The dark side of self-care: a capitalistic mirage

Next time you book a Thai massage, buy new makeup, or sign up for a gym contract, ask yourself: why are these specific things promoted as self-care? And who really benefits?

In a world consumed by capitalism and constant productivity, you've almost certainly encountered the concept — the constant buzzword — of self-care. It promises solace and relief from the burdens of your fast-paced life. But beneath the surface lies a darker truth. The self-care industry has become deeply entangled with consumerism and an extractive economy that leaves very little room for genuine well-being.

Why I care so much about this

I'm outraged at how many women are burning out. But it's not hard to understand why. The systems within which we live and work are designed to extract as much as possible from us, leaving very little over for us to live our lives as we'd like.

Then we're told to self-care — but only in small snippets of time where we can find them, or feel we've earned them — and sold self-care solutions, which has become an industry all unto itself.

Yay, capitalism.

"The self-care industry thrives on your vulnerability — perpetuating the notion that your well-being can be purchased off a shelf."

How capitalism co-opts self-care

You've probably encountered the marketable façade: soothing face masks, scented candles, catchy slogans that make exhaustion feel like a lifestyle choice. The industry thrives on your depletion. But is a superficial fix truly nurturing your mind, body, and soul?

An extractive economy — one that prioritises profit accumulation over long-term sustainability and human well-being — doesn't just apply to how companies treat natural resources. It applies to how they treat you. Relentless growth. Constant output. A cycle that leaves little room for true disconnection, genuine rest, or recovery.

Signs you're operating inside an extractive system

Exploitative labour practices

Excessive hours, low wages, or unsafe conditions — prioritising company profit over your actual well-being and fair treatment.

No real work-life boundary

Constant availability expected. Personal time is treated as a productivity resource to be managed, not a human need to be protected.

No path forward

Dead-end roles, minimal development, cost-cutting that prevents growth. You're a resource to be used, not a person to be invested in.

Your voice doesn't count

Input ignored. Creativity stifled. The culture prioritises compliance and short-term output over the actual contributions of the people doing the work.

Not all companies operate this way. But when they do, the toll on your well-being is real — and selling you a bath bomb isn't the solution.

Disconnection has become a luxury

In an economy that values constant productivity and profit, finding time for genuine rest has become rare and expensive. How often do you catch yourself saying I don't have time for that ? There's so much competing for your time — long hours, always-on technology that blurs every boundary between work and life, caregiving responsibilities, financial pressure, and the guilt of taking time that isn't measurably productive.

You end up trapped in a cycle of work and stress, with infrequent and expensive holidays sold to you as self-care — a temporary reprieve that evaporates the moment you're back at your desk. The toll on mental health is profound. And a new lipstick, however lovely, is not going to fix it.

Beyond massages and other consumerist traps

I'm not saying a good massage isn't sometimes exactly what you need — it genuinely can feel like a system reboot. What I am saying is: notice how self-care is being sold to you. Notice when it's used to make you feel that because you work so hard, you deserve this expensive thing — even when it puts you further into debt. Just notice. Then decide. You're an intelligent person.

What self-care actually looks like

True self-care is not about indulgent experiences and material possessions. It's fostering meaningful connections with people who genuinely nourish your spirit. It's engaging in activities that bring you joy — not debt. Doing things not because they're Instagrammable, but because they actually restore you.

And sometimes, real self-care is genuinely unsexy. It might mean finally getting your taxes done so that weight lifts off your chest. Cutting up a credit card. Limiting contact with people who consistently deplete you. Having a difficult conversation you've been managing around for months. Waking up slightly earlier so you can eat something decent before work. Turning your phone off for a weekend. Letting something go that no longer serves you.

Or — and this is a radical one — finally stopping the relentless race to improve yourself. Deciding that who you are right now is enough to work with.

What actually helps

• Less, not differently. Burnout is almost always a problem of too much. The answer is reduction, not optimisation. You cannot supplement or morning-routine your way out of an overloaded life.

• Recovery that doesn't look like productivity. Real rest is genuinely unproductive. Not restorative yoga as another item to tick off. Sitting in the garden doing nothing in particular. Watching something silly. Sleeping longer than you planned.

• Structural change, not just coping strategies. If the conditions are making you ill, the conditions need to change. Meditation won't fix a 60-hour working week or a toxic environment — it will just help you survive them slightly longer.

• Connection, not content. The loneliness that accompanies burnout is real. It isn't fixed by consuming wellness content. It's fixed by actual contact with actual people — which is free, inconvenient, and often deeply uncomfortable to initiate when you're depleted.

• Permission, not another prescription. Many burnt-out women don't need a new self-care routine. They need permission to stop. To do less. To let some things be imperfect or undone. That permission doesn't come in a bottle.

That's what creates real spaciousness. Breathing room. Creativity. Play. The things the wellness industry keeps trying to sell you, without ever addressing why you lost them in the first place.

Lianne Byrne

25 years in digital and marketing. Burnout survivor. ADHD at 43. Coaching women in midlife through the reclaim · redesign process. Currently worldschooling in Guatemala.