles used by the Phantom 2 caused distortion of the image, particularly at the corners, meaning a lot of digital correction had to be used, if the footage was for a professional purpose. It's particularly noticeable when panning around a horizon, as you can visibly see the horizon curving down at the edge.

The narrower angle does make a huge difference, with considerably less distortion of the image. As well as just producing nicer-looking footage for your Facebook feed, professionals among you will appreciate the time saved by not having to digitally correct it.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

The camera is mounted on the same three-axis stabilising gimbal, which automatically corrects for any slight movements of the drone, and smoothing out vibrations from the rotors. It works incredibly well and results in much smoother footage, without the unpleasant jerks and bumps seen from drones that don't use stabilisation -- including DJI's Phantom 2.

Do keep in mind that when flying the drone at high speeds, or turning quickly, the gimbal will have to move the camera at a more extreme upwards angle to the extent that it's possible to see the rotors in the top portion of the image. Smooth motions will therefore produce the best results. You can see some of our test footage in the following video:

Live streaming

A neat new feature on the Phantom 3 is the ability to stream live video from the drone to YouTube. The DJI app makes it easy to set up live streaming -- you also need to enable your YouTube account for live video on the desktop site. It needs a good data connection, so if you're using a tablet or phone that doesn't have a SIM card, you'll need to tether it to your phone.

Streaming video is no easy task for a mobile connection, so you'll want to make sure you're on a fast 4G LTE connection for it to work properly. When I was on 3G, the YouTube stream being watched remotely was extremely jumpy and froze numerous times. On 4G, however, it was much smoother and gave a good view of the action. Its lower quality and lower frame rate means it's far less smooth than video taken directly from the camera, but it's perfectly watchable, particularly when the drone remains fairly still in the air.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

It might not be a killer feature for many of you, but it could be handy for news journalists wanting to give a top-down view of an unfolding event. Engineers too may find it useful to be able to fly into a potentially dangerous building and send footage back, without risking injury by entering themselves.

Conclusion

The DJI Phantom 3 Professional drone is simple to set up and incredibly easy to learn to fly, making it an accessible piece of kit even to those with only a vague knowledge of technology. Its drastically improved image quality, addition of 4K resolution and its excellent stabilising gimbal allows it to capture brilliant footage, with none of the jerkiness or exposure issues seen on earlier models.

Ultimately, the stepdown Phantom 3 Advanced -- with all of the same features except a 1080p camera in place of the Pro's 4K one -- is the better choice for most flyers, but anyone who needs the extra resolution (or the comfort of futureproofing) will find the Phantom 3 Pro a solid choice. Either one is a much more affordable entry into aerial videography than any professional drone, and is well worth considering, whether you're an enthusiastic amateur filmmaker or simply want to add cool, creative shots to your home videos.

CNET Senior Editor Josh Goldman contributed to this review.


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TikTok Parents Are Taking Advantage Of Their Kids. It Needs To Stop


TikTok Parents Are Taking Advantage of Their Kids. It Needs to Stop


TikTok Parents Are Taking Advantage of Their Kids. It Needs to Stop

Rachel Barkman's son started accurately identifying different species of mushroom at the age of 2. Together they'd go out into the mossy woods near her home in Vancouver and forage. When it came to occasionally sharing in her TikTok videos her son's enthusiasm and skill for picking mushrooms, she didn't think twice about it -- they captured a few cute moments, and many of her 350,000-plus followers seemed to like it.

That was until last winter, when a female stranger approached them in the forest, bent down and addressed her son, then 3, by name and asked if he could show her some mushrooms. 

"I immediately went cold at the realization that I had equipped complete strangers with knowledge of my son that puts him at risk," Barkman said in an interview this past June. 

This incident, combined with research into the dangers of sharing too much, made her reevaluate her son's presence online. Starting at the beginning of this year, she vowed not to feature his face in future content. 

"My decision was fueled by a desire to protect my son, but also to protect and respect his identity and privacy, because he has a right to choose the way he is shown to the world," she said.

These kinds of dangers have cropped up alongside the rise in child influencers, such as 10-year-old Ryan Kaji of Ryan's World, who has almost 33 million subscribers, with various estimates putting his net worth in the multiple tens of millions of dollars. Increasingly, brands are looking to use smaller, more niche, micro- and nano-influencers, developing popular accounts on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube to reach their audiences. And amid this influencer gold rush there's a strong incentive for parents, many of whom are sharing photos and videos of their kids online anyway, to get in on the action. 

The increase in the number of parents who manage accounts for their kids -- child influencers' parents are often referred to as "sharents" -- opens the door to exploitation or other dangers. With almost no industry guardrails in place, these parents find themselves in an unregulated wild west. They're the only arbiters of how much exposure their children get, how much work their kids do, and what happens to money earned through any content they feature in.

Instagram didn't respond to multiple requests for comment about whether it takes any steps to safeguard child influencers. A representative for TikTok said the company has a zero-tolerance approach to sexual exploitation and pointed to policies to protect accounts of users under the age of 16. But these policies don't apply to parents posting with or on behalf of their children. YouTube didn't immediately respond to a request for comment.

"When parents share about their children online, they act as both the gatekeeper -- the one tasked with protecting a child's personal information -- and as the gate opener," said Stacey Steinberg, a professor of law at the University of Florida and author of the book Growing Up Shared. As the gate opener, "they benefit, gaining both social and possibly financial capital by their online disclosures."

The reality is that some parents neglect the gatekeeping and leave the gate wide open for any internet stranger to walk through unchecked. And walk through they do.

Meet the sharents

Mollie is an aspiring dancer and model with an Instagram following of 122,000 people. Her age is ambiguous but she could be anywhere from 11-13, meaning it's unlikely she's old enough to meet the social media platform's minimum age requirement. Her account is managed by her father, Chris, whose own account is linked in her bio, bringing things in line with Instagram's policy. (Chris didn't respond to a request for comment.)

You don't have to travel far on Instagram to discover accounts such as Mollie's, where grown men openly leer at preteen girls. Public-facing, parent-run accounts dedicated to dancers and gymnasts -- who are under the age of 13 and too young to have accounts of their own -- number in the thousands. (To protect privacy, we've chosen not to identify Mollie, which isn't her real name, or any other minors who haven't already appeared in the media.)

Parents use these accounts, which can have tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of followers, to raise their daughters' profiles by posting photos of them posing and demonstrating their flexibility in bikinis and leotards. The comment sections are often flooded with sexualized remarks. A single, ugly word appeared under one group shot of several young girls in bikinis: "orgy."

Some parents try to contain the damage by limiting comments on posts that attract too much attention. The parent running one dancer account took a break from regular scheduling to post a pastel-hued graphic reminding other parents to review their followers regularly. "After seeing multiple stories and posts from dance photographers we admire about cleaning up followers, I decided to spend time cleaning," read the caption. "I was shocked at how many creeps got through as followers."

But "cleaning up" means engaging in a never-ending game of whack-a-mole to keep unwanted followers at bay, and it ignores the fact that you don't need to be following a public account to view the posts. Photos of children are regularly reposted on fan or aggregator accounts, over which parents have no control, and they can also be served up through hashtags or through Instagram's discovery algorithms.

The simple truth is that publicly posted content is anyone's for the taking. "Once public engagement happens, it is very hard, if not impossible, to really put meaningful boundaries around it," said Leah Plunkett, author of the book Sharenthood and a member of the faculty at Harvard Law School.

This concern is at the heart of the current drama concerning the TikTok account @wren.eleanor. Wren is an adorable blonde 3-year-old girl, and the account, which has 17.3 million followers, is managed by her mother, Jacquelyn, who posts videos almost exclusively of her child. 

Concerned onlookers have pointed Jacquelyn toward comments that appear to be predatory, and have warned her that videos in which Wren is in a bathing suit, pretending to insert a tampon, or eating various foodstuffs have more watches, likes and saves than other content. They claim her reluctance to stop posting in spite of their warnings demonstrates she's prioritizing the income from her account over Wren's safety. Jacquelyn didn't respond to several requests for comment.

Last year, the FBI ran a campaign in which it estimated that there were 500,000 predators online every day -- and that's just in the US. Right now, across social platforms, we're seeing the growth of digital marketplaces that hinge on child exploitation, said Plunkett. She doesn't want to tell other parents what to do, she added, but she wants them to be aware that there's "a very real, very pressing threat that even innocent content that they put up about their children is very likely to be repurposed and find its way into those marketplaces."

Naivete vs. exploitation

When parent influencers started out in the world of blogging over a decade ago, the industry wasn't exploitative in the same way it is today, said Crystal Abidin, an academic from Curtin University who specializes in internet cultures. When you trace the child influencer industry back to its roots, what you find is parents, usually mothers, reaching out to one another to connect. "It first came from a place of care among these parent influencers," she said.

Over time, the industry shifted, centering on children more and more as advertising dollars flowed in and new marketplaces formed. 

Education about the risks hasn't caught up, which is why people like Sarah Adams, a Vancouver mom who runs the TikTok account @mom.uncharted, have taken it upon themselves to raise the flag on those risks. "My ultimate goal is just have parents pause and reflect on the state of sharenting right now," she said. 

But as Mom Uncharted, Adams is also part of a wider unofficial and informal watchdog group of internet moms and child safety experts shedding light on the often disturbing way in which some parents are, sometimes knowingly, exploiting their children online.

The troubling behavior uncovered by Adams and others suggests there's more than naivete at play -- specifically when parents sign up for and advertise services that let people buy "exclusive" or "VIP" access to content featuring their children.

Some parent-run social media accounts that Adams has found linked out to a site called SelectSets, which lets the parents sell photo sets of their children. One account offered sets with titles such as "2 little princesses." SelectSets has described the service as "a classy and professional" option for influencers to monetize content, allowing them to "avoid the stigma often associated with other platforms."

Over the last few weeks, SelectSets has gone offline and no owner could be traced for comment.

In addition to selling photos, many parent-run dancer accounts, Mollie's included, allow strangers to send the dancers swimwear and underwear from the dancers' Amazon wish lists, or money to "sponsor" them to "realize their dream" or support them on their "journeys."

While there's nothing technically illegal about anything these parents are doing, they're placing their children in a gray area that's not explicitly sexual but that many people would consider to be sexualized. The business model of using an Amazon wish list is one commonly embraced by online sugar babies who accept money and gifts from older men.

"Our Conditions of Use and Sale make clear that users of Amazon Services must be 18 or older or accompanied by a parent or guardian," said an Amazon spokesperson in a statement. "In rare cases where we are made aware that an account has been opened by a minor without permission, we close the account."

Adams says it's unlikely to be other 11-year-olds sending their pocket money to these girls so they attend their next bikini modeling shoot. "Who the fuck do you think is tipping these kids?" she said. "It's predators who are liking the way you exploit your child and giving them all the content they need."

Turning points

Plunkett distinguishes between parents who are casually sharing content that features their kids and parents who are sharing for profit, an activity she describes as "commercial sharenting." 

"You are taking your child, or in some cases, your broader family's private or intimate moments, and sharing them digitally, in the hope of having some kind of current or future financial benefit," she said.

No matter the parent's hopes or intentions, any time children appear in public-facing social media content, that content has the potential to go viral, and when it does, parents have a choice to either lean in and monetize it or try to rein it in.

During Abidin's research -- in which she follows the changing activities of the same influencers over time -- she's found that many influencer parents reach a turning point. It can be triggered by something as simple as other children at school being aware of their child's celebrity or their child not enjoying it anymore, or as serious as being involved in a car chase while trying to escape fans (an occurrence recounted to Abidin by one of her research subjects). 

One influencer, Katy Rose Pritchard, who has almost 92,000 Instagram followers, decided to stop showing her children's faces on social media this year after she discovered they were being used to create role-playing accounts. People had taken photos of her children that she'd posted and used them to create fictional profiles of children for personal gratification, which she said in a post made her feel "violated."

All these examples highlight the different kinds of threats sharents are exposing their children to. Plunkett describes three "buckets" of risk tied to publicly sharing content online. The first and perhaps most obvious are risks involving criminal and/or dangerous behavior, posing a direct threat to the child. 

The second are indirect risks, where content posted featuring children can be taken, reused, analyzed or repurposed by people with nefarious motives. Consequences include anything from bullying to harming future job prospects to millions of people having access to children's medical information -- a common trope on YouTube is a video with a melodramatic title and thumbnail involving a child's trip to the hospital, in which influencer parents with sick kids will document their health journeys in blow-by-blow detail.

The third set of risks are probably the least talked about, but they involve potential harm to a child's sense of self. If you're a child influencer, how you see yourself as a person and your ability to develop into an adult is "going to be shaped and in some instances impeded by the fact that your parents are creating this public performance persona for you," said Plunkett.

Often children won't be aware of what this public persona looks like to the audience and how it's being interpreted. They may not even be aware it exists. But at some point, as happened with Barkman, the private world in which content is created and the public world in which it's consumed will inevitably collide. At that point, the child will be thrust into the position of confronting the persona that's been created for them.

"As kids get older, they naturally want to define themselves on their own terms, and if parents have overshared about them in public spaces, that can be difficult, as many will already have notions about who that child is or what that child may like," said Steinberg. "These notions, of course, may be incorrect. And some children may value privacy and wish their life stories were theirs -- not their parents -- to tell."

Savannah and Cole LaBrant with daughter Everleigh

Savannah and Cole LaBrant have documented nearly everything about their children's lives.

Jim Spellman/WireImage

This aspect of having their real-life stories made public is a key factor distinguishing children working in social media from children working in the professional entertainment industry, who usually play fictional roles. Many children who will become teens and adults in the next couple of decades will have to reckon with the fact that their parents put their most vulnerable moments on the internet for the world to see -- their meltdowns, their humiliation, their most personal moments. 

One influencer family, the LaBrants, were forced to issue a public apology in 2019 after they played an April Fools' Day Joke on their 6-year-old daughter Everleigh. The family pretended they were giving her dog away, eliciting tears throughout the video. As a result, many viewers felt that her parents, Sav and Cole, had inflicted unnecessary distress on her.

In the past few months, parents who film their children during meltdowns to demonstrate how to calm them down have found themselves the subject of ire on parenting Subreddits. Their critics argue that it's unfair to post content of children when they're at their most vulnerable, as it shows a lack of respect for a child's right to privacy.

Privacy-centric parenting

Even the staunchest advocates of child privacy know and understand the parental instinct of wanting to share their children's cuteness and talent with the world. "Our kids are the things usually we're the most proud of, the most excited about," said Adams. "It is normal to want to show them off and be proud of them."

When Adams started her account two years ago, she said her views were seen as more polarizing. But increasingly people seem to relate and share her concerns. Most of these are "average parents," naive to the risks they're exposing their kids to, but some are "commercial sharents" too.

Even though they don't always see eye to eye, the private conversations she's had with parents of children (she doesn't publicly call out anyone) with massive social media presences have been civil and productive. "I hope it opens more parents' eyes to the reality of the situation, because frankly this is all just a large social experiment," she said. "And it's being done on our kids. And that just doesn't seem like a good idea."

For Barkman, it's been "surprisingly easy, and hugely beneficial" to stop sharing content about her son. She's more present, and focuses only on capturing memories she wants to keep for herself.

"When motherhood is all consuming, it sometimes feels like that's all you have to offer, so I completely understand how we have slid into oversharing our children," she said. "It's a huge chunk of our identity and our hearts."

But Barkman recognizes the reality of the situation, which is that she doesn't know who's viewing her content and that she can't rely on tech platforms to protect her son. "We are raising a generation of children who have their entire lives broadcast online, and the newness of social media means we don't have much data on the impacts of that reality on children," she said. "I feel better acting with caution and letting my son have his privacy so that he can decide how he wants to be perceived by the world when he's ready and able."


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TikTok Parents Are Taking Advantage Of Their Kids. It Needs To Stop


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TikTok Parents Are Taking Advantage of Their Kids. It Needs to Stop


TikTok Parents Are Taking Advantage of Their Kids. It Needs to Stop

Rachel Barkman's son started accurately identifying different species of mushroom at the age of 2. Together they'd go out into the mossy woods near her home in Vancouver and forage. When it came to occasionally sharing in her TikTok videos her son's enthusiasm and skill for picking mushrooms, she didn't think twice about it -- they captured a few cute moments, and many of her 350,000-plus followers seemed to like it.

That was until last winter, when a female stranger approached them in the forest, bent down and addressed her son, then 3, by name and asked if he could show her some mushrooms. 

"I immediately went cold at the realization that I had equipped complete strangers with knowledge of my son that puts him at risk," Barkman said in an interview this past June. 

This incident, combined with research into the dangers of sharing too much, made her reevaluate her son's presence online. Starting at the beginning of this year, she vowed not to feature his face in future content. 

"My decision was fueled by a desire to protect my son, but also to protect and respect his identity and privacy, because he has a right to choose the way he is shown to the world," she said.

These kinds of dangers have cropped up alongside the rise in child influencers, such as 10-year-old Ryan Kaji of Ryan's World, who has almost 33 million subscribers, with various estimates putting his net worth in the multiple tens of millions of dollars. Increasingly, brands are looking to use smaller, more niche, micro- and nano-influencers, developing popular accounts on Instagram, TikTok and YouTube to reach their audiences. And amid this influencer gold rush there's a strong incentive for parents, many of whom are sharing photos and videos of their kids online anyway, to get in on the action. 

The increase in the number of parents who manage accounts for their kids -- child influencers' parents are often referred to as "sharents" -- opens the door to exploitation or other dangers. With almost no industry guardrails in place, these parents find themselves in an unregulated wild west. They're the only arbiters of how much exposure their children get, how much work their kids do, and what happens to money earned through any content they feature in.

Instagram didn't respond to multiple requests for comment about whether it takes any steps to safeguard child influencers. A representative for TikTok said the company has a zero-tolerance approach to sexual exploitation and pointed to policies to protect accounts of users under the age of 16. But these policies don't apply to parents posting with or on behalf of their children. YouTube didn't immediately respond to a request for comment.

"When parents share about their children online, they act as both the gatekeeper -- the one tasked with protecting a child's personal information -- and as the gate opener," said Stacey Steinberg, a professor of law at the University of Florida and author of the book Growing Up Shared. As the gate opener, "they benefit, gaining both social and possibly financial capital by their online disclosures."

The reality is that some parents neglect the gatekeeping and leave the gate wide open for any internet stranger to walk through unchecked. And walk through they do.

Meet the sharents

Mollie is an aspiring dancer and model with an Instagram following of 122,000 people. Her age is ambiguous but she could be anywhere from 11-13, meaning it's unlikely she's old enough to meet the social media platform's minimum age requirement. Her account is managed by her father, Chris, whose own account is linked in her bio, bringing things in line with Instagram's policy. (Chris didn't respond to a request for comment.)

You don't have to travel far on Instagram to discover accounts such as Mollie's, where grown men openly leer at preteen girls. Public-facing, parent-run accounts dedicated to dancers and gymnasts -- who are under the age of 13 and too young to have accounts of their own -- number in the thousands. (To protect privacy, we've chosen not to identify Mollie, which isn't her real name, or any other minors who haven't already appeared in the media.)

Parents use these accounts, which can have tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of followers, to raise their daughters' profiles by posting photos of them posing and demonstrating their flexibility in bikinis and leotards. The comment sections are often flooded with sexualized remarks. A single, ugly word appeared under one group shot of several young girls in bikinis: "orgy."

Some parents try to contain the damage by limiting comments on posts that attract too much attention. The parent running one dancer account took a break from regular scheduling to post a pastel-hued graphic reminding other parents to review their followers regularly. "After seeing multiple stories and posts from dance photographers we admire about cleaning up followers, I decided to spend time cleaning," read the caption. "I was shocked at how many creeps got through as followers."

But "cleaning up" means engaging in a never-ending game of whack-a-mole to keep unwanted followers at bay, and it ignores the fact that you don't need to be following a public account to view the posts. Photos of children are regularly reposted on fan or aggregator accounts, over which parents have no control, and they can also be served up through hashtags or through Instagram's discovery algorithms.

The simple truth is that publicly posted content is anyone's for the taking. "Once public engagement happens, it is very hard, if not impossible, to really put meaningful boundaries around it," said Leah Plunkett, author of the book Sharenthood and a member of the faculty at Harvard Law School.

This concern is at the heart of the current drama concerning the TikTok account @wren.eleanor. Wren is an adorable blonde 3-year-old girl, and the account, which has 17.3 million followers, is managed by her mother, Jacquelyn, who posts videos almost exclusively of her child. 

Concerned onlookers have pointed Jacquelyn toward comments that appear to be predatory, and have warned her that videos in which Wren is in a bathing suit, pretending to insert a tampon, or eating various foodstuffs have more watches, likes and saves than other content. They claim her reluctance to stop posting in spite of their warnings demonstrates she's prioritizing the income from her account over Wren's safety. Jacquelyn didn't respond to several requests for comment.

Last year, the FBI ran a campaign in which it estimated that there were 500,000 predators online every day -- and that's just in the US. Right now, across social platforms, we're seeing the growth of digital marketplaces that hinge on child exploitation, said Plunkett. She doesn't want to tell other parents what to do, she added, but she wants them to be aware that there's "a very real, very pressing threat that even innocent content that they put up about their children is very likely to be repurposed and find its way into those marketplaces."

Naivete vs. exploitation

When parent influencers started out in the world of blogging over a decade ago, the industry wasn't exploitative in the same way it is today, said Crystal Abidin, an academic from Curtin University who specializes in internet cultures. When you trace the child influencer industry back to its roots, what you find is parents, usually mothers, reaching out to one another to connect. "It first came from a place of care among these parent influencers," she said.

Over time, the industry shifted, centering on children more and more as advertising dollars flowed in and new marketplaces formed. 

Education about the risks hasn't caught up, which is why people like Sarah Adams, a Vancouver mom who runs the TikTok account @mom.uncharted, have taken it upon themselves to raise the flag on those risks. "My ultimate goal is just have parents pause and reflect on the state of sharenting right now," she said. 

But as Mom Uncharted, Adams is also part of a wider unofficial and informal watchdog group of internet moms and child safety experts shedding light on the often disturbing way in which some parents are, sometimes knowingly, exploiting their children online.

The troubling behavior uncovered by Adams and others suggests there's more than naivete at play -- specifically when parents sign up for and advertise services that let people buy "exclusive" or "VIP" access to content featuring their children.

Some parent-run social media accounts that Adams has found linked out to a site called SelectSets, which lets the parents sell photo sets of their children. One account offered sets with titles such as "2 little princesses." SelectSets has described the service as "a classy and professional" option for influencers to monetize content, allowing them to "avoid the stigma often associated with other platforms."

Over the last few weeks, SelectSets has gone offline and no owner could be traced for comment.

In addition to selling photos, many parent-run dancer accounts, Mollie's included, allow strangers to send the dancers swimwear and underwear from the dancers' Amazon wish lists, or money to "sponsor" them to "realize their dream" or support them on their "journeys."

While there's nothing technically illegal about anything these parents are doing, they're placing their children in a gray area that's not explicitly sexual but that many people would consider to be sexualized. The business model of using an Amazon wish list is one commonly embraced by online sugar babies who accept money and gifts from older men.

"Our Conditions of Use and Sale make clear that users of Amazon Services must be 18 or older or accompanied by a parent or guardian," said an Amazon spokesperson in a statement. "In rare cases where we are made aware that an account has been opened by a minor without permission, we close the account."

Adams says it's unlikely to be other 11-year-olds sending their pocket money to these girls so they attend their next bikini modeling shoot. "Who the fuck do you think is tipping these kids?" she said. "It's predators who are liking the way you exploit your child and giving them all the content they need."

Turning points

Plunkett distinguishes between parents who are casually sharing content that features their kids and parents who are sharing for profit, an activity she describes as "commercial sharenting." 

"You are taking your child, or in some cases, your broader family's private or intimate moments, and sharing them digitally, in the hope of having some kind of current or future financial benefit," she said.

No matter the parent's hopes or intentions, any time children appear in public-facing social media content, that content has the potential to go viral, and when it does, parents have a choice to either lean in and monetize it or try to rein it in.

During Abidin's research -- in which she follows the changing activities of the same influencers over time -- she's found that many influencer parents reach a turning point. It can be triggered by something as simple as other children at school being aware of their child's celebrity or their child not enjoying it anymore, or as serious as being involved in a car chase while trying to escape fans (an occurrence recounted to Abidin by one of her research subjects). 

One influencer, Katy Rose Pritchard, who has almost 92,000 Instagram followers, decided to stop showing her children's faces on social media this year after she discovered they were being used to create role-playing accounts. People had taken photos of her children that she'd posted and used them to create fictional profiles of children for personal gratification, which she said in a post made her feel "violated."

All these examples highlight the different kinds of threats sharents are exposing their children to. Plunkett describes three "buckets" of risk tied to publicly sharing content online. The first and perhaps most obvious are risks involving criminal and/or dangerous behavior, posing a direct threat to the child. 

The second are indirect risks, where content posted featuring children can be taken, reused, analyzed or repurposed by people with nefarious motives. Consequences include anything from bullying to harming future job prospects to millions of people having access to children's medical information -- a common trope on YouTube is a video with a melodramatic title and thumbnail involving a child's trip to the hospital, in which influencer parents with sick kids will document their health journeys in blow-by-blow detail.

The third set of risks are probably the least talked about, but they involve potential harm to a child's sense of self. If you're a child influencer, how you see yourself as a person and your ability to develop into an adult is "going to be shaped and in some instances impeded by the fact that your parents are creating this public performance persona for you," said Plunkett.

Often children won't be aware of what this public persona looks like to the audience and how it's being interpreted. They may not even be aware it exists. But at some point, as happened with Barkman, the private world in which content is created and the public world in which it's consumed will inevitably collide. At that point, the child will be thrust into the position of confronting the persona that's been created for them.

"As kids get older, they naturally want to define themselves on their own terms, and if parents have overshared about them in public spaces, that can be difficult, as many will already have notions about who that child is or what that child may like," said Steinberg. "These notions, of course, may be incorrect. And some children may value privacy and wish their life stories were theirs -- not their parents -- to tell."

Savannah and Cole LaBrant with daughter Everleigh

Savannah and Cole LaBrant have documented nearly everything about their children's lives.

Jim Spellman/WireImage

This aspect of having their real-life stories made public is a key factor distinguishing children working in social media from children working in the professional entertainment industry, who usually play fictional roles. Many children who will become teens and adults in the next couple of decades will have to reckon with the fact that their parents put their most vulnerable moments on the internet for the world to see -- their meltdowns, their humiliation, their most personal moments. 

One influencer family, the LaBrants, were forced to issue a public apology in 2019 after they played an April Fools' Day Joke on their 6-year-old daughter Everleigh. The family pretended they were giving her dog away, eliciting tears throughout the video. As a result, many viewers felt that her parents, Sav and Cole, had inflicted unnecessary distress on her.

In the past few months, parents who film their children during meltdowns to demonstrate how to calm them down have found themselves the subject of ire on parenting Subreddits. Their critics argue that it's unfair to post content of children when they're at their most vulnerable, as it shows a lack of respect for a child's right to privacy.

Privacy-centric parenting

Even the staunchest advocates of child privacy know and understand the parental instinct of wanting to share their children's cuteness and talent with the world. "Our kids are the things usually we're the most proud of, the most excited about," said Adams. "It is normal to want to show them off and be proud of them."

When Adams started her account two years ago, she said her views were seen as more polarizing. But increasingly people seem to relate and share her concerns. Most of these are "average parents," naive to the risks they're exposing their kids to, but some are "commercial sharents" too.

Even though they don't always see eye to eye, the private conversations she's had with parents of children (she doesn't publicly call out anyone) with massive social media presences have been civil and productive. "I hope it opens more parents' eyes to the reality of the situation, because frankly this is all just a large social experiment," she said. "And it's being done on our kids. And that just doesn't seem like a good idea."

For Barkman, it's been "surprisingly easy, and hugely beneficial" to stop sharing content about her son. She's more present, and focuses only on capturing memories she wants to keep for herself.

"When motherhood is all consuming, it sometimes feels like that's all you have to offer, so I completely understand how we have slid into oversharing our children," she said. "It's a huge chunk of our identity and our hearts."

But Barkman recognizes the reality of the situation, which is that she doesn't know who's viewing her content and that she can't rely on tech platforms to protect her son. "We are raising a generation of children who have their entire lives broadcast online, and the newness of social media means we don't have much data on the impacts of that reality on children," she said. "I feel better acting with caution and letting my son have his privacy so that he can decide how he wants to be perceived by the world when he's ready and able."


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