Brands are profiting off mental illness, and it's gross

The hottest new accessory for the season? Mental illness…?

As the temperatures drop (in the Northern Hemisphere, at least) and the leaves change colour, enter: The Sad Girl aesthetic.

Tear-streaked selfies, poetically vague captions about anxiety, and melancholy playlists? It’s OG Tumblr all over again, where trauma is très chic.

This would maybe be okay if it was for awareness raising purposes, heavy on the maybe.

However, this new aesthetic is more about romanticising suffering than anything else.

And now, as with anything that makes enough noise on social media, it’s become somewhat of a marketing gimmick. And the brands are moving in.

But in a world filled with anguish, is it right to capitalise on our collective suffering?

Got that summer(autumn)time sadness.

Platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and even Tumblr (yes, it’s still kicking) have turned mental illness into a mood board. The 'trauma-core' look is all about distressed filters, sad quotes, and oh-so-tasteful depictions of inner turmoil. Think, notes app ramblings and therapy speak.

Somewhere along the line, the serious message about mental health has gotten lost in the soft glow of ring lights and carefully curated cries for help.

Don’t get me wrong, vulnerability is powerful. But let’s not confuse that with reducing life-altering conditions with a fashion statement.

It’s great that we’re more open about mental health these days. Losing the stigma around mental health issues has got to be one of the greatest parts of modern society. Lord knows, if it were the 1950s, I would have been sent to the seaside for being hysterical and probably lobotomised by now.

But when suffering becomes the new 'it' look, there’s a problem.

Being sad shouldn’t be aspirational. The charm of 'struggle,' if you can call it that, isn’t in how good it looks on your feed.

And if brands and influencers want to promote awareness, how about steering the conversation toward, say, actually seeking help? You know, rather than basking in the 'aesthetic' of suffering?

When we reduce such things to a trend, it’s hard to see the forest from the trees.

What I mean is, when those around us actually do experience the more harrowing and less pretty symptoms of mental health – we’re shocked. Because you can be sad – but not if it looks like that, right?

Self-care or sales pitch?

Then there’s the rise of mental health buzzwords in marketing—'anxiety relief,' 'self-care,' 'take a mental health day,' etc.

Throw those phrases onto a candle or a bath bomb, and you’ve got yourself a product that seems like it’s doing some kind of good.

But slapping 'anxiety-relieving' on a lavender scented candle doesn’t magically turn it into a treatment plan. Yet here we are, drowning in products that promise to fix our existential crises with an essential oil soak.

What started as a conversation about de-stigmatising mental health has become an excuse to make us think that self-care is a new purchase away.

And yes, relaxation is great, when I can fkn achieve it. But please know that it’s not going to any heal deep-rooted emotional struggles.

Instead of pretending that buying that new thing will solve all our woes, how about brands start partnering with therapists or donating to mental health resources?

Trauma dumping as a social strategy?

We’ve all seen it: influencers baring their souls about mental health struggles, using their 'raw' moments to connect with the audience.

I’m not saying these stories don’t come from a genuine place. But let’s not ignore the fact that there’s a line between sharing and performing. And some walk that line hard.

When vulnerability becomes a content strategy, it’s hard not to feel like we’re just commodifying pain for engagement metrics. Trauma content for clout, anyone? Gross.

Let’s also not forget the 'trauma fatigue' that comes with constantly consuming this type of content. It’s emotionally exhausting to scroll through story after story of people’s deepest struggles, reduced to bite-sized clips.

Imagine if real life was like this – every person you spoke to, your boss, your flatmates, your siblings, relentlessly dumped all their negative thoughts on you 24/7. That wouldn’t be normal or healthy, and it isn't healthy online, either.

This isn’t to say influencers shouldn’t share. But if they’re going to talk about mental health, it would be good to collaborate with professionals and/or link to resources instead of relying on emotional oversharing to keep the algorithm happy.

Crying for commerce.

We live in a world where emotional struggles get monetised and turned into quirky slogans on sweatshirts, mugs, and other merch. MERCH. As if it’s a band with a cult following.

We’re talking about clothing emblazoned with phrases like 'mentally drained' or 'crying but cute.' It’s like mental health has become a lifestyle brand. As if being constantly overwhelmed is just part of the latest lookbook.

Here’s the issue: making anxiety cute and depression cool doesn’t normalise mental illness; it trivialises it. It makes serious struggles look like they’re just part of some edgy aesthetic.

Also, your 'overthinking' bumper sticker isn’t going to make your intrusive thoughts any less intrusive, Jessica.

Amplifying vulnerability.

Social media platforms, ever the enablers, love to reward vulnerability with visibility.

That tearful, late-night breakdown post? Guaranteed to skyrocket your engagement metrics.

It’s nice to see people being more open about their struggles. But we can’t ignore the fact that algorithms are training us to expose our most intimate pain for likes.

If the most 'authentic' content is also the most distressing, then it’s no wonder that social feeds are full of stories of struggle.

The result? We’re stuck in a feedback loop of sadness. Emotional turmoil isn’t just a personal experience anymore. It’s performance art for the algorithm gods. It’s time to ask ourselves: do we really want to live in a world where our emotional well-being is up for content optimisation?

So what does all this mean for brands?

There are a few campaigns that have made me eyeroll so hard I almost saw the inside of my skull. When it comes to profiting off societal issues like mental health – it can be glaringly obvious that a brand has no real intention to help.

Let's look at BetterHelp's aggressive marketing, for example:

The prominent online therapy platform has been criticised for its OTT and highly targeted ads.

These ads often pop-up during moments when users are searching for mental health-related content. The messaging suggests signing up for therapy with BetterHelp will alleviate their struggles.

BetterHelp has partnered with influencers who share personal mental health experiences. And, of course, they steer their followers toward the therapy platform as a quick fix.

I cannot stress enough that access to therapy is so, so important. But the concern here is that BetterHelp's tactics commodify online therapy as a quick-fix solution rather than addressing the complexities of mental health treatment.

They've also faced backlash for privacy concerns and accusations of not properly vetting their therapists…

Major red flag?

Their focus on high-volume signups comes across as icky and exploitative - because it literally targets people during their most vulnerable moments.

It’s important for brands offering mental health services to ensure they prioritise quality and transparency over rapid growth. Marketing strategies should focus on educating the audience about therapy. Not just push them toward a sign-up funnel.

What about Instagram’s #HereForYou campaign?

Instagram launched the campaign to raise awareness about mental health and encourage users to share their struggles online. The idea was to foster an open conversation about mental health, or something along those lines.

However, given that social media use has been linked to increased anxiety and depression, some critics saw this as Instagram trying to 'clean up its image' without addressing its role in exacerbating mental health issues.

Encouraging users to stay on the app that’s contributing to their struggles, in order to share their struggles felt

1. Counterintuitive, and

2. Like a way to boost engagement under the guise of supporting mental health.

If they genuinely want to help, social media platforms need to go beyond surface-level initiatives. Instead, they should look at what changes they can make to how they operate (e.g., tackling harmful algorithms, reducing pressure for constant validation) if they want to be true advocates for mental well-being.

Let’s do better (please.)

This all boils down to a larger question: as marketers, how can we ensure we’re not just exploiting the emotional struggles of others for profit?

We have a responsibility to treat mental health as more than just a trend.

This means involving actual experts in our campaigns, being mindful about the messages we’re promoting, and resisting the urge to glorify suffering for the sake of relevance.

Sure, we can keep selling 'sadness,' but wouldn’t it be better to actually make a difference? Because the last thing the world needs is another 'anxious girly' post. It needs more resources, more honest conversations, and way fewer slogans that reduce our struggles to punchlines.

Let’s not be the marketers who turn mental health into another commodified identity. Instead, let’s push for campaigns that actually support people in their healing journeys, not just their shopping sprees.

How?

By prioritising authenticity over sales. By avoiding quick-fix narratives. By fostering community and honest dialogue. And, most importantly, by offering tangible support and solutions – not just ‘messaging.’

-Sophie, Writer