The Cult of Wellness: How Healing Became a Lifestyle Brand
a longform reflection on appropriation, identity, misinformation, and what we lose when wellness becomes performance.
Cold plunges. Organ supplements. Mushroom coffee. A $23 smoothie infused with collagen, spirulina, and the suggestion of spiritual alignment. What used to be a quiet, personal pursuit of balance has become a booming global industry, projected to reach seven trillion dollars.
But how did we get here?
The wellness movement didn’t begin with influencers and Instagram infographics. Its roots trace back to the 1970s, when neighborhood wellness centers offered yoga, massage, herbal remedies, and meditation. These were small, local spaces that invited curiosity and community. Healing wasn’t about optimization or metrics. It was about care.
Today’s landscape looks very different. The language of self-care has been replaced with the pressure to self-upgrade. Wellness has become sleek, algorithmically curated, and largely unregulated. And instead of herbalists or healers, many of the loudest voices are online personalities with massive followings. They offer solutions for everything from hormone imbalance to fertility to anxiety, often without clinical evidence but with a whole lot of conviction.
The trust they build is personal. You’re not just seeing a product; you’re seeing a person who seems to have it all figured out. And the more you engage, the more the algorithm gives you. One liked post about adrenal fatigue or seed oil toxicity turns into a feed filled with the same themes, dressed in slightly different packaging. It starts to feel less like content and more like truth.
And that’s the seduction of it. If you’re tired, anxious, bloated, or burnt out — and who isn’t these days? — there’s a reason, and there’s a fix. It might be a freeze-dried organ supplement marketed with phrases like “ancestral wisdom” and “vital peptides.” It might be a detox kit or a hormone-balancing powder. Often, the science is vague. But the messaging is clear: you are in control, and this product will help you reclaim it.
What often gets left out is that many of these products bypass the usual safety checks. Supplements don’t need FDA approval before they hit the market. Companies don’t have to prove their claims. The FTC only intervenes after the fact, and by then, the post has gone viral, the product has sold out, and the narrative has taken root.
Let me say this clearly. I understand the discomfort many of us feel when it comes to the FDA. I share it. Their track record isn’t spotless, and regulatory systems often leave too much room for profit to override people. But the concern here isn’t just about oversight. It’s about how easily we’re persuaded to take something based solely on a stranger’s conviction. Not a clinician. Not a trained herbalist. Just someone with a camera, a following, and a compelling narrative. In moments when we feel unwell or uncertain, that story can feel like medicine. But without understanding what’s actually happening in our bodies, we risk treating symptoms without ever touching the root.
This is the paradox we’re sitting in. An industry built on the promise of wholeness often thrives on dissatisfaction. There’s always one more protocol, one more powder, one more influencer-recommended fix. And when wellness becomes something we chase instead of something we live inside of, we lose something essential. Not just our money, but our ability to trust our bodies without being told how.
Signs of Cult-like Thinking in Wellness
When we think of cults, we often imagine secluded compounds, matching robes, and end-of-days prophecies. But cult-like thinking doesn’t always announce itself that loudly. Sometimes, it shows up in softer language — in detox protocols, influencer-led "healing journeys," or private Facebook groups full of testimonials that double as dogma.
At its core, indoctrination is the suppression of questioning. It’s the moment a belief system stops inviting curiosity and starts demanding allegiance. And while the wellness industry isn’t a monolith, many of its louder corners lean uncomfortably close to this dynamic.
Let’s start with the basics. Cults are often led by charismatic figures who claim exclusive knowledge, and the wellness space has no shortage of those. The influencer who says seed oils are poisoning the population, or that taking raw testicle supplements will regulate your hormones, might not be wearing a robe or preaching salvation, but the setup is similar. There is a guru, a revelation, and a prescribed path to purity.
One of the most recognizable traits of cult indoctrination is the creation of a closed system. Cults isolate members from external voices, building echo chambers where the group’s ideology becomes the only acceptable truth. Social media performs this function with quiet efficiency. Once someone engages with wellness content, especially material rooted in fear or moral purity, the algorithm narrows the lens. Alternative viewpoints become harder to find. What remains begins to feel less like perspective and more like fact.
There’s also the appeal of exclusivity. Cults present themselves as chosen or enlightened. The wellness version of this sounds like: “Everyone else is sick and brainwashed, but you’ve found the truth.” Membership isn’t always formal, but the sense of superiority — of being “in the know” while the rest of the world poisons itself with tap water and Tylenol — is deeply seductive.
We also have to talk about vulnerability. Cult recruitment often targets those experiencing identity shifts, grief, financial strain, or loneliness. Wellness marketing does the same. If you’re exhausted, hormonally off, emotionally fragile, or simply overwhelmed by conventional medicine, there is a wellness protocol that promises to fix you. Your symptoms are validated, but only this path, and this specific bundle of supplements, can solve them. And if it doesn’t? You probably didn’t try hard enough.
Other familiar tools show up too. Love-bombing appears in the form of community praise when you commit to a protocol or go all-in on a lifestyle.
Fear and guilt are used to warn against stepping outside it. Don’t you know what glyphosate does? Do you really want to feed your child that? It’s no longer just a personal choice. It becomes a reflection of your values.
Even the psychological mechanics are eerily similar. Repetition and emotional appeals reinforce belief through constant exposure. Cognitive dissonance shows up when someone spends hundreds on an ineffective cleanse but can’t bring themselves to question it — because doing so would mean admitting they were misled. The sunk cost fallacy sets in. I’ve already come this far. I can’t stop now.
To be clear, not all wellness spaces operate this way. There are herbalists, educators, and practitioners offering nuance, science, and safety. But when wellness becomes identity, when someone can’t question a product, a person, or a protocol without being shamed, something deeper is at play.
It’s worth asking: are we healing, or are we being indoctrinated into someone else’s idea of health?
When Tradition Is Rebranded
Not everything in the wellness space is harmful, but too often, what started as sacred ends up becoming a sales pitch. And when ancient traditions are rebranded for mass consumption without context or consent, we risk losing more than authenticity. We risk losing the very wisdom that made these practices valuable in the first place.
From Ayurveda and Traditional Chinese Medicine to Indigenous ceremony and plant teachings, countless traditions have contributed to the wellness landscape. Yet the way these systems show up in mainstream wellness often feels stripped down and resold.
A powdered herb becomes a "fat-burning detox." Meditation gets marketed as a productivity hack.
What was once part of a relational worldview, tied to ancestry, spirit, land, or ethics, becomes a product on a shelf or a trend on TikTok.
And let’s be honest. Many of us found wellness through these very trends. But there's a difference between drawing inspiration from a tradition and profiting off it without acknowledgment.
Appreciation involves taking the time to understand where something came from, who preserved it, and how it was meant to function. Appropriation skips the relationship and centers convenience.
It’s not just about erasure. It’s about harm. Practices like smudging with white sage or burning palo santo have become aesthetic staples, even while the communities they originate from face ongoing marginalization. Supply chains can’t keep up with demand, and plants once used seasonally in ceremony are now being harvested en masse for spiritual starter kits. The original meaning? Watered down or lost entirely.
We see this same pattern in herbal medicine. Ashwagandha, maca, blue lotus, reishi — all sacred in their own right — are now part of a cycle I call the "herb of the month syndrome." A single plant gets hyped as the next miracle fix, stripped from its tradition and sold as a stand-alone solution. But there are consequences to that kind of hype.
And I want to pause here to acknowledge something important. You’ll notice that I’ve written, and will continue to write, articles that highlight individual herbs. That isn’t because I believe a single plant will solve all your problems. I’m not here to offer you a miracle in a bottle or a gateway herb that does it all. I’m helping you build your materia medica slowly and intentionally. My goal is to give you the tools to think critically when reaching for plant medicine. To ask, “Is there a better herb for this? What would be most appropriate for this body, in this moment?” Not just defaulting to calendula because it’s popular and you heard it “heals.” This is about cultivating discernment, not dependency.
And while I absolutely encourage connection to the land, working with plants, and deepening your relationship with nature — I also want you to approach these practices with mindfulness and awareness. This isn’t about creating fear or hesitation. It’s about honoring the complexity of herbal medicine — culturally, ecologically, and energetically — so we don’t repeat the same extractive patterns in the name of healing.
Because the truth is, there are real consequences to these trends.
Take slippery elm. Once a beloved herbal ally used seasonally for coughs and digestive irritation, it's now in such high demand that wild trees are being stripped of bark and left to die. A single 50-pound bag of dried bark may sell for $150, but it takes the death of a dozen trees to produce it.
Black cohosh, goldenseal, and American ginseng are facing similar fates. Most of the black cohosh sold today is harvested from the wild, with no replanting, no replenishment, no consideration for the ecosystems or communities that rely on it.
And that’s the paradox of commodified plant medicine. The more we chase “natural healing,” the more disconnected from nature we can become. The more we reach for ancient wisdom, the more we risk repeating the same extractive patterns that once tried to silence it.
If wellness is truly about wholeness, then it must include cultural and ecological respect. That means learning where your practices come from. Supporting teachers, farmers, and communities who carry those lineages. And being willing to say no to trends that cause more harm than good, even when the marketing is beautiful.
Because real wellness doesn’t come from rebranding what was sacred. It comes from remembering how to be in right relationship with our bodies, with plants, with people, and with the stories we carry forward.
When Wellness Becomes Belief — and Everyone Becomes an Expert
The Age of Weaponized Wellness
Wellness was never meant to feel performative. It began as a reclamation, a turning toward wholeness, ritual, and care in a world that often-demanded compliance over healing. At its best, wellness offered alternatives. At its worst, it now offers ultimatums.
Social media has played a defining role in this shift. The hashtag #wellness on TikTok alone has amassed more than 16 billion views. The content under that umbrella is vast: morning routines, supplement rituals, hormonal balancing checklists, “clean girl” aesthetics, and endless reels showcasing what a perfect day of health should look like. It appears aspirational. But underneath the polished edits is a steady current of anxiety, the pressure to constantly optimize, to curate your health as if it were a personal brand.
Carl Cederström referred to this phenomenon as the “wellness syndrome,” the idea that our unrelenting pursuit of health and self-improvement may, paradoxically, be making us feel worse. In this framework, wellness is no longer something we practice. It becomes something we perform. Each meal is a metric. Every symptom becomes a sign that you haven’t done enough. The body, once a site of intuition and communication, becomes a project to correct.
The rhetoric shifts subtly but powerfully. Wellness becomes a moral narrative. Foods are either clean or toxic. A routine is either high-vibrational or harmful. If you deviate from the ever-expanding rules, you’re not just unhealthy — you’re undisciplined. Falling ill becomes a personal failure.
This is where wellness begins to mirror belief systems. It takes on the shape of ideology, one where questioning is discouraged and ritual becomes righteousness. It sells control during a time of collective instability, monetizing the desire for meaning and safety. The result is a framework that feels like empowerment but often leaves people depleted, confused, and quietly ashamed.
The promise is healing. The outcome, too often, is hypervigilance.
When Everyone’s an Expert: Herbalism and the Illusion of Authority Online
Recently, I responded to a question in a Facebook herbalism group. A woman had asked for teas that support digestion, sleep, and a third concern I now can’t quite recall. I offered a thoughtful reply and linked to an article I had written on herbal bitters to provide deeper context for digestive support.
Later, I received a private message from her. She thanked me and then asked if she could include my comment in a book she was working on.
The request itself wasn’t malicious. But it struck a nerve.
If you are publicly seeking beginner-level guidance, how are you also positioning yourself as someone qualified to author a resource for others? And this isn’t an isolated event. I’ve started to notice a pattern. There is a growing number of individuals online who position themselves as herbal experts, yet their content often reflects a shallow understanding of the practice or none at all.
Social media is flooded with lists: herbs for anxiety, herbs for bloat, herbs for womb healing. Rarely is there discussion of energetics, dosage, contraindications, or context. There is little to no attention paid to safety, sourcing, or constitutional nuance. These lists are consumed quickly, uncritically, and often acted upon without further study or discernment.
This is not a critique of beginners. It is a critique of performance without practice. Herbalism should be accessible. I believe in empowering people to learn and engage with plant medicine. But I also believe in rigor, in respect, and in earning the trust we ask for when we teach.
The risk is not just misinformation. The risk is that herbalism becomes another commodity in the wellness economy — aesthetic, simplified, algorithm-driven, and stripped of its cultural, relational, and ecological depth. The plants deserve more than that. So do the people reaching for them.
My intention is not to discourage, but to invite pause. If you are sharing information about herbs, ask yourself where that knowledge came from. Who did you learn it from? What systems of healing are you standing within? What are you still learning?
Herbalism is not a bullet point. It is not a content strategy. It is a living practice, rooted in listening — to the land, to tradition, to the body, and to the plants themselves.
In a world that rewards quick answers and polished appearances, choosing slowness, depth, and discernment is a radical act. And maybe, a healing one too.
Returning to Right Relationship
Wellness should feel like a return, not a performance. It should bring us closer to ourselves, not further into someone else’s narrative. But in an age where health has been commodified and ancient practices are marketed as trends; it becomes harder to hear our own inner knowing beneath the noise.
This article isn’t a rejection of wellness. It’s an invitation to approach it differently. With discernment instead of dogma. With context instead of convenience. With depth, not just data. True healing doesn’t ask you to become someone else. It asks you to become more yourself — to listen more closely to your body, your environment, your ancestors, and the stories passed down through plants and practice.
Herbalism has never been about absolutes. It’s about relationship. And relationships require presence, patience, and accountability. They are not built overnight, and they cannot be sustained by aesthetics alone. If we want a future where plant medicine remains accessible, safe, and powerful, then we have to protect it from becoming hollowed out by hype.
Let this be a reminder that you do not need to know everything to begin. You only need to stay curious, respectful, and willing to slow down. The work of healing, real healing, isn’t flashy. It’s quiet, rooted, and ongoing.
And that, in itself, is enough.
If this piece resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Feel free to leave a comment, share it with a friend, or start a conversation in your community. These topics deserve dialogue — not just reflection.
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Thank you, as always, for being here and for thinking critically about the world we’re building through wellness.
-Agy | The Buffalo Herbalist
Bibliography:
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Wisterianwoman. (2024b, February 2). Toxic Wellness Culture: When Healing Becomes Harmful. Wisterian Woman. https://wisterianwoman.com/2024/02/02/toxic-wellness-culture-when-healing-becomes-harmful
https://www.researchgate.net/publication/385937782_The_Psychology_of_Indoctrination_How_Coercive_Cults_Exploit_Vulnerability_and_Foster_Radical_Beliefs
Wang, G., & Wang, G. (2024, January 29). Cultural appropriation in wellness practices. Free Bunni. https://freebunni.com/cultural-appropriation-in-wellness-practices/
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How Social Media Influences Health and Wellness Trends: Benefits, Risks, and Expert Tips
This piece is so very rich, thank you so much for verbalising and hitting so
Many truths.
I am not a herbalist and have always gone to a registered medicinal herbalist for their expertise and knowledge.
I am UK based and post menopausal, but find it so difficult to see how this life stage is treated by the ‘wellness industry’ (menopause). Its viewed as something to fix and cure and push through and I feel deeply for women at this life stage.
I love this quote especially “The body, once a site of intuition and communication, becomes a project to correct”
How can people come back to themselves when bombarded with expectations of how they should be navigating this life.
I love that you are shining light on some of the dark corners of wellness 🙏
As a registered herbal practitioner with over 20 years experience I have seen many shifts in this space. I have much respect for those who have an honest desire to learn, but take umbrance with those who put themselves forward as experts and then damage the reputation of our profession due to inexperience or lack of knowledge. Much of what my ancestors taught is being lost, so I applaud people who want to write about and record our herbal heritage. However this means nothing if it comes from simply regurgatating, then rebranding what others have written without first and foremost sitting with, and learning from the plant itself. Thank you for stimulating a thoughtful discussion on this important topic.