TikTok’s latest strategic maneuver is a masterclass in corporate politics, but its effectiveness is still up for debate. The 90-day cooling-off period, engineered with the flair of a Hollywood drama, has bought the app a bit more time, but it’s clear doubt has entered the market—and doubt has consequences.

While President-elect Trump’s proposed solution—a 50-50 joint venture between TikTok’s parent company ByteDance and an American entity—may sound like a political win, it’s far from a clear-cut resolution. Critics argue that this arrangement doesn’t address the fundamental national security concerns that have plagued TikTok’s operations in the United States. Namely, who controls the algorithm and its data? If ByteDance retains ownership or development rights, particularly with Chinese engineers at the helm, the venture fails to distance itself from the very issues that brought it under scrutiny.

But what about the creators?

For TikTok, the threat of an outright ban was a gut punch. For creators, it’s a wake-up call. When a platform as ubiquitous as TikTok signals instability, creators are forced to consider alternative spaces where their audiences—and revenue streams—might remain safe from geopolitical chaos. The trust underpinning social platforms isn’t just about data security; it’s about reliability. TikTok’s brief shutdown this weekend, whether a stunt or not, demonstrated just how quickly a platform’s future can feel fragile.

That fragility has ripple effects. Users—especially creators whose livelihoods depend on TikTok’s stability—will inevitably explore options. Creators, facing the awkwardness of having to potentially rebuild their audiences elsewhere, might feel unsettled—but not as awkward as TikTok’s CEO Shou Zi Chew and Tulsi Gabbard, Trump’s nominee for director of national intelligence, sitting next to each other at the Capitol Rotunda, and the seating arrangements may have been as awkward as the app’s current predicament. Chew was placed next to Tulsi Gabbard, Trump’s nominee for director of national intelligence—a position that will almost certainly play a role in deciding TikTok’s fate. If that wasn’t cringe enough, the Capitol’s tight seating also placed major tech rivals Mark Zuckerberg, Elon Musk, and Jeff Bezos shoulder to shoulder. While Musk’s animated gesticulations often border on awkward, the sight of Chew and Gabbard sharing what must have been an excruciatingly polite conversation surely took the crown for discomfort. Where will they go?

The uncertainty surrounding TikToks fate makes the platform a less attractive proposition for both creators and advertisers. The magic of TikTok’s algorithm—arguably its crown jewel—becomes less dazzling if creators can’t count on it sticking around. The “90-day reprieve” might just be the beginning of the end, and the spectacle surrounding it feels more like a Hail Mary than a masterstroke.

My takeaway here is simple: TikTok’s timer isn’t just ticking—it’s a reminder to creators and users alike: loyalty to any one platform is a risk, and diversification isn’t just smart; it’s essential. As the dust settles, TikTok may return to its perch, but the cracks in its foundation have already formed.