How to take back self-care from consumerism

Self-care has become one of the most overused buzzwords of our time. Scroll through social media and you’ll find a glossy stream of bath bombs, luxury skincare and wellness retreats, all packaged as the ultimate way to “treat yourself.” Somewhere along the way, caring for your mind and body was rebranded into an image-friendly lifestyle, one that looks appealing online but rarely sustains our well-being.

Yet the essence of self-care was never meant to be a consumer experience. Long before it became a marketing trend, it was about survival, restoration and reclaiming balance in the face of life’s demands. The writer and activist Audre Lorde once called it “an act of political warfare,” a means for marginalised people to preserve themselves in a world intent on wearing them down. It was never indulgence. It was protection.

Consumer culture has since flipped that script. Wellness is now packaged and sold back to us as something you buy rather than something you practice. The message is relentless: without the latest product, planner or supplement, perhaps you’re not doing enough. It’s a clever trap, one that turns self-care into a performance rather than a practice.

The truth is simpler. The most powerful forms of self-care cost nothing at all. They live in rest, in quiet moments of reflection, in saying no without guilt and in choosing connection over consumption. Reclaiming self-care isn’t about rejecting every product; it’s about refusing to let products dictate what it means to care for ourselves.

Historically, self-care was practical and communal. It meant nourishing meals, rest after long hours of work, and tending to the body. In many cultures, particularly African ones, these practices were deeply embedded in rituals, including sharing food, telling stories, playing music, and spending time together. Self-care restored balance so that life could go on.

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The modern wellness industry, worth billions, has turned that simplicity into a market. Online, self-care is curated in pastel tones and tied to consumer goods, pushing the idea that care requires spending. This risks creating divides between those who can afford to buy in and those who cannot. More troubling, it distorts the meaning of care itself, making us believe it must be purchased rather than practised.

Taking self-care back means stripping away the packaging and returning to its roots. True care begins with listening to ourselves and honouring what we hear. Often it’s found in the basics we overlook, like taking a rest, having boundaries, or even drinking enough water. It flourishes in connection: a walk with a friend, cooking with family, sharing stories. None of these requires a receipt.

But social media complicates things. Care feels validated only when it’s “Insta-worthy.” If it can’t be captured, did it even happen? This illusion pushes us to curate our wellness for others rather than live it for ourselves. Fridah Nangila, a Nairobi-based nurse, discovered this unexpectedly: “I’ve been trying to step back from work more frequently and take more time for myself, but I simply don’t have the money right now for discretionary purchases, and I think that’s been a blessing in disguise. I had completely forgotten how much pleasure I get from just curling up with a good book and some tea. It costs next to nothing but honestly elevates my mood and reduces my stress way more reliably than a lot of things I could spend a ton of money on.”

Mooness, a Reddit user, echoed the sentiment: “Everything is commodified; sex, health care, education, medicine, art, entertainment. You have to be mindful of it all the time. I think self-care means different things to different people at different times. Whatever works for you. Mine used to be bubble baths; now it’s guided meditation. Both times, I was targeted with adverts for products that commodified the service. You just have to do the research and buy from conscious vendors. I like to buy women-owned, planet-friendly when I can. I avoid plastic, I limit deliveries, and I steer clear of certain chemicals in toiletries.”

Their reflections land on the same truth: self-care is personal, flexible, and far less about spending than about choosing. To reclaim it from consumerism is to define it for ourselves. Because the most healing, transformative forms of care were never meant to be bought. They’re already here, waiting for us to notice them again.