Waterman v. TikTok: Why Photographers Should Be Paying Attention

Most photographers should know what happens when they find their work stolen online.

You gather screenshots. You document the infringement. You submit a Digital Millenial Copyright Act (DMCA) takedown notice.

Then you wait.

And wait.

And sometimes, nothing happens at all.

That's one reason I'm watching the Waterman v. TikTok case closely.

Case Snapshot: What Waterman Alleges

According to the complaint, Waterman alleges that:

• Her copyrighted photographs were uploaded and distributed on TikTok without authorization.

• TikTok received notices regarding infringing uses of her work.

• TikTok failed to adequately address reported infringements.

• Infringing content remained available on the platform after notice.

• TikTok financially benefited from user engagement generated by content on the platform, including allegedly infringing content.

• TikTok should be held liable under theories of contributory and vicarious copyright infringement.

As with any lawsuit, these are allegations made by the plaintiff and have not been proven in court.

So what does this mean exactly for Waterman and other creators whose work may be infringed on?

The Importance of the DMCA Take Down

The ability to file takedown notices with hosts and platforms is critical to protecting intellectual property rights. Most photographers and artists don't have the time or resources to file a lawsuit every time their work is stolen, so the DMCA process is often the only realistic way to help stop ongoing infringement. If platforms ignore notices, take months to respond, or fail to act at all, the system stops working the way it was intended and creators are left with rights that exist on paper but are expensive to enforce in practice.

Especially when nameless pages, groups and profiles create content using their work.

I have personally filed DMCA notices with TikTok, and their lack of response, follow-up, communication, and action has left me maintaining a folder of evidence while preparing for the possibility of future litigation. But that raises a much bigger question: how much responsibility should platforms, hosts, and social media companies bear when they are "only" providing the platform where infringement occurs?

That's exactly what makes cases like Waterman v. TikTok so interesting.

No one disputes that users can infringe copyright. The harder question is where the platform's responsibility begins and ends.

At what point does a company move from being a neutral service provider to becoming part of the problem? If a platform receives notice of infringement and fails to act, ignores repeat complaints, or profits from content that drives engagement, should it still be shielded from liability?

Those are the questions creators, courts, and technology companies continue to wrestle with, and the answers could have a significant impact on the future of copyright enforcement online.

While there are plenty of cases where IP holders sue platforms, this case is on my radar because I've yet to see a similar case against Tiktok, but I don't think it will be the last.

So what happened in Waterman v Tiktok?

A photographer, Elizabeth Waterman, filed suit against TikTok over unauthorized uses of her copyrighted photographs on the platform.

In her complaint, she specifically stated they 'directly infringed' on her IP and then failed to provide information or evidence of direct infringement. That was the issue.

And it's an important one that we covered in the Cox case. You may think infringement is infringement, but the type actually matters to the court.

In turn, Tiktok filed a motion to dismiss on the direct infringement.

While TikTok succeeded in getting the original complaint dismissed, the case did not end there. Waterman filed an amended complaint that shifted its focus toward indirect theories of liability, including contributory and vicarious infringement.

To me, that's where the case becomes particularly interesting.

The question is no longer simply whether infringement occurred. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes online knows copyrighted content is uploaded without permission every day.

The bigger question is what happens after a platform becomes aware of it.

How are notices handled?

What internal procedures exist?

How quickly are complaints reviewed?

Are repeat infringers actually dealt with?

And perhaps most importantly, does the platform financially benefit from the engagement generated by infringing content?

This is the most important part to creators like me. Because IP holders rely on platforms to follow the rules and process the take downs to mitigate the damages associated with infringement. If they don't, then our only recourse is

1: let the infringement continue

2. sue.

But the answers are not always accessible. In a recent communication regarding a DMCA notice I submitted in December 2025, TikTok responded more than five months later in May 2026. The response provided little information about the actual report so I could identify which one they were responding to, and they requested additional materials, including screenshots of login screens that appeared unrelated to establishing ownership of the copyrighted work.

Before we go any further, it's important to understand what a valid DMCA notice actually requires. Most of you may already know, but for those who don't--a little refresher:

The DMCA does not require copyright owners to jump through endless hoops before a notice is considered valid. Under 17 U.S.C. § 512(c)(3), a takedown notice generally needs six key elements:

1. A physical or electronic signature of the copyright owner or authorized agent.

2. Identification of the copyrighted work claimed to have been infringed.

3. Identification of the infringing material and information reasonably sufficient to permit the service provider to locate it.

4. Contact information for the complaining party, such as an address, telephone number, or email address.

5. A statement that the complaining party has a good faith belief that the use is not authorized by the copyright owner, its agent, or the law.

6. A statement that the information in the notice is accurate and, under penalty of perjury, that the complaining party is authorized to act on behalf of the copyright owner.

That's it. While platforms may request additional information for their own internal processes, those six statutory elements are what Congress identified as necessary for a compliant DMCA takedown notice.

For hosts and platforms to claim the DMCA's safe harbor protections, they are generally required to act expeditiously to remove or disable access to material identified in a valid takedown notice once they obtain the requisite knowledge or awareness of the infringement. The statute does not define a specific number of days that qualifies as "expeditious," which is why the facts and circumstances of each case matter. However, it is difficult to argue that a notice-and-takedown system is functioning as intended if copyright owners are left waiting months for a response while the allegedly infringing content remains online

Now, five months is not "expeditious" in my opinion, and I suspect most courts would at least take a hard look at that timeline. What I found particularly interesting is that this was the only record I could locate of TikTok ever responding to any of my DMCA notices.

Then came the part that really caught my attention.

After more than five months of silence, TikTok informed me that I had just three business days to respond or my report would be closed.

Five months for a response.

Three days for the copyright owner.

I won't elaborate on how I feel about that, but let's just say I saved the email.

The reality is that I now find myself in a position that Waterman likely experienced, and one that many creators know all too well: trying to protect your copyrighted work while dealing with a platform that appears unwilling or unable to meaningfully communicate about the status of your DMCA notices. When that happens, creators are left wondering whether their reports are being reviewed, whether they are being ignored, or whether they have any practical option left other than litigation.

Those are questions that creators often cannot answer on their own because the evidence is locked behind company systems, internal communications, moderation records, and business data. Discovery is often the first opportunity for those facts to come to light. Sadly, lawsuits are the only other option to protect IP.

As someone who has filed numerous copyright complaints across multiple platforms, I find this issue frustrating and relevant.

My experience, as I am sure many others, is not consistent with the simple narrative many creators are given about the DMCA process.

We're often told that if copyrighted work is stolen, all we need to do is submit a notice and the system will work as intended.

For many photographers, that has not been the reality.

The reality is repeated notices. Long delays. Automated responses. Closed tickets. Ignored communications....

Missing reports. Requests for information already provided. And in some cases, continued infringement while creators struggle to find an actual human being willing to review the complaint.

That is why I believe the amended complaint in Waterman v Tiktok may ultimately be more important than the original one. It will illuminate the path to other infringement victims whose work is being used illegally on platforms like Tiktok and maybe fast track some resolutions and just as important--give us some insight about what they are doing with our DMCAs.

If this case proceeds through discovery, the conversation could shift from what creators think is happening to what platform records actually show is happening.

For photographers, artists, illustrators, writers, and other creators, that matters.

A lot.

And who knows--maybe the lawsuit will help revamp Tiktok's current process that I personally find concerning, and create a more transparent and expeditious process in the future.

Copyright enforcement in 2026 is a challenge and its more important than ever for IP holders to understand how massive technology companies process, prioritize, and respond to infringement reports once they receive them and what their liability is when they allegedly drop the ball.

I hope Waterman v. TikTok helps answer more of those questions, and soon.

Keep an eye on it.

As always, this is a reminder that I'm just a business owner and artist whose work has been infringed on thousands of times, my blogs are just my opinion and personal experience and should not be taken as legal advice.