The Dangers of Aestheticized Self-Care
By Kaitlin Kan
Collage by Primcess
Bullet journal, $7.99.
Fine point markers, $9.98.
Sticker book, $17.49.
Pastel highlighters, $6.99.
Washi tape set, $12.99.
Total: $55.44 plus tax.
$55.44 plus tax, and all I had to show for it was a journal page labeled “sleep tracker” at an unbecoming slant, cradling a childishly drawn crescent moon, and a wonky-looking sheep framed in the erased ghosts of prior attempts. I put away my pens for the afternoon — perhaps I’ll have another go at self-care again tomorrow.
I whirred through my Pinterest feed of pastels and cartoon fruit aimlessly, as I hand-selected those that aligned with my “self-care aesthetic” — only to find that my own attempts at these picturesque bullet journals fell short. It stirred my frustration towards a self-care model I could not attain. Between the money and time that I felt compelled to spend in pursuit of this aesthetic, I found myself yearning for self-care from my own self-care; that’s when I noticed the problem.
Self-care, at its core, is a crucial tenant for good mental health. Studies show that those who maintain consistent self-care regimens feel less stressed and report a higher quality of life. Behavioral interventions are also often used in treating mental illness. However, self-care is not limited to mental health in its impact — there is evidence that good self-care can be a preventative factor for physical illnesses, such as heart disease or lung cancer. It is no wonder, then, that the media has imploded in its coverage of self-care and how to practice it. While this coverage has successfully informed people of its benefits, it has also exposed self care to aestheticization and its unsavory partner, consumerism.
With the ubiquity of media and the growing power of influencers, it’s much too easy for self-care to lose its meaning as it becomes a buzzword referring to a certain — often unattainable — aesthetic. Bullet journaling, for example, is a prime avenue for elevating self-care out of the reach of a regular, artistically-average person. While keeping track of sleep, habits and water intake are all perfect examples of good self-care, the decorative, not-a-stroke-out-of-place rendering of calligraphy, along with masterful sketches of flowers, quickly set the standard that good self care is contingent upon artistic skill.
I fell into this very trap myself, as I began a bullet journal. I was shelling out for art supplies beyond my ability, in order to conform with the image of self-care as I had consumed it through social media. As the beauty and careful organization of these journals established the aesthetic paradigm of self-care, I was inclined to believe that my failure to mimic these images indicated that my own practice of self-care was inadequate. The phenomenon of aestheticized self-care, of course, is not limited to bullet journaling: the media also tells us that you need a svelte body to do yoga, the time and ability to go for a hike, the freedom to go phoneless, and the photogeneity to take post-able pictures along the way.
Consumerism capitalizes on our intrinsic “shortcomings” by offering the option to buy one’s way into the self-care lifestyle. Nothing illustrates this quite like the Wellness section of Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop Shop. After all, are you really drinking enough water if you’re not drinking it out of an $84 Amethyst Crystal Infused Water Bottle? Surely you can’t attain a state of zen without shelling $299 for a Meditation Pillow Set. Goop even manages to commodify breathing with The Shift, a tubular mouthpiece described as “a simple (and ingenious) tool for mindful breath,” costing $105. Goop is particularly notorious in selling the self-care aesthetic, but it is by no means the only store capitalizing on the widespread clamor for a healthy lifestyle: Urban Outfitters, Free People, Anthropologie, and Lululemon among others all offer wellness or self-care products on their online stores.
This trend of selling self-care introduces a class disparity to the lifestyle, discouraging those with smaller pocketbooks from participating. Social media’s uninhibited display of these products redefines self-care within the context of the aesthetic images that are associated with a healthy lifestyle, eclipsing even the true intentions of self-care with anxiety, self-consciousness, and imposter syndrome. “We need to acknowledge that self-care isn’t always pretty,” Yusra Siddiqui said in an article for The Lexington Life.
I am by no means condemning the celebration of beautiful art or indulging in these products. I am, however, condemning the manner in which aesthetics and consumerism poison the collective perception of self-care. True self-care is priceless: deep breathing, commitment to sleep, movement suited to each individual’s physical needs, balanced eating, adequate water — the list goes on. Many of the products that accompany these categories are peripheral. Enjoyable, perhaps, but peripheral nonetheless. Most importantly, self-care is for everyone, no matter the body type, ability, or income. Only by educating ourselves on the manner in which we are influenced by media can we begin to unpack the true essence of what it means to take care of one’s self.