Self-care was once considered a lost practice, revived by attempts to preserve connection with mind, body and soul and restore balance by taking care of your mental health. It meant setting boundaries with the people in your life, journaling, allowing yourself to rest or simply having alone time.
Recently, I’ve found the definition of self-care to be deeply distorted. Under the influence of social media and consumer culture, self-care has been rebranded as an aesthetic of consumption separated by tax brackets. It is no longer about feeling better but rather about using a plethora of unnecessary products to merely appear well, fueling a dystopian competition of exorbitant spending marked by endless drawer restocks, inevitable waste and public display.
This performative self-care manifests as a constant race led by referral codes and Amazon storefronts, a competition that extends beyond emotions and into earnings. It’s not enough to journal or take a walk; now, self-care has become content. Instead, we are bombarded with videos of “monthly restocks,” morning and nightly routines with over $2,000 in products and organization videos of crowded drawers filled with likely unused products. Acts of rest are no longer valid unless they are an ad or aesthetic.
With this sentiment, emotional well-being has turned into a marketing funnel. The audience is subliminally told that inner peace is purchasable, and worse, that if they aren’t well, it’s because they haven’t yet bought the right products.
Because of this, what was once used to protect one’s well-being has drastically morphed into a new and highly monetized industry. Every media platform now promotes “essentials”: $30 glass jars of sea moss and active cultures for gut health; hundreds of dollars worth of trending Korean skincare products going beyond a standard routine; $400 red light therapy masks; and, of course, plastic containers to satisfyingly organize it all into overflowing drawers in your bathroom — always leaving space for future products.
Influencers showcase these objects as prerequisites for peace and clear skin, implying that true rest can only be achieved through curated products. Thus, self-care is no longer accessible — it has become aspirational, a luxury or something to be shown, not necessarily felt.
The overarching problem of this cycle is that the consumption is endless. In turn, these products are being bought faster than they are being replenished. Influencers with constant PR packages review and showcase their “must-haves” weekly, leaving practically full bottles behind for the garbage. As microtrends come in and fade out, last month’s self-care staple becomes this month’s clutter. Gratitude journals go unfinished and overpriced skincare expires.
Self-care culture not only preys on insecurity but also contributes to massive environmental waste and force feeds landfills. Thus, an industry supposedly dedicated to healing is quietly exhausting both the consumer and the planet.
It is also not an industry controlled by legitimate dermatologists or spiritual practitioners, but by major corporations and influencers with profit-driven agendas. Their authority is self-appointed, with brands built on aesthetics and appearance rather than actual empirical research and good conscience.
As a result, consumers are left in a constant state of confusion, unsure of whom to trust when every recommendation and trusted individual becomes blurred by sponsorship and contradictions. One company will recommend “essential” supplements to prevent bloating through your morning glass of water, and another claims glowing skin comes in the form of chlorophyll drops. By commodifying wellness, these companies have little to no interest in our healing — instead, they keep us dependent on adding their products to our carts.
We need to unlearn the belief that wellness should come with a steep price tag and detach from healing through performance and restore it to practice. The rise of performative self-care reveals a culture increasingly disconnected from genuine inner peace. However, we can choose actual sustainability over consumption.
In response to this excess, a growing movement has begun online, grounded in sustainability and self-honesty, and I’ve tried to incorporate it into my life in recent years. “Project Pan” has challenged many overabundant consumers, like myself, to “hit pan,” or reveal the bottom of the container, meaning finishing the product they already own before replenishing. This avoids purchasing more of the same product and creating waste.
The rise of “de-influencing” videos also pushes back against promotion culture, giving viewers an honest review of what products are overhyped and trendy, versus those that are actually worth your money and time. Some influencers even share “realistic day in my life” videos, showcasing messy counters, skipping steps in a routine or even revealing the mess behind taking care of oneself. This offers a much-needed counternarrative — self-care doesn’t have to be something aspirational or aesthetic. It can be ordinary, imperfect and completely unseen.
Self-care is not a competition — it should be a commitment. In the end, the most genuine form of self-care is refusal — refusing to buy into the notion that wellness is a pricey lifestyle, refusing to equate healing with spending and refusing to let larger corporations monetize wellbeing. Real, true care does not harm our planet. Real care is a quiet and deep internal effort to be human.
Aislinn Shrestha is a junior majoring in integrative neuroscience.
Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the Staff Editorial.