Dance or die: Why brands must master TikTok now

By: Dr Linda NARH

There’s a particular sound that has become the unofficial anthem of Accra’s Tema Station Trotro queues. It isn’t a highlife classic or a gospel song. It is the distorted, bass-boosted intro of a TikTok audio clip, usually a snippet of an American influencer laughing, a Nigerian comedian yelling, or a 15-second lo-fi beat.

Look around the next time you’re stuck in traffic near the Kwame Nkrumah Interchange. The woman selling pure water isn’t just scrolling; she’s learning a dance challenge.

The university student in the backseat isn’t watching a movie; he’s lip-syncing to a sound that will be forgotten by next week. The man in the “obroni wawu” shirt? He just bought a vacuum-sealed ‘Shito’ because a video showed him how to use it.

Love it or hate it, TikTok has crossed the bridge from “teenager’s playground” to the most powerful advertising engine the world has seen since Google learned to organise the world’s information. And while global giants like Duolingo, Gymshark, and The Washington Post have turned quirky dances into billion-dollar brand equity, the question hanging over the Spintex Road industrial area and a number of local or Ghanaian brands is this: “Are Ghanaian brands ready?”

For decades, advertising in Ghana followed a predictable script. You saved for a prime-time slot on GTV or TV3. You prayed your radio jingle on Joy or Adom FM would survive the morning show banter. You paid for a billboard at the Tetteh Quarshie roundabout and hoped no one would crash into it.

Then came social media: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter (now X), which we all mastered eventually. But those platforms were built for the highlight reel. A polished photo. A carefully crafted caption. A link in bio. TikTok, however, does not care about your lighting kit or your marketing degree. It cares about relatability, speed, and vibe.

The platform has fundamentally changed the advertising funnel. It’s not “awareness → consideration → conversion” anymore. On TikTok, it’s “entertainment → trust → impulse buy” in under 60 seconds. A local soap maker in Kasoa can now outsell a multinational brand simply by showing the messy, real process of cutting neem leaves while a trending Amapiano track plays in the background.

Global data confirms this. According to recent industry reports, nearly 50% of TikTok users have bought something after seeing it on the app, even if they weren’t looking for it. That’s not advertising. That’s alchemy.

Think about the food vendors on TikTok. A small chop bar in Madina can go from selling 50 plates of jollof to 500 in one weekend, not because they paid for a campaign, but because a micro-influencer filmed herself eating there, rice grains falling on her lap, and said, “Mama, this your stew is criminal”.

Think about the fashion scene. Local brands like ‘Free The Youth’ and Wear Ghana are no longer waiting for Vogue. They are styling real people in traffic, on balconies, in the rain. The ‘Get Ready With Me’ (GRWM) video became more influential than any magazine spread. When a young woman in East Legon shows her 50,000 followers how she layers a kente sleeve over a denim jacket, that is a direct sales pitch, and it works.

Even the informal sector is getting it. Mechanics, hairdressers, and car detailers are using TikTok to show before-and-after transformations. The “POV: you finally find a mechanic who won’t insult you” genre is, unironically, one of the most effective trust-building tools in urban Ghana today.

Let’s be honest. For every successful local creator, there is a marketing manager at a major telco, bank, or beverage company sweating over an Excel sheet. The hesitation is understandable. TikTok is chaotic. It rewards imperfection. It punishes the Polish. Your beautifully shot, agency-produced, eight hundred thousand (GHS800,00.00) commercials will get skipped in 0.5 seconds if they don’t look like they were filmed on a friend’s cracked iPhone.

Many Ghanaian brands are still stuck in “broadcast mode”, shouting their message from a megaphone. But TikTok is a conversation. It’s a dance circle. If you stand at the edge and just hand out flyers, you will be ignored.

Globally, we’ve seen the carnage. Big brands that tried to force traditional ads onto TikTok failed spectacularly. But those that adapted, like the now-famous Duolingo owl, who dances and claps back at trolls, became cultural icons.

Another hurdle is uniquely Ghanaian: The fear of losing control. Traditional advertising allows a brand to say, “This is our message, delivered this way, at this time.” TikTok hands the microphone to the user. A brand’s official hashtag challenge might be hijacked, memed, or roasted. For a corporate culture that still struggles with negative Facebook comments, that feels like walking into a lion’s den.

But here is the secret the global brands have learned: “a roast is free engagement”. When Ghanaians mock a brand’s video in the comments, they are not hating. They are inviting you to play. The moment a brand replies with a witty joke or a self-deprecating stitch, they win the internet for the day.

Are Ghanaian brands ready for TikTok? Some are. The bold ones, the small chop bars, the creative fashion houses, the savvy real estate agents are already eating everyone’s lunch. But the big players? The insurance companies, the banks, the legacy manufacturers? They are peeking from behind the curtain, still trying to measure ROI on a platform that runs on vibes.

The truth is, you don’t get “ready” for TikTok. You jump in, “make a fool of yourself, learn the trends, and then run”. TikTok has changed advertising forever by killing the middleman. You don’t need a media buyer. You don’t need a prime-time slot. You need a phone, a personality, and the humility to laugh at yourself.

So, to the brand manager at Ridge reading this, your young consumers are no longer on TV. They are on the “For You” page, scrolling past a dancing griller in Abeka Junction and a man reviewing “Kelewele” in his car. The question is not whether you will join them. The question is whether they will let you in. And right now, they are holding the door open. But only for those brave enough to dance.

The writer is a Senior Lecturer & Programme Coordinator, UPSA)

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