“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self- preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” This line, written in 1988 by academic and writer Audre Lorde in her book A Burst of Light: Essays, was so ahead of its time that even returning to it shows just how haywire the modern concept of self-care has become 30 years later. Since publication, the book has armed generations of people with language to discuss social justice and the political case for self-preservation. This notion, that our energy is not infinite, was used by the black power movement to illustrate the need to seek respite from physical and structural oppression. For communities who felt like they were under attack from the state, living in areas where things like healthcare, fresh food and housing were difficult to access (especially for black queer communities, of which Lorde was a part), we ask two questions: One, how do we care for ourselves? And two, why are we really doing it?
It’s a powerful starting point for thinking about self-care in 2019. A time in which we’re veering far away from the political origins of the concept and into a corporate free-for-all where brands are monopolising on the term with no regulation.
Take early last year, when in the UK and Ireland, KFC celebrated World Mindfulness Day with KFChill, a ‘Finger Lickin’ Good’ vibes video designed to “bring the fun to mindfulness” by presenting the sounds of their sizzling kitchens as a sort of audio-sensory chicken experiment. (This isn’t new for fast food monoliths: back in 2016, McDonald’s collaborated with Instagram influencer Cloistered Away to position its Premium Roast coffee as the perfect way to indulge in the act of morning self-care.)
Clearly, self-care is a big business. In the UK, the value of the health and wellness market has increased by over £3.7 billion in five years, and the tech world has cashed in on a thriving millennial market via care apps. Forbes recently estimated that the meditation app Headspace ($12.99 per month) was valued at more than $250 million. While Shine ($7.99 per month), which sends daily “inspirational content” texts, has grown to 2 million users across 189 countries, 88 percent of whom are under 35.
"We search for cheat codes to a more fulfilling, successful life – a face mask, an affirmation, a mindfulness mantra."
It’s fascinating, but hardly a new fascination. In classical Rome, Cicero’s On Friendship and On Duties became popular guides to life, while from the Sixties until the Aughts, pop psychology and self-help books transformed into a bestselling trend through titles such as Louise L Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life (1984), John Gray’s Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus (1992) and Rhonda Byrne’s The Secret (2006).
The current incarnation of ‘looking after yourself’ is clearly branded with a distinct aesthetic and a specific interface. A meme proclaims “Catch flights not feelings”, while an Instagram influencer tells you to “reject negative energy” by purchasing an IKEA Monstera cheese plant (€15) or a scented jar candle (€23.99)… after all, we’re just a bubble bath (unknown price) away from our best self. Or are we?
At its worst, the corporate hijacking of self-care has contributed to the misconception that mental health issues such as depression and anxiety (among others) can be cured with a bath bomb (€6.95) and a smile. In a context where, in the UK at least, public investment in mental health is under attack (in February, the Royal College of Psychiatrists reported that funding is at its lowest in six years), we see just how irresponsible the advice from influencers telling you to indulge in self-care and think positively really is. In reality, concepts, life skills, tools, ways of communicating – forms of self-care – have somehow morphed into a ‘buy-more-stuff’ and ‘monetise-your-anxiety’ profit model.
And how much commodified self-care does the average person need? It’s hard to see how buying another mobile massage will cure the ills of an overworked ad exec on €50,000 a year who consumes yogi tea to the point of mania. Insecurity is a huge part of young people’s experience of the post-2008 financial crash world (since 2001, the number of self-employed 16–24-year-olds has risen from 104,000 to 181,000, an increase of 74 percent). In this reality, security is self-care. Asking for money, being pushy, being organised, responding to emails, picking yourself up from professional and personal trauma to fight another day is self-care. Raising your voice to be angry, to be heard, and coming across as difficult is self-care. Applying for welfare subsidies, filing your tax return, managing a booking system to put yourself on a long waiting list to see an NHS therapist… is also self-care. So, how do these skills conflate with a self-care marketing agenda that tells you to breathe, apply a face mask (€30) and keep calm and carry on?
Many people, bolstered by a hefty dose of capitalist dread, are looking beyond faith for answers: in the UK, more than half the population say they have no religion (British Social Attitudes survey, 2018). While it is the failings of capitalism that have left people high and dry – little economic security, fewer trade unions and a scarcity of social housing – where can we look to heal ourselves? We search for cheat codes to a more fulfilling, successful life – a face mask, an affirmation, a mindfulness mantra. We can’t control a post-crash, post-faith, politically and geographically-fragmented world, but we can, if we try, control our skin-care routine.
Corporate self-care is sinister because it tells the lie that we can solve our problems alone. But then when we feel that all we have is ourselves, maybe it makes a grim sort of sense. When all else fails, perhaps we will all just submit, frantically racing to our most aspirational final forms, clambering to buy perfect calm in a chaotic world.
As Audre Lorde knew, it’s clear that by hijacking the origins of self-care, we forget to restore energy in order to mobilise for a better world. We should look after ourselves, but in an era where marginalised groups – women of colour, refugees, LGBTQ+ communities – don’t always have the luxury of engaging in this ‘treat culture’ of self-preservation, for them, the stakes will always be higher. How will these brands help them?
This article originally appeared in SLEEK 60, out now.