What are your rights if you’re filmed in a street interview?
I live near Brick Lane, and honestly, it’s becoming unbearable. The most annoying part is that even when I’m just walking my dog, people shove a camera in my face. Usually it’s on one of those little tripods, the kind YouTubers love, or worse, a shiny new DJI Osmo Pocket 3, already recording before you’ve even noticed.
And then you’re suddenly in your very own PR moment. Your closest brush with a paparazzi. Your natural instinct, when someone is being that obnoxious, is to snap and say “leave me alone.” But you can’t, because you know they could upload it. So instead you’re forced to keep repeating “no thank you, no thank you” politely, while they hover, following you down the street with their camera rolling.
It’s really messed up that you could just be minding your own business, trying to walk your dog, thinking about something else in your life, and then suddenly you’ve got someone with a camera in your face, bothering you relentlessly. They’ll say “don’t be boring” or “come on, it won’t take a minute,” while stressing you out and refusing to go away. It can feel quite intimidating when you’re alone and two people are pushing it on you. Once I came across six of them on a single walk. Six. Shoreditch is the fucking hot spot for it, for some reason.
On the surface, it looks harmless, just quirky little street interviews for TikTok or Instagram. But if you stop and chat, you’re basically in an audition you never signed up for. One awkward soundbite, one strange facial expression, even one bad angle, and you’ve become the clip that gets mocked, stitched, and spread around the internet by millions.
Which raises the real question: do you actually have any rights when someone approaches you in the street, sticks a microphone in your face, and then broadcasts it to the world?
The legal reality in the UK
Filming in public is allowed: If you’re in a public place, you can be filmed. There is no legal expectation of privacy on a street.
If you stop and chat, that’s implied consent: You didn’t sign a release form, but if you’ve willingly answered questions, the creator can usually post it online.
Takedown requests don’t carry much weight: Unless the video strays into harassment, defamation, or commercial misuse (like being used in an advert), they don’t have to remove it just because you don’t like it. GDPR doesn’t protect you much here either, because “journalism” and “artistic expression” are usually exempt.
Edited unfairly? If it makes you look like you’ve said something false or defamatory, you may have a case. But by the time you get anywhere with it, the clip has already gone viral.
The legal reality is frustratingly simple. If you’re in public, you are fair game.
The legal reality in the US
Filming in public is allowed: As in the UK, there is no expectation of privacy on the street. Anyone can film you.
Consent varies by state: With audio, some states are “one-party consent,” others are “two-party consent.” But in practice, these street interviews almost always slip through.
Commercial use is stricter: US law gives you a “right of publicity.” If your face is used in advertising without a release form, you could sue. But for “entertainment content,” creators are generally protected.
Defamation is an option: If the clip is edited to make you appear to say something false and damaging, you could take legal action. Again, the viral damage is usually long done.
The First Amendment barrier: Free speech protections mean takedown demands rarely succeed unless there is clear harassment or defamation.
The PR angle: why these clips exist
Street interviewers aren’t trying to capture your most thoughtful answer. They are hoping you’ll mess up. If you give a polite, rational response, it will never see the light of day. No one is going to share “local woman enjoys cheese sandwich.”
What goes viral is embarrassment. Confusion. Outrage. Anything that can be clipped into a ten second joke, stitched into memes, and captioned for maximum ridicule. Influencers rely on the fact that most people don’t know their rights, and that outrage performs better than civility.
That said, not every interviewer is out to humiliate you. There are plenty of people who’ve probably been sent out by their manager and told to bring back some “content” on the most boring topic imaginable. They’re usually standing there awkwardly, hoping at least three people say yes so they can tell their boss they tried. Those clips will rarely get any views, and they’re fairly harmless.
The ones you need to watch out for are the slicker operations, with two or three people, professional cameras, tripods and mics. That usually means there is a big platform waiting for the footage, which in turn means a much bigger audience and a much bigger risk of ridicule. And here’s the kicker: you don’t get paid. These creators do.
And while people online love to laugh at the awkward answers, it’s worth remembering that the people in these clips were minding their own business two minutes before. They did a stranger a favour by agreeing to talk, and now they are being judged by millions for one slip-up. They can beg for it not to be uploaded, but once the clip is recorded, they have almost no rights to stop it.
What they make vs what you get
One of the strangest parts of street interviews is the money imbalance. You’re giving away your time, your image, and potentially your reputation, and in return you get absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, the creator can be cashing in:
TikTok: The Creator Fund or Creativity Program pays very little. A million views might only make around £10 to £20. But TikTok clips that blow up often push viewers to other monetised platforms where the money is far higher.
Instagram Reels: Reels Play bonuses (when available) can pay anywhere from £600 to £1,200 for a million views, depending on geography and engagement.
YouTube Shorts: A million views on Shorts can bring in between £1,000 and £3,000, depending on ad rates. Longer YouTube videos that feature the clip could make even more.
Sponsorships and ads: This is where the big money comes in. A sponsored TikTok or YouTube clip with a million views can earn creators anywhere from £5,000 to £15,000, depending on the brand and the deal.
So while you risk your dignity for free, they could be pocketing thousands.
The hidden tricks that make it worse
The editing power: You might talk for three minutes, but they’ll cut it down to ten seconds, usually the one awkward moment. Add in music and jump cuts and suddenly you look ridiculous.
The caption effect: Even if you made a good point, a sarcastic caption like “She really thought this was deep” can change the whole meaning. Viewers believe captions more than context.
Your data lives forever: Even if they delete it, copies spread across TikTok, Reddit, Twitter and Instagram in minutes. One clip can follow you around for years.
The employer problem: These aren’t just jokes. Employers, clients and colleagues Google people. If they find you looking foolish in a viral clip, it can cause serious damage.
The algorithm doesn’t care if you’re the hero or the villain: Sometimes people go viral because the internet likes them, but more often it decides you’re the joke. You don’t get to choose.
Your likeness can be repurposed: Once online, other people can stitch, remix, and comment over it. You’re no longer just in one video, you’re in dozens.
When ordinary people face crisis moments
Crisis PR isn’t just for celebrities. If your interview takes off for the wrong reasons, you can find yourself in a full-blown reputation problem without even having a platform to defend yourself. The strategies aren’t so different from what I’d advise a client:
Decide if it’s worth responding. Sometimes silence really is better, because the internet moves on quickly.
If you do respond, control the tone. Lean into humour if you can. A little bit of self-awareness can take the sting out of being a meme.
Avoid panic comments. Arguing with strangers online usually makes it worse.
Think ahead. If it looks like the clip is spiralling, you can put out your own video or post, but keep it calm and controlled.
The point is, you do have options, even if you don’t have legal recourse.
The Haliey Welch example
Take Haliey Welch, better known as the “Hawk Tuah Girl.” She went viral in 2024 after drunkenly blurting out a ridiculous phrase in a street interview. It became a global meme overnight. She didn’t plan it, she didn’t give meaningful consent, and she certainly didn’t choose to become a cultural punchline.
What she did afterwards, from merch to a podcast and brand deals, was her way of taking control of a moment that could have destroyed her privacy completely. Others in her position might have hidden in embarrassment. Either way, the choice was forced on her. That’s the reality of going viral. You don’t get to decide whether you want the attention, only how you handle it once it lands.
The bigger irony
The irony is that most of us watch these clips daily and think nothing of it. We scroll past them on TikTok, laugh at the awkward answers, and move on. But on the other side of that screen is a person who never thought they’d become “content.”
And it doesn’t take millions of comments to break someone down. Sometimes it only takes one. One nasty remark about your looks, one mocking caption about your voice, and your confidence can be destroyed. It’s a form of reputational harm we rarely talk about, because people assume “they’ll get over it,” but for many people they don’t.
For me, it highlights something I see constantly in crisis PR. Reputations are fragile. Influencers, brands, even ordinary people are just one viral clip away from being reshaped online. A single, badly phrased answer outside a Shoreditch bagel shop can reach more people than a carefully built reputation ever could.
Would I recommend doing them?
Personally, no. Unless you’re deliberately trying to promote yourself, I would avoid these street interviews. The risks outweigh the reward. At best, you’ll give a boring answer that never gets posted. At worst, you’ll become the joke of the week, and once that clip is out there, you have almost no control.
Street interviews are less about capturing your opinion and more about catching you off guard. Influencers want the cock-up, because that is what pays their bills. And while you might not have many legal rights to stop them, you do have the right to protect yourself by simply walking on. After all, you’re not getting paid for it. They are.