Worten repurposes Llados' anti-Black Friday video for ad

Worten uses Llados' anti-Black Friday video as its own ad

Worten has turned a video arguing against the very thing it sells into its biggest marketing win of the year. In the clip, a well-known personal trainer turned influencer claims that shopping on Black Friday is for losers. The company took this material, edited it, plastered their logo everywhere, and let it circulate freely on social media. No TV spots or website campaigns: just an edited video running wild.

And that’s where the mess begins. No one disputes the result—it has been seen and continues to be seen—but the fine print is contested: was there an agreement, was it appropriation, or does the brand rely on the controversy doing the work no contract did?

What exactly did Worten do with the influencer's video?

The starting point is an uncomfortable message for any retailer: waiting for Black Friday makes you a loser, according to the original video's author. Worten didn't argue with the thesis. They reused it by flipping the script, placing their logo over the images until the rant became a campaign-style piece.

On paper, the operation is cheap: zero production investment and an audience that shares the video organically. The brand hasn't presented it as a conventional ad, which some analysts see as controlled friendly fire: if there's a problem, they pull it and move on. The defense from the company's side rests on a tweet from the influencer himself authorizing image use. That argument holds up only half the conversation.

The other half tears it down with a simple objection: authorizing use of my message isn't authorizing rewriting it and slapping your brand on top. The difference between licensing content and manipulating its meaning is precisely the issue.

Is it agreed upon or appropriation of someone else's message?

There's no way to close this case with available data. One camp argues there can't be an agreement because the video puts the influencer in a ridiculous position: he defends the opposite of what the supposedly paying company does. If someone gets paid for that, they get paid to look bad before their own audience.

Opposing this is the deliberate montage theory. The campaign, they argue, doesn't seek to convince; it seeks to generate talk. And it works. Some even claim the piece is built on two sides, with brand and influencer feeding off each other, and public anger being part of the budget.

Legally, it's pointed out that editing that alters a message's meaning and signs it with a brand needs specific permission, not generic authorization. Based on this, some have already announced they won't shop at these stores again. For now, the boycott remains confined to the comment section.

Black Friday: scam for the poor or smart shopping?

The original video has a background transcending the campaign: the idea that discounts are traps for those who can't afford to wait. Some subscribe without nuance—if you have money, there's no reason to endure sales—and others flip it: using Black Friday to buy items already on your list at half price, and investing the rest.

That second reading has a name in domestic savings vocabulary: frugal living. And it's not always tied to scarcity. There are examples of considerable wealth who haggle, take leftovers home in containers, and drive discreet cars. People who don't need the discount but refuse to pay the premium.

Deep down, the discussion isn't about Black Friday. It's about what you do with unspent money.

Who is Llados and where does his audience come from?

The video's protagonist isn't unknown. He worked in fitness, spent time in Australia, became a personal trainer, and eventually built an online training business riding the gym boom. His conferences charged up to 1,000 euros per ticket to make attendees exercise. Before that, it's recalled, he competed in the CEV motorcycle championship backed by family funds.

Almost everything in his biography is disputed. It's claimed he didn't start from nothing, that his father works in marketing with considerable assets, and that his success story has been polished along the way. His move to the United States is also questioned: arguments state that the H-1B visa requires high qualifications and corporate sponsorship, green cards take years, and investor visas demand one million dollars and job creation. With a Spanish passport, it's emphasized, you can only enter as a tourist for three months. None of this is resolved.

The business of controversy and the group behind it

In terms of return, enthusiasts defend the move as a brilliant campaign. A viral piece isn't bought with budget; it's bought with indignation. Here, indignation came free in two directions: those defending the influencer and those applauding the store for mocking consumerism.

Less epic is the structure. The chain belongs to the same group as another major electronics retailer, so this isn't David vs. Goliath, but a large brand optimizing media spend. Fruta risk is treated as an acceptable cost, paid for with the video that cost nothing.

With pieces like this, the expectation is that the video will circulate longer than any paid campaign, and any potential complaint will end with a silent withdrawal and no explanation. If a court determines rights were transferred, the brand pays; if not, they've won without spending. The only certainty is who put their face on it: the guy saying don't buy.