Reesa Teesa’s ‘Who TF Did I Marry’ & The Highs & Lows Of Oversharing On TikTok

Real life has always been a lot stranger than fiction. Netflix, Hulu, and Tubi’s scripted catalogs can easily take a backseat to the unbelievable true stories mined directly from the everyday lives displayed freely on social media platforms. But one nightmarish reality has taken over TikTok in the last week that isn’t just an entertaining thrill ride — complete with head-scratching confusion, hair-raising suspense, and a sprinkle of sarcastic, “Girl, no he didn’t?!” comedy — but also a stark reminder of the perils that accompany oversharing personal stories on social media.

On Valentine’s Day, TikToker Reesa Teesa began her “Who TF Did I Marry” series, a 50-part, eight-hour string of storytime TikTok videos that quickly went viral. In each 10-minute clip, Reesa candidly recounted a chronological firsthand account of meeting, dating, marrying, and eventually divorcing a narcissist and pathological liar. The purpose of Reesa sharing such dark days, listeners would learn throughout, was to help people who may be in a similar situation and “to tell my story and to tell it detailed and in order,” she said. In no time, millions of users devoured each part like banned audiobooks on the black market, admitting that Reesa’s FYP-friendly experience had become the exciting soundtrack to their most mundane tasks like washing dishes and commuting to work.

@reesamteesa Who TF Did I Marry- Introduction #reesateesa #fyp #series ♬ original sound – ReesaTeesa

So who is Reesa? And who TF did she marry? 

According to Reesa, she is an Atlanta-based content creator and 9-to-5er whose whirlwind romance with a man she calls Legion (a nickname she gave him to hide his identity) began during the Covid-19 pandemic in March 2020. After their first few phone calls and a first date that almost didn’t happen — until Legion showed up like a white knight to fix the tire she blew on her way to see him — she was smitten with the former football player and divorced corporate exec who she believed was romantic and could provide financially. Within months, Legion moved in with Reesa into her townhouse and they were pregnant. 

Soon after, the two began house hunting, a process that would immediately sound Reesa’s inner alarm bells. They would put in all-cash offers and Legion couldn’t produce the proof of funds necessary to close any deals. His lack of honesty and financial stability showed up again when he promised, she claims, that he would buy her a car and have it delivered.

The car never came. And they never bought a house. Eventually, she had a miscarriage for which he was largely absent because of his hectic work schedule. Despite the red flags Reesa admits she ignored and her continued suspicion, the couple married in January 2021. While she wasn’t completely happy, she believed he was VP of a condiment company, that he spoke to his brother every single morning before work, and that he was married only once before.

It wasn’t until her divorce, after only a few short months of marriage, that she realized Legion had fabricated his entire life: He wasn’t well-off. He wasn’t a VP but a temporary forklift operator. He was married more than once. And perhaps most disturbingly, he lied about the death of family members and only pretended to speak with his family over the phone — he was talking to himself.

“Legion never loved me,” Reesa says of the realizations she has had since the divorce. “Every single day, he lied to me.”

Reesa is the Zola of 2024’s timeline

Reesa’s story is what Lifetime movie deals are made of, and her newfound fans are hopeful she’ll get lucrative opportunities for her openness. But Reesa’s series of unfortunate events isn’t the first stranger-than-fiction tale to hit Beyoncé’s internet. 

In 2015, Aziah “Zola” Wells turned Twitter upside down with her viral 148-tweet thread about a quick-cash road trip to Tampa with a friend. The unbelievable story was the first of this kind of storytelling and later became an A24 film about the dangers of fast friendship, the intricacies of sex work, and darkly captivating truths.

The allure in these types of tales is the storytelling prowess. In both Reesa and Aziah’s stories, digital platforms turned into virtual amphitheaters, where users eagerly awaited the next chapter of their emotional rollercoasters. Yet, amidst the entertainment value, cautionary undertones still emerge.

Did Reesa’s sharing go too far?

In a digital landscape where authenticity is both revered and commodified, Reesa’s decision to lay bare the intimate details of her marriage poses an important question: How much is too much to share online? The engaging nature of her content may inadvertently encourage others to follow suit, but it has also encouraged onlookers to share details Reesa would have otherwise liked to keep under wraps. 

For example, since Reesa learned of Legion’s con, she hasn’t had any contact with him expressing, “I ain’t seen him, I ain’t heard from him, I don’t wanna hear from him” in the series’ Introduction / Disclaimer. But that didn’t stop fellow TikToker Danni H from revealing Legion’s real identity to millions of users’ displeasure. Though Reesa seemingly wanted to put some protections in place before Legion’s real name (Jerome McCoy) came to light, as she alluded to in a TikTok, this is a prime example of how the internet works — the second a story is in the hands of the people clamoring for it, it’s no longer yours to control. 

Oversharing personal traumas online appears vulnerable, authentic, and good for mental health in the social media age, according to Associate Professor of Psychology Simon Boag. “There’s new value in vulnerability and spilling your guts,” he writes. “It’s what some are calling contagious vulnerability, and part of a new language of mental self-care.” 

While opening up on the internet can certainly be therapeutic and attract folks who relate, it also can make anyone susceptible to doxxing, cyberbullying, and cyberstalking. There’s no way to monitor the flow of information, just as Reesa couldn’t maintain her ex’s privacy. Users, whether they enjoy the content or not, can take any tidbit mentioned in a video and follow breadcrumbs to personal information like home addresses, family members’ names, and employment details. 

According to trauma therapist Shannon Thomas told Business Insider, trauma dumping, or unloading traumatic experiences on others without warning, which is common on TikTok, can also lead to secondary trauma. “Trauma dumping creates an open door for a survivor to be further harmed if their experience is met with a harsh or critical response from others online,” Thomas said.

Nonetheless, Reesa’s intent to help those facing similar struggles is commendable, and her transparency undoubtedly resonated with a vast audience, but the danger inherent in sharing personal stories on platforms like TikTok lies in the unforeseeable consequences. Legion is mentally unstable, and this kind of exposure (and embarrassment) could trigger him to harm Reesa. These are things that entertainment junkies online don’t always stop to consider. 

What’s the lesson from Who TF Did I Marry? (And how much is it worth?)

While going viral for deep-diving into your darkest secrets can have its pitfalls, it can also help usher in major life wins. 

According to TikTok, brands like Delta and Hilton are sending Reesa to London and Paris, two cities she’d been dying to visit since her marriage. She’s also getting a BMW (the car Legion promised to buy her)! And there’s overwhelming speculation that she’s raking in anywhere between $80,000 to $400,000 for the millions of TikTok views she’s garnering from her Legion troubles. Financial entrepreneur and content creator Jaystips suggested Reesa’s new riches based on view count, video runtimes, details about TikTok’s creator program, and other common platform processes. “Some of her videos are close to 10 minutes long, and usually platforms pay more the longer your videos. So if TikTok [does] the same and pay you more the longer your video, realistically she could be making $4 or $5 per 1000 views. That could be almost $400,000 for this series.”

That kind of earning potential is the allure of being vulnerable online, but the biggest takeaway is to be mindful while doing so. As we consume content that blurs the boundaries between reality and entertainment, it’s crucial to reflect on the potential repercussions of laying bare the intricacies of our lives. While the allure of going viral may be tempting, the lasting impact on personal well-being and relationships requires careful consideration in a world where social media is both a stage and a potential minefield.

Thankfully for Reesa, Legion has only responded on TikTok, as far as fans know. His first ex-wife LaToya Averett and his stepson Tashawn Lopes also shared their sides of the story.

“If just one woman watches these videos and she’s like, ‘You know what? Something don’t sit right with me. Let me look into this,’ then it was worth it.”

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