USES AND ABUSES OF YOUTUBE: THE STRANGE CASE OF BANU BERBEROĞLU

Özlem YILDIZ

ABSTRACT

The subject of this paper, Banu Berberoğlu, is a Turkish YouTube personality who used to publish
vlogs about her humble life in a provincial city of northern Turkey. Berberoğlu’s online presence and
visibility made her subject to public ridicule, as mocking her turned into communal entertainment for
those familiar with the persona. Though not expressed explicitly, the fuss around Berberoğlu seems
to revolve around her “claim” to be a YouTuber, anti-fans assuming that she does not “deserve” the
title.

Though many attack Banu’s personality, the fracas seems to pinpoint the question of who can be on
YouTube with what content. Many find it objectionable the content Banu produces and scold her for
holding a camera and nattering on, rather than offering the audience something tangible to watch.
We see Banu roaming about with her boyfriend, eating junk food, presenting her newly bought
clothes etc., accompanied by a monotonous speech giving us a simultaneous account of her actions.
Her videos are so unintentionally uninteresting that some urged her not to shoot again. Did Banu get
YouTube wrong?

What is at stake in Berberoğlu’s reception is the very question of what, YouTube is for; and through
the elaboration of Berberoğlu’s YouTube channel as a case study, the work aims to open further
discussion about what in Turkey means to publish on YouTube, based on a case, which, apparently,
has been deemed as an abuse.

Keywords: Youtube, Youtube Personalities, Reception Studies

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USES AND ABUSES OF YOUTUBE: THE STRANGE CASE OF BANU BERBEROĞLU

The focus of this presentation would be the YouTube Channel of Banu Berberoğlu, a 27-year-
old Turkish woman who used to post vlogs about her humble life in a northern provincial city
of Turkey. Though Berberoğlu stopped publishing content as of now, her channel is still alive
as people continue to watch and engage in the comment fights polarized between Banu’s fans
and anti-fans. Seldom expressed explicitly, the Berberoğlu incident revolves around her
status as a YouTuber, some mocking her on her “misfired” attempt, some giving unsolicited
advice and some telling her to quit right away. An exchange between two viewers is as
follows:

- A: (To Banu) There is too much to be written about. … Plus, you are not a YouTuber.
You must admit that. I feel sorry for you. …
- B: (To A) I agree with you except your point about her not being a YouTuber.
Whether watched or not every content producer on YouTube is a Youtuber.
- A (To be) Yes, the word YouTuber can be used that way, however she does not
deserve to be one. I wanted to mean that.
What does it mean not to “deserve” to be a Youtuber? Organized within the framework of this
question, the study aims to explore the way Banu has been received by the Turkish YouTube
community, with further implications about social media participation in Turkey.

Berberoğlu started to publish content on YouTube four years ago, in 2017, when she was 23
years old. As of today, she has 317 videos in her YouTube channel as well as 362 k
subscribers and more than 85 billion video views. The analysis of the study is based on a
random sample of 64 videos and the first 50 comments they received as well as the
discussions ensuing from them. Though it is hard to pinpoint a single incident escalating into
Banu’s rise to fame, the way she became famous is somewhat traceable. After she has been
“discovered” as an object of mockery, others followed the pioneers on the sport, not only
through exploiting the comments section but also engaging in more creative ways of making
fun of her. As the mocking campaign continued, Banu got self-proclaimed advocates speaking
up in her name. Banu struggled to save her face, but it seems that she lost nerves after 2 years
of being lynched. Banu’s last post is from a year ago, and the reason of her disappearance is a
topic of interest among the audience which is divided between diehard advocates and
nonchalant assailants.

Though there is a number of people who used to watch Banu because they liked her channel,
one of the main reasons sparkling the controversy is the idiosyncratic nature of Banu's
content, deemed unfit by Banu's anti-fans for being published. In fact, her advocates never

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back Banu based on the merits of her videos, but rather attack the bullies with the intention of
retribution. Most of the videos are like each other’s replicates, almost all of them being just a
little longer than ten minutes, as if edited to meet YouTube’s 10 minutes threshold for placing
ads. Most of the time, she shoots vlogs with her boyfriend as they go about their quotidian
life, eat junk food, roam about cheap supermarkets, have a picnic etc., accompanied by
Banu’s monotonous voice recounting everything she does as if transcribing for an audio
description. In a questions and answers video, Banu was asked by one of her followers what
the purpose of her life was. Banu replied: “I don’t have an aim; I live like… whatever…” Her
videos seem just as pointless as she proclaims her life to be. A typical example of her videos
is as follows:

It sounds like some lines are from Beckett, but the aim is neither artistic nor philosophic.
Many asked if Banu was trolling the YouTube community, stating that it was funny if she
were a joke and even funnier if she weren’t. In fact, Berberoğlu’s videos are so
unintentionally the way they are that it has been met with bewilderment, and then, afterwards
became a laughingstock.

There are different ways that Banu has been made fun of, and there is a sense of communal
entertainment with its inside jokes. For instance, other YouTubers made sendup videos, she
has been parodied on a TV show, and some created fake YouTube profiles on her name just to
appear in the comments section with not so graceful screenshots of her. Although some
comments are witty and clever, many are the repetitions of each other which seem not to
diminish the fun experienced by those who, according to their words, only come to watch
Banu to read the comments section while the video plays at the background. Some of Banu’s
videos have two to three times more dislikes than likes and it seems that some get pleasure
from just opening the video and hitting the thumbs down button without even watching it.

When the Banu incident broke out, the YouTube landscape in Turkey was not as diverse as it
is today. It is a question of interest whether Banu would have a similar reaction if she started
publishing some years later. Apart from the outright insults or hurtful mockery, many
reactions take the form of unsolicited advice, as her viewers make it their business to meddle
with her affairs and “fix” her, as uttered by one of her commentators. There are different
dimensions to this campaign to “fix Banu.” Firstly, people compare Banu with other
YouTubers and think that she falls short of measuring to them. Secondly, there is a socio-
economic dimension. And last but least, there is a cultural dimension, as in Turkey, the
concept of privacy is much more unalike the West, meaning that it is almost untranslatable
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into Turkish. All these dimensions are in fact intertwined but they would be dealt separately
for the sake of analysis.

To begin with, people compare Banu with other YouTubers of the time and try to teach her
how to be a “real” YouTuber. Their point of reference is well-known Turkish internet
celebrities like Danla Bilic and Merve Özkaynak, and the content they produce. Those
YouTubers, especially vloggers endorse a screen persona and forge a presumed intimacy with
their audience. There is ample discussion in the literature about the role of intimacy of online
celebrities, not only as related to Turkey but also worldwide. For example, Anen Jerslev
writes about Zoella, a female YouTuber with more than 10 million subscribers. She notes than
Zoella, who publishes vlogs, forges a sense of intimacy with her followers by directly
addressing them as “You Guys” and revealing personal details about her life through a
calculated narrative. In fact, vlogging is one of the best examples of confessional culture,
which involves strategic disclosure of personal information to build relationships of trust.
Confessional culture is traced back to the late 20 th century, affecting both social relations and
popular culture as in the example of talk shows. So, the media landscape was already
populated with confessional genres, however, YouTube vlogging significantly thrives on
oversharing. In fact, vloggers establish their narrative as if they were addressing individually
to each of their followers, forming a seemingly confidential para-social relationship, to build a
sense of partaking in the personal life of the internet celebrity. YouTube’s design and the way
YouTubers are using it makes possible this sense of both singularity and community by direct
address, calls to like or comment, making draws to celebrate a milestone in the number of
followers and the like. Another example would be the coming out of gay vloggers as observed
by Michael Lovelock which became kind of a genre, narrated by different vloggers with the
same script of initial confusion and gradual acceptance, forging themselves as role models.

The case is similar in Turkey, with vloggers’ performances masquerading as intimacy. For
instance, YouTubers like Mika Raul and Tuvba bring out topics about sexuality in presenting
their discussion as being anapologetic and open. While progressive in a country like Turkey,
it is a question whether or not these vloggers remain in a privileged position as persons who
can be in control of their sexuality, rather than encouraging a genuinely progressive
discussion.

Perhaps the most revealing is a statement from Kjellberg, the Swedish Youtuber
impersonating Pew Die Pie, with more than 110 million subscribers. According to Kristy
Beers Fägersten, Pew Die Pie uses extensive swearing to forge a para-social relationship,
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playing on reducing the social distance between himself and his subscribers. The sentence
uttered by Kjellberg, impersonating Pew Die Pie is revealing:

“There’s no preparation, no manuals, just full steam from the start. I turn into PewDiePie
when the game starts. Ehm, I speak English then, and maybe my transformation is easier
because of that. When I started, I spoke Swedish, but since I learned English through playing
video games, it’s easier to speak English. And I think that’s why my transformation into
PewDiePie is easier.”

In fact, YouTubers establish a persona to forge para-social relationships, through different

strategies like oversharing, invoking sexuality, swearing or direct address, which is not the
case in Banu Berberoğlu. She does not evoke a persona, nor does she try to establish a para-
social relationship, which indeed is not a deliberate strategy. In fact, there is no screen
persona, as well as no apprehension of it. Banu just opens the camera, and shoots whatever
she does.

Her channel has also encouraged philosophical discussions about her candor compared to
other YouTubers, her simple life which according to the commentators shows as an example
of real happiness with little things, away from the hassle of modern life making us unhappy
amid abundance. These discussions which romanticize the life of Banu as an idyllic isle, still
place the commentators on a privileged position, although they confess to have it less than
Banu, they also inadvertently evoke that they have more.

Hence, there is no performance of intimacy in Banu’a case, masquerading as a real bond

between the followers and the YouTuber. There is no need to confess anything, everything
just happens before our eyes. This is one of the main reasons for her being received with
bewilderment and seen as an oddity.

To continue with the socio-economic dimension of the equation, Banu appears to be from a
lower socio-economic status compared to the majority of her viewers, which seemingly are a
rather homogenous group in terms of income and education, observed from their advice, be it
about grooming her hair or how to dress. In fact, Banu emerges as a site of intervention for
her audience, as also will be further discussed in the following, as many make it their business
to meddle with her affairs.

Here is one of the “kind” remarks written by a well-intentional critic:

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Banu, unfortunately you have no goals other than being a youtuber, dieting and marrying
Mehmet. I know there are a lot of people saying this. I think you should do something about
your personal development urgently, read a book, develop your culture, learn a language etc.
You are a very nervy girl, you get angry by following empty things in your head, for example
the sounds of birds coming from outside.. I think it would be beneficial for you to get
psychological support. You have to go a long way to become a youtuber. First, further your
education, work (!!) and most importantly get involved in social life, this will start by getting
a good job. And your self-confidence will increase. For now, make-up is junk food. Traveling
with Mehmet is very empty and banal. You keep people busy with useless things. Please invest
in your own development first. Then be a youtuber again, or even the best.

Many urges Banu to read more books, not to buy cheap make-up, to dress like a woman of her
age, to get a job, to groom her hair like this or that way, to have her eyebrows plucked and the
like. These examples are not from singular instances, but they repeat again again throughout
the videos. People also reproach Banu for not listening their advice and say that she is very
stubborn as she, according to them, disregards their kind remarks. One commenter has even
said that they, benevolently, were trying to “fix” a person. Hence, Banu, as said before,
emerges as a site of intervention which links us to the conception of privacy in Turkey.

Turkish society have different registers in terms of what is considered private and what is not.
If the Western concept of privacy was applied to Turkey, we would interpret social encounters
as constant states of intrusion. The fact is even visible among strangers, like the use of kinship
vocabulary by minibus drivers when addressing their passengers, like teyze, abla etc. As an
anthropologist who conducted fieldwork in İstanbul, Sehlikoğlu recounts the following
experience:

While visiting Turkish markets in Eminönü, Sehlikoğlu was interrupted by a salesman who,
having thought that she was overweight, offered her herbal tea which was supposed to help
her lose weight. In her words:

“As struck by his bold move of targeting a potential customer’s perceived ‘defect’. I turned
round, looking puzzled, and said, ‘Excuse me?’ ‘It’s summertime’, he replied. ‘You need to
lose weight before you go swimming’. He was smiling with confidence. […] I walked off
unruffled with the words: ‘Perhaps you should start drinking teas for your half-bald head and
big belly!’”

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It can be said that privacy cannot even be translated into Turkish in one word. Scholars use
the word “mahremiyet” in order to convey its meaning, however “mahremiyet” has different
connotations. This in fact is an indicator of how privacy works in the country.

The Arabic root of the word mahremiyet are the letters h, r, and m, and another word, haram,
with the same root, means what is forbidden in the Islamic religion. Mahrem, in this case,
which is the adjective form, denotes which is forbidden. Also from the same root, the word
“mahrum” means deprived, or devoid of. So, the word “mahremiyet” connotes all these
related meanings and is related to the configuration of the social life of Muslim societies,
based on a special segregation of sexes, indicating who can be where at what time, especially,
with regards to the mobility of women.

Another word translated into Turkish as “mahremiyet” is intimacy. Turkish scholars mainly
discuss “mahremiyet” in terms of a “loss”, characterizing the age of social media as voluntary
but problematic breaches of “mahremiyet”. There is a moralistic tone like in the formulation
of broadcasting from “the intimacy of one bedroom,” framed a problematic loss of
“mahremiyet”. Therefore, broadcasting vlogs from one’s bedroom is considered to be
problematic as the vlogger are considered to opening up which is forbidden to the public.

What is problematic in these accounts is ruling out the fact that intimacy can be strategically
deployed by vloggers themselves, as a form of emotional labor and part of their job. Banu
Berberoğlu, on the other hand, is oblivious to this form of emotional labor. In fact, vloggers
are in control of what they reveal about themselves, framing what they share around their
project of digital self. There is no framing in Banu’s case, and the viewer encounters the bare
life of a girl from a northeastern town in Turkey. This combined with the lack of clear
boundaries in terms of what is private and what is public in Turkey, makes Banu emerge as a
site of intervention for her “well-intentioned” followers.

The example of Banu delineates how privacy is understood and lived both by scholars and by
lay people. The interesting fact about Banu is that Banu takes in consideration the unsolicited
advices of her followers. For instance, she changed her background, shortened her hair, tried
to better groom herself etc. To no avail. Thus, Banu turned not only into a site of intervention
but also into a communal project of transformation into a “real Youtuber.”

Banu does not post any video since the last year. So, it is a matter of question whether she
would return back and be the best YouTuber as her follower wished for.