
Wake up at the ass-crack of dawn. Take off mouth tape, step onto an acupuncture mat (bonus points if you double down with red light treatment). Shuffle to the bathroom, remove the castor oil from your belly button. Ice roll? If not, a twelve-step skin regimen will do.
After all of this, you will be hungry. Head to the kitchen, chug green juice, chase with supplements. The list goes on — if you have the time and money to invest in a better you.
Whether it’s a neighbor, a celebrity or an influencer, someone is always telling you that you should be doing, trying or buying something.
Do we have a strong self-care culture guided by people who genuinely want to help us be better versions of ourselves? Or does this all boil down to a big giant performance under the pressures of capitalism? Wow. If I weren’t detoxing my liver, I’d need a drink to help me figure that out.
Jacqueline Kuehl, executive director of DePaul’s digital marketing program, says the desire to be better breaks down to how we’re wired.
“People like things that are going to be a fast cure to either looking better, looking younger, getting skinnier or getting fitter,” Kuehl said.
Fads have long been a mainstay, but social media has entirely shortened the shelf-life for all trends, including those within the wellness industry. We keep cramming more cures into our routines, as Kuehl notes — but it never seems to be enough.
Like many other students, because of finances I have to make difficult decisions at the grocery store. But I still wish I had more money to blow on boutique pilates classes, even when I know I can get an effective workout at home.
As someone who’s lived in Chicago for nearly five years, there’s no shortage of access to the latest trends, from hot yoga, to cycle studios, medspas and juice bars. Until you strip the veneers — and see the price tag.

I go on “hot girl walks” a lot. They’re free. I get on the phone, yap with my mom, walk downtown from Wrigley. I love it. But I didn’t love it when I was walking home last week and I saw it … Sweathouz.
I immediately knew it was yet another fancy studio. I’d go home, look the studio up and then somehow get pulled in just to the point of getting spam emails forever.
Sure enough, Sweathouz offers guests and members private “contrast therapy” experiences, which they recommend doing twice a week. A nonmember would pay $80 for 60 minutes of a private sweat sesh in a sauna followed by a cold plunge in a 50-degree (glorified) bath tub.
We’re told these new studios create new experiences. But, to me, what’s “new” is the pressure and standard social media creates to blow money on these experiences — if anything, to keep up with what’s supposedly hot.
Geoffrey Durso, an assistant professor of marketing at DePaul, says social media has not only redefined what “wellness” means but has changed consumer behavior, making people (like myself) more susceptible to persuasion.
“A lot of (influencers) genuinely believe in what they’re doing,” Durso said. “They might have some connection to their regimen. Even then, any evidence against its efficacy might be resisted or fought back against.”
If you see a creator you like (or want to be like) try something, you’re more inclined to give it a shot. Which is exactly what I did.
After a long day of deep cleaning my apartment and hauling five loads of laundry up four flights of stairs, I walked the half mile south to Sweathouz.
Ultimately, I paid $50 as an introductory offer to sweat in a wooden box and sit in cold water. My dad would see it and say something like, “We have that at home.”
But the experience was more than that! The sauna had customizable lighting and speakers that played the glorious sounds of nature. I even had access to my own vitamin-C infused shower, toiletries, a TV — the works.
The cold plunge tub was where it got interesting. Positioned in front of the tub is a giant mirror with backlighting. Affixed to it is a phone mount to help record your experience. The mount, to me, suggested these experiences go beyond helping people with pain. This is something you’re supposed to show off. This is exclusive.

After I steamed, I sank into the tub and was forced to reflect. Was this worth a week of groceries? No. Would I do it again? Yes.
Am I part of the problem? Definitely.
After my hour was up, I dried my hair with a $400+ Dyson tool. Before I left, I made damn sure to fill my water bottle with watermelon flavored sparkling water.
As I walked home from my relaxing self-care experience, I double checked my wallet for holes.
Durso says one way to feel effective about completing a goal is to spend a certain amount of money investing in it — whether that be new skincare products or a fitness class.
“There’s a sense of trust implicit in pricing … (an) implicit promise that this must be worth the price,” Durso said.
But let’s at least consider the basics before jumping to extremes. Walking, eating whole foods and touching grass often go by the wayside under a capitalist framework.

“You really want to just prioritize the basics of good health, wellness, things that make sense, and just be a little skeptical of trends,” Kuehl said.
Good influencers are walking advertisements, filling your head with a laundry list of things you think you need. When I saw Ashton Hall blow up online for his six hourlong “wellness” routine, I was envious.
What average person has the time for all that, and should I be rubbing a banana peel on my face too?
I get it. Social media comes with too much baggage and noise. Wellness has become a business model that prioritizes engagement over connection and betterment. “Number one predictor of engagement?” Durso said. “Anger and rage.”
And boy, am I angry. Wellness isn’t about feeling good anymore — it’s a pricey performance to prove you care about yourself.
The worst part about my experience?
I’d do it again.
Related Stories:
- TikTok trends are bad for feminism: ‘Gorgeous Gorgeous Girls’ contribute to ‘Girl Bossing’ overconsumption
- Korean beauty store expanding, as K-Pop craze grows in Chicago
- Skincare is more than a trend – it’s an essential daily routine
Stay informed with The DePaulia’s top stories, delivered to your inbox every Monday.