There was a time when therapy meant speaking to a friend, taking a walk, writing something you meant. Now, it’s a shiny bag from a Zara sale. A lipstick that matches a stranger’s skin tone. A reel that convinces you you’re not enough unless you own more.
Retail therapy is not healing. It’s a pause button pressed by capitalism a sugar high before the crash. We scroll through endless “Get Ready With Me” routines, “Five Things You Need” lists, and curated hauls. And in the process, we stop being people and start becoming audiences.
We don’t just follow influencers anymore. We follow the most polished version of their lives. The vacations, the soft morning light, the perfect jawlines, the brand deals dressed as self-worth. And then we look at ourselves. Our skin, our silence, our messy rooms. And it doesn’t feel like enough.
Capitalism thrives in this gap between who you are and who you’re told you should be.
Even feelings have become content. Suffering is now a caption. Grief is a filter. Loneliness is monetized through dating apps that don’t want you to find someone. They want you to keep swiping. Keep scrolling. Keep consuming.
We talk so much about relationships, yet so few of us know how to have a real conversation. We talk about mental health in slogans, but we don’t call our friends. We have thousands of followers but no one to sit with in silence.
Capitalism has done something more dangerous than selling us products. It has sold us emptiness disguised as aesthetics. It has convinced us that the body we live in, the thoughts we carry, the friends we have are not enough. That we need more. That we are less.
But here’s the truth. You don’t need the viral serum. You don’t need the glow-up. You don’t need the perfectly lit room to deserve rest. You don’t need a morning routine that looks good on camera.
What you need is a life that feels good in your bones.
Not everything has to be filmed. Not every emotion has to be posted. Not every moment has to be shared.
Sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is turn off the phone. Look in the mirror. And remember we were never meant to be sold back to ourselves in pieces.
