Actor's AI Avatar Shills Supplements, Raising Likeness Control Issues
When Dallas actor Scott Jacqmein began receiving texts from friends convinced they’d seen him pitching everything from insurance to horoscope apps on TikTok, he knew something was amiss. The digital version of him, speaking fluent Spanish—a language he doesn’t know—and lacking his signature facial hair, seemed stilted and off. As it turns out, Jacqmein wasn’t in those videos at all; his AI-powered “digital avatar” was. He had licensed his likeness to TikTok last year, and now, a virtual Scott Jacqmein is out on the internet, peddling a diverse array of products, often beyond his control or preference.
Jacqmein, 52, who transitioned into acting after a career in nursing, admits he has regrets, despite not being anti-AI or anti-TikTok. He had hoped working with such a major platform would boost his career, but the ramifications, he now realizes, are vast and unpredictable. For his participation, he was paid $750 and a trip to the Bay Area. He worked with an external agency, Polet Production, which gathered footage for avatars to be used on TikTok for a year. However, neither Jacqmein nor another actor involved recall the agency mentioning that their avatars could appear on other ByteDance platforms, TikTok’s parent company.
This emerging landscape of AI-generated advertising is proving challenging for performers, forcing them to confront a profound loss of control over their own images. Many were paid a fraction of what commercial actors typically earn, with no ongoing royalties. Tracy Fetter, a Bay Area artist and comedian who also licensed her likeness, received less than $1,000 for similar work. Another performer, who wished to remain anonymous due to his avatar being used in what he considered embarrassing ads, including for a fiber supplement targeting gay men with specific sexual preferences, shared documentation showing he was paid just $500. For businesses, these avatars are a free tool for their ad campaigns on TikTok, where daily ad spending can range from $20 to thousands of dollars.
TikTok, which generates over $10 billion in U.S. ad revenue annually, introduced its menu of AI avatars last year, allowing advertisers to select a digital spokesperson based on desired age, gender, or ethnicity. While TikTok states it maintains strict oversight and ends partnerships with agencies that fall short of its standards, performers like Jacqmein argue that the technology is evolving faster than legal contracts. He laments not negotiating for more money or putting stricter guardrails on the types of products his avatar could promote, believing eager, unrepresented actors are being ensnared in this new digital web.
The reach of these avatars often extends beyond TikTok’s ecosystem. While performers were led to believe their likenesses would be used exclusively on TikTok, contracts often included vague language about “third parties,” allowing their avatars to appear on other ByteDance properties like the popular video-editing app CapCut. Furthermore, advertisers have been found circumventing TikTok’s policies, downloading and re-uploading avatar videos to platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube, often without the required “AI Generated” labels. Jacqmein was particularly alarmed to find his avatar promoting a “male performance” supplement on YouTube, a clear violation of TikTok’s terms, which led to the video’s removal after his complaint.
The broader advertising industry is rapidly embracing AI. Vogue recently featured a fully AI-generated model for a Guess advertisement, demonstrating the technology’s appeal for speeding up campaigns and cutting costs. Google Workspace also promotes AI avatars for creating polished video content without the need for cameras or complex coordination. Venture capitalist Joe Marchese describes the spread of digital avatars as “seismic for advertising,” driven by brands’ desire for cost savings, though he acknowledges potential backlash.
Some performers, like Tracy Fetter, view their participation with a sense of inevitability. Having seen her artwork and images scraped and stolen by tech companies for years, she reasoned it was better to be paid something, however small, for her likeness than nothing at all. While the payments are significantly lower than standard commercial actor rates—non-represented actors typically earn $300 to $1,000, while represented actors can command $2,500 or more for non-union jobs—Fetter finds a strange comfort in her avatar, “Lucy,” doing better than her real self on social media.
For now, the subtle imperfections distinguish these AI avatars from their human counterparts, offering a small reassurance. Jacqmein notes his avatar lacks his “silver fox energy,” partly because he was asked to shave for the filming—the technology couldn’t render his facial hair correctly at the time. Yet, ad tech companies like Tarzo praise AI avatars for their speed, cost-effectiveness, and ability to A/B test scripts and presenters en masse across multiple languages. The looming question for the industry, however, is whether companies will eventually abandon real people altogether, opting for entirely AI-generated personas to avoid the complexities of human contracts and control.