Peace, But Make It Pretty: How Wellness Culture Turned Rest Into a Performance

It’s 2 AM, you’re scrolling through your Instagram reels, and you find your feed is flooded with an endless stream of self-care moments meticulously staged to perfection. There’s the frothy matcha in a mug, cradled by two perfectly manicured hands. Serums and facial oils glisten on dewy skin, applied with the kind of care that seems more like an art installation than a simple routine. An open journal filled with perfectly penned gratitude lists sits on a soft bed, bathed in filtered light. The entire scene is, in my opinion, designed not only for rest, but for the double tap, each post a polished snapshot, more moodboard than moment.

Somewhere along the scroll, you realize that self-care, once a quiet, private act of self-preservation, now feels less like a practice and more like a photoshoot. The emphasis is less on how it makes you feel and more on how it makes you look. The ritual is less about healing and more about curated aesthetics, an aspirational vibe that’s been filtered, polished, and commodified into something sellable. And when rest becomes a performance, it stops being restful.

This isn’t to say the rise of wellness culture is inherently shallow. Self-care started as a lifeline, an act of resistance for those going through burnout and mental health struggles. It used to be about recovery— unplugging, setting boundaries, catching your breath. For some, it was even political; writer and activist Audre Lorde once called self-care an act of self-preservation. The origins are rooted in necessity: distancing yourself from overwhelming demands, breathing deeply, and trying to feel okay again. It was slow, intangible, and personal. 

Somewhere along the way, self-care became a product to buy. What once meant a quiet moment to breathe now often reads like a shopping list: a $90 moisturizer promising to erase stress, a beige “clean girl” aesthetic pinned to every social platform, “Sunday reset” routines promising the perfect mental reboot (if only you could fit them in between your other commitments). That wellness-to-luxury jump is hard to miss. Brands have masterfully played on the vibe, packaging rest and rejuvenation as exclusive, aspirational commodities that assume you have not just money, but the time and space to create your own routine. And when beauty brands take over the self-care space, their version starts to take center stage. Suddenly, it’s less about what actually helps you cope, and more about picking from a lineup of glossy products that promise peace — as long as it fits the aesthetic.

But to be clear: self-care isn’t the enemy. Taking time to care for yourself, recognizing your limits, and prioritizing rest is essential. The problem arises when the pressure to make your rest “look good” or “go viral” eclipses the purpose. Suddenly, if your version of self-care isn’t perfectly photogenic or doesn’t fit into a 15-second video, will it even count? This creates a strange cycle where authenticity feels like a luxury, and the performance of rest turns into its own kind of burnout. 

True self-care isn’t a product, an influencer-approved ritual, or a perfectly framed moment. Sometimes, it’s just turning off your phone, watching TV in your comfiest hoodie, or sitting in silence and doing nothing at all. You don’t need a jade roller to heal, just space to be a little unpolished, a little tired, and entirely human.