Authored By: Nabihat Ahuoiza Sadiq
Middlesex University Mauritius
Every day, millions of users repost videos, share memes, and remix content with little regard for copyright law. Yet much of this behaviour, now embedded in social media, may technically constitute infringement under UK law. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and X are built upon rapid dissemination, creating an uneasy tension: the activities that sustain these ecosystems frequently intersect with conduct copyright law seeks to restrict. UK copyright protection is principally governed by the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (CDPA), which grants creators exclusive rights over the reproduction and communication of their works.[1] While these protections were designed to reward creativity, the digital environment has complicated this framework. This article argues that despite formal protections, enforcement mechanisms and platform culture have rendered infringement functionally normalized.
This discussion first examines the structural conflict between copyright law and the sharing ethos of social media, demonstrating how routine user behaviour engages acts restricted under the CDPA. Second, it evaluates the practical limitations of enforcement and the resulting asymmetry between legal rights and accessible remedies. Finally, it addresses AI-generated exploitation and the absence of a standalone statutory image right, arguing that these developments expose critical weaknesses within the existing framework.
Copyright Principles vs Social Media Culture
At the centre of contemporary copyright disputes lies a structural tension between UK copyright law’s restrictive logic and social media’s culture of continuous sharing and circulation. The Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (CDPA) establishes two core restricted acts that are routinely triggered by ordinary social media use: section 17, which prohibits copying (including temporary digital copies),[2] and section 20, which prohibits the communication to the public by electronic transmission.[3] Every time a user uploads, retweets, re-posts, or shares content, they engage in both copying and communication to the public, technical infringements that would be actionable under the Act. Yet this behaviour is precisely what social media platforms incentivise and reward. As Hayleigh Bosher observes, platforms “encourage users to share both their own original content and third-party content” because “the more time users spend on their platform sharing content, the higher revenue they are able to receive through advertising”.[4] Facebook earned $16.6 billion in advertising revenue in the second quarter of 2019 alone, driven by increased sharing.[5] This creates what is known as the copyright-sharing paradox. The basic implication of copyright is the restriction of copying, whereas the ethos of social networking is the promotion of sharing. Empirical research confirms the scale of this mismatch, with 95 million photos and videos shared daily on Instagram and 30 billion pieces of content shared monthly on Facebook.[6] The UK IPO reports that social media has become a “haven” for IP infringement, with 40% of internet users admitting they are not confident about what is legal online.[7] This structural contradiction not only generates widespread technical infringement, it also cultivates a digital environment in which infringement becomes culturally acceptable, functionally normalised, and increasingly difficult to police through conventional legal mechanisms. The question therefore becomes whether existing enforcement mechanisms are capable of responding meaningfully to such pervasive conduct.
Inadequate and Asymmetric Enforcement Mechanisms
Although the CDPA 1988 provides formal mechanisms for copyright enforcement, the practical accessibility of those remedies remains deeply uneven, particularly for individual creators operating within social media ecosystems. Section 97A of the CDPA 1988 empowers the High Court to grant injunctions against service providers with “actual knowledge” of infringement, but this remedy is prohibitively expensive for individual rights holders.[8] The Electronic Commerce (EC Directive) Regulations 2002 limit platform liability only if platforms act on notice, creating a reactive rather than proactive enforcement model.[9] Notice requirements demand full name, address, and detailed infringement description, serve as barriers for casual users. Scholarly analysis confirms that only large rights holders (record labels, film studios) possess resources for High Court injunctions; individual photographers and influencers cannot afford enforcement. The UK IPO reports that social media has become a haven for counterfeiters and infringers using groups and retweets, with social media being the second most common location for intellectual property investigations.[10] This creates fundamental asymmetry as platforms self-regulate via community guidelines rather than statutory obligations, while individual creators face cost barriers. Resultantly, infringement is culturally accepted and practically unchallenged because enforcement is rare, expensive, and disproportionately available to corporate rights holders. Section 97A reflects a broader paradox within UK copyright enforcement, as legal protection remains formally available yet practically inaccessible to many creators, a disparity increasingly exposed by emerging technologies such as artificial intelligence.
The Image Rights Gap: Influencers’ Vulnerability in the Age of AI
The limitations of UK copyright law become particularly stark where digital exploitation extends beyond copyrighted works and into the commercial misuse of personal identity. The UK’s failure to provide statutory image rights leaves influencers dangerously exposed in an era of AI-generated deepfakes and unauthorized likeness exploitation. Unlike the US, which recognises statutory “right of publicity” protections, the UK has no standalone statutory image right.[11] Protection remains fragmented, lacking a unified approach and instead relying on a “patchwork” of mechanisms, including passing off, privacy, and trademarks.[12] The leading case of Rihanna v Topshop established that passing-off can prevent unauthorised endorsements but requires proof of goodwill damage.[13] This is a costly, uncertain remedy requiring demonstration that consumers would be misled into believing the influencer endorsed the product. This creates acute vulnerability with AI advancements. AI tools can now generate lifelike deepfake videos and voiceovers, making it easier than ever to create unauthorized content featuring influencers endorsing products without consent. Recent reports document influencers finding their faces used in fake adverts, with fake accounts impersonating them to scam followers. The problem is particularly severe because AI algorithms require massive amounts of training data, such as videos, images, and soundbites, making celebrities and influencers easy targets for replication. Contractual protections only bind parties to the agreement and cannot prevent third-party misuse. A statutory image right would provide greater certainty and faster remedies for this issue. The Human Rights Act 1998’s Article 8 privacy protection requires balancing public knowledge against privacy rights, creating uncertainty.[14] This legal vacuum renders influencers simultaneously valuable targets and legally unprotected, normalising AI exploitation of their identity.
The effect of these shortcomings invites a broader inquiry into whether the difficulties identified stem from isolated regulatory gaps or from fundamental structural limitations within UK copyright law itself.
Critical Evaluation: Interrogating the Structural Failures of UK Copyright Law
The arguments presented above reveal a coherent pattern of structural inadequacy in UK copyright law, but they also invite scrutiny regarding causation, alternatives, and the normative implications of the thesis. At the heart of the analysis lies a fundamental question of whether copyright law is failing to keep pace with social media culture, or it has always been ill-suited to regulate digital sharing.
The copyright-sharing paradox demonstrates that ordinary social media behaviour technically constitutes infringement under sections 17 and 20 CDPA 1988.[15] However, this raises the question of whether the widespread nature of such infringement necessarily signifies a failure of the law. Copyright has always distinguished between “lawful and wrongful copying,” the question is which copying gets enforced.[16] The statutory framework hasn’t changed dramatically; rather, technology has bridged enforcement gaps that likely existed in earlier forms. This suggests the problem may be one of selective enforcement rather than legislative outdatedness.
While the enforcement asymmetry argument is crucial, it invites scrutiny regarding remedies. If section 97A injunctions are inaccessible to individuals, what alternative exists? More aggressive enforcement might stifle the very social media culture that benefits creators. The UK IPO’s report on social media as a “haven” for infringement suggests enforcement is inadequate, but it fails to address whether more enforcement would be desirable or whether the current selective approach serves a functional purpose in balancing competing interests.
Moreover, the argument on image rights is the most compelling for reform, as it concerns statutory gaps rather than enforcement failures. Unlike copyright, where the law is technically adequate but impractical, the absence of image rights is a genuine legislative gap. The passing-off remedy in Rihanna v Topshop is inherently retrospective and costly, making it ill-suited for AI deepfakes that spread virally. This argument identifies a clear harm without an adequate existing legal remedy.
Conclusion
In conclusion, UK copyright law remains formally robust but increasingly misaligned with the realities of social media culture. The CDPA 1988 still offers creators exclusive rights and enforcement tools, yet those protections are weakened by platform-driven sharing norms, costly remedies, and the practical impossibility of policing viral reproduction at scale. The problem is not that copyright has disappeared, but that it is too often enforced selectively and too slowly to shape online behaviour. More troubling still, the absence of a standalone image right leaves influencers exposed to AI-driven misuse of likeness, deepfakes, and unauthorised endorsements. The result is a legal framework that protects creativity in theory while allowing infringement and identity exploitation to become functionally normalised in practice.
Bibliography
Primary Sources
UK Statutes
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Electronic Commerce (EC Directive) Regulations 2002
Human Rights Act 1998
US Case law
Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd (t/a Topshop) [2013] EWHC 2310 (Ch)
Secondary Sources
Scholarly articles
Bosher H, ‘Key issues around copyright and social media: ownership, infringement and liability’ (2020) 15(2) JIPLP 123
Collopy S and Drye R, The Challenges from Social Media for Intellectual Property Rights (UK Intellectual Property Office 2017) 12
Department for Science, Innovation and Technology, Report on Copyright and Artificial Intelligence (UK Government 2026), 1
Newspaper and Websites
Marr B, ‘How Much Data Do We Create Every Day? The Mind-Blowing Stats Everyone Should Read’ (Forbes, 21 May 2018) <https://bernardmarr.com/how-much-data-do-we-create-every-day-the-mind-blowing-stats-everyone-should-read/> accessed 1 June 2026.
Sochurkova M F, ‘Facebook’s Daily Active User count grew to 2.7 billion in Q2 2019’ Newsfeed.org (10 September 2019)
[1] Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
[2] CDPA, s 17.
[3] CDPA, s 20.
[4] Heyleigh Bosher, ‘Key issues around copyright and social media: ownership, infringement and liability’ (2020) 15(2) JIPLP 123.
[5] Martina Frascona Sochurkova, ‘Facebook’s Daily Active User count grew to 2.7 billion in Q2 2019’ Newsfeed.org (10 September 2019).
[6] Bernerd Marr, ‘How much Data do we Create Every Day? The Mind-blowing Stats Everyone Should Read’ (Forbes, 21 May 2018) <https://bernardmarr.com/how-much-data-do-we-create-every-day-the-mind-blowing-stats-everyone-should-read/> accessed 1 June 2026.
[7] Department for Science, Innovation and Technology, Report on Copyright and Artificial Intelligence (UK Government 2026), 1.
[8] CDPA, s 97A.
[9] Electronic Commerce (EC Directive) Regulations 2002.
[10] Department for Science, Innovation and Technology, Report on Copyright and Artificial Intelligence (UK Government 2026), 1.
[11] Joey Meadway, ‘I am an Influencer: How do I protect my Brand?’ Stephens Scown (14 April 2025) <https://www.stephens-scown.co.uk/intellectual-property-2/i-am-an-influencer-how-do-i-protect-my-brand/#:~:text=no%20explicit%20%E2%80%98image%20right%E2%80%99%20law> accessed 31 May 2026.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd (t/a Topshop) [2013] EWHC 2310 (Ch).
[14] Human Rights Act 1998, art 8.
[15] CDPA, ss 17, 20.
[16] Sarah Collopy and Rebecca Drye, The Challenges from Social Media for Intellectual Property Rights (UK Intellectual Property Office 2017) 12.
