Hot Girls Have Anxiety: The Mentally-Ill Girl Aesthetic

How Internet Feminism Turned Internalized Pain into a Marketable Aesthetic 

It's okay not to be okay. 

This phrase, now ubiquitous across social media, has become a comfortable mantra for those who struggle with mental health. It seems like a sweet reminder, a gentle nudge to embrace our imperfections and struggles. But in reality, it is much darker–an empty catchphrase hacked by an influencer-driven culture that profits off emotional labor and personal trauma. The rise of the Mentally Ill Girl aesthetic" has transformed mental health struggles from personal battles into visual trends, "personality trait quizzes" to talk about with friends, and worse, marketable commodities. This essay will explore the rise of the "mentally ill girl aesthetic" and the way it reflects the troubling commodification of mental health in the age of social media. What started as an expression of vulnerability has been twisted into a performative, profit-driven identity–one that trivializes mental illness, turning real pain into an aesthetic to be consumed. 

My first personal introduction to mental health came when I was sixteen, during a moment that still feels absurd in retrospect. At my high school, the same girl who once whispered insults behind people's backs was suddenly leading a campaign for "mental health awareness." They filmed a promotional video–reminiscent of Mean Girls– for a schoolwide "mental health week," complete with Pinterest-worthy quotes, trendy but shallow self-care advice, and mindfulness tips pulled from the first page of Google. What was meant to be a safe, inclusive space felt like a performance. Surrounded by classmates who suddenly wore their trauma like their accessories. The exact ways where breakdowns were once a source of gossip were now lined with pastel posters reminding us to "Just breathe" and "Be kind." Something didn't feel right; it wasn't that mental health was finally being discussed. The language was curated and sanitized. The faces behind the campaign had slogans of confessed surface-level experiences of mental health issues and missing themselves without the proper information. Making others who suffer so profoundly feel even more alone. 

That moment was not only the first exposure but an understanding of the commodification of the struggle. It was mental health awareness without the mess, the nuance, or the accountability. It was activism as aesthetic–where vulnerability was encouraged only if it was pretty, palatable, and Instagrammable. What I witnessed in the High school hallway has since exploded into a digital phenomenon: influencers crying on TikTok between sponsored posts, the glamorization of trauma on shows like Euphoria, and a generation that learned to self-diagnose to feel seen in a world that rewards performative pain.

I intend to unpack the cultural machinery behind the Mentally Ill Girl archetype by examining media theory, internet feminism, and real-world pain. 

When the hit HBO Max show Euphoria aired, I remember watching it with a strange mix of awe and discomfort. The visuals were nothing I had ever seen; the soundtrack played repeatedly on my phone, and the characters especially Rue– felt painfully honest. But what was so unsettling about the show wasn't just what was on the screen but how everyone around me responded. Friends began to post quotes from the show, filming with glitter tears and romanticizing the numbness. Some related sincerely, and that made sense. But others seemed to perform their sadness like a trend, slipping into archetypes they hadn't lived but wanted to wear. It was as if vulnerability had become fashionable, and "being broken" had been rebranded as edgy. 

I saw it in myself as well. There were moments I caught reflection–half asleep, mascara smudged, and hadn't left my bed– and thought, I look like I am in Euphoria. I don't look tired or need help, but I look cinematic. I was disturbed by my realization: we were seeking aesthetics instead of seeking healing. Instead of talking about our pain, we were trying to make it palatable. That is the danger of the Mentally Ill Girl Aesthetic" –it blurs the line between expression and limitation, between lived experience and performative identity. 

  In the age of participatory media and influencer capitalism, the rise of the Mentally Ill Girl aesthetic on platforms like TikTok or shows like Euphoria reflects a troubling shift: mental illness is no longer just a personal struggle but a marketable identity shaped by algorithms and fandom culture and encoded for consumption, ultimately blurring the line between authenticity and performance in both digital and real-life spaces. 

I remember scrolling through Tumblr at thirteen, watching girls turn their sadness into something shimmering. Crying selfies, cigarette ash on a mood board, and much more. We weren't just watching each other suffer but participating in it. As stated in Henry Jenkins's Fandom Participatory Culture Textual Poachers, "Fan culture production is often motivated by social reciprocity, friendship, and good feeling rather than economic self-interest" (Jenkins). For many of us, reblogging these images wasn't about attention. It was trying to belong. Participatory culture meant we found each other through these visual codes of jittery despair; in doing so, we confused performance with truth. We were learning how to be seen, and sadness got us noticed. 

This aesthetic of mental health struggles didn't remain confined to Tumblr. As platforms evolved, so did the manifestations of this trend. On Instagram, for insurance, the curated portrayal of distress becomes more polished yet no less performative. A systematic review examining Instream's impact on mental health found that "exposure to idealized images and curated content can exacerbate feelings of inadequacy and depressive symptoms among users." (Fardouly & Vartanian, 2021) This suggests that our platforms for connection and expression also contribute to our emotional turmoil. Blurring the lines between genuine self-expression and the commodification of our struggles. 

That confusion– between performance and authenticity, between reaching out and showing off–set the stage for what would later emerge as a fully branded version of emotional vulnerability. The Tumblr girl's glittered grief matured into the Instagram wellness aesthetic and eventually into the rise of the "therapy influencer." What once felt like mutual recognition of pain turned into content strategy. Here, the language of healing," inner child," "safe space," and "triggered" aren't just shared but are sold. Platforms that once offered refuge now blur with consumption, and we're left to decipher which parts of our feelings are genuine and which are just well-filtered performances. 

Uncredentialed individuals often dispense generalized advice, blending personal anecdotes with sponsored content, thereby monetizing vulnerability. This phenomenon is reflected in Stuart Hall's Encoding and Decoding Model, where audiences interpret media messages in varied ways–sometimes accepting them as intended, sometimes negotiating their meaning, or outright rejecting them. In this context, followers may either embrace these influencers as relatable figures or critique them for oversimplifying complex mental health issues. In a published journal by Human Behavior Reports, portrayals can raise awareness and perpetuate stereotypes, depending on audience interpretation. This concern is further supported by findings from a systematic review on Instagram and mental health, which indicate that "exposure to upward comparison material has detrimental effects." (Human Behavior Report, 2021) and that the intensity of Instagram use can impact well-being differently depending on the mental health indicator examined. The review also notes that while the number of followers doesn't consistently predict well-being, the content consumed plays a crucial role. This duality is evident in HBO's Euphoria, where the character's struggles are glamorized and critiqued, prompting viewers to reflect on the authenticity of televised mental health narratives. The intersection of media representation and audience reception underscores the need for critical engagement with online cognitive content. 

I think back to my experience at sixteen– the pastel posters, the whispered slogans, the way pain was suddenly widespread, but only if it was polished. I didn't have the right words back then, but I knew something fell off. Now I understand It wasn't that mental health was finally being seen–it was that it was being styled. Packaged and sold. What I felt in that moment has echoed across every platform since, from Tumblr mood boards to TikTok breakdowns to glittered-streaked Rue Bennett tributes. 

This is the danger: in the age of participatory media and influencer capitalism, mental illness has been transformed from a deeply personal struggle into a consumable identity. 

The mentally ill girl's aesthetic promised connection, but it often delivered performance. It taught us that suffering was beautiful–as long as it looked a certain way. And I admit I played the part, too. I saw my own pain through a cinematic lens instead of a compassionate one. But healing doesn't look like an HBO scene or a well-curated selfie. Healing can be messy, invisible, and authentic. Maybe the most radical thing we do now is stop trying to look like we're okay– or like we're not– and take action to heal, not for the likes, the algorithm, but for ourselves. 

Work Cited 

Duffy, Brooke  Erin. “Having It All” on Social Media: Entrepreneurial Femininity and Self-Branding among Fashion Bloggers - Brooke Erin Duffy, Emily Hund, 2015, journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/2056305115604337. Accessed 1 May 2025. 

Gill, Rosalind. The Amazing Bounce-Backable Woman: Resilience and the Psychological Turn in Neoliberalism - Rosalind Gill, Shani Orgad, 2018, journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/1360780418769673. Accessed 1 May 2025. 

Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide on JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt9qffwr. Accessed 1 May 

Jenkins, Henry. “Textual Poachers: Television Fans and Participatory Culture.” Routledge & CRC Press, Routledge, 6 Nov. 2012, www.routledge.com/Textual-Poachers-Television-Fans-and-Participatory-Culture/Jenkins/p/book/9780415533294. 

Pavlova, Alina. “Mental Health Discourse and Social Media: Which Mechanisms of Cultural Power Drive Discourse on Twitter.” Social Science & Medicine, Pergamon, 6 Aug. 2020, www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S027795362030469X?ref=pdf_download&fr=RR-2&rr=93912b5d59db51ef. 

Stuart-Hall-1980.Pdf - Encoding/Decoding, spstudentenhancement.files.wordpress.com/2015/03/stuart-hall-1980.pdf. Accessed 1 May 2025. 

“The Relationship between Instagram Use and Indicators of Mental Health: A Systematic Review.” Computers in Human Behavior Reports, Elsevier, 28 July 2021, www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2451958821000695.