TikTok has changed the way we talk about health

Some of the posts are crude. Some are insightful, others insanely detailed. Some are just plain wrong.

TikTok, which may soon be banned in the United States, has changed American culture in many ways. However, its impact on the way we talk about health is clear. In tens of millions of videos, users talked about their health and how they take care of themselves in large and petite ways. They advertised “Oatzempic” as a weight loss product and extolled the (supposed) benefits of beef tallow face masks. They shared their stories about abortion and introduced viewers to the reality of living with incurable diseases. Sometimes they shared health advice so misleading that doctors and therapists stepped in to correct the record.

“Anyone who had a camera and a personality could get their message across,” said Aric Prather, a sleep psychologist at the University of California, San Francisco. More than 10 million videos on the app are tagged with #health, and millions more are posted under related hashtags such as #selfcare.

TikTok wasn’t the only platform democratizing information on the Internet. But there’s something special about the way its algorithm brings people together to talk about very personal topics and keeps the conversation going as more users join.

TikTok broadcasts the minutiae of how people try to stay vigorous – lemon water in the morning, “sleeping girl mockups” in the evening. No space is too private, no aspect of everyday life is too inconsequential to become a “ritual” or “routine.”

This type of content is so popular that it has sparked something of a personal health arms race. People are adopting increasingly convoluted skin care routines, including lip scrubs, red delicate masks and high-priced serums. (Even tweens and teens with supple, undamaged skin list “anti-aging” tips). Users try to optimize their (and their viewers’) sleep by taping their mouths shut at night and boiling lettuce in water to drink before bed. When they wake up, they document their “morning shed” by removing layers of sleep accessories and cosmetics.

The fixation on better rest is ironic. “TikTok in particular is a fun tool for this, given that many people spend a lot of time not sleeping and instead watching it,” Dr. Prather said.

…and insight into what doctors think about it.

The flood of health advice from users without medical knowledge has brought doctors to TikTok in droves. Many see themselves as fact-checkers, helping people separate truth from fiction, says Dr. Brooke Jeffy, a practicing dermatologist in Scottsdale, Arizona, who frequently posts on the platform.

Numerous studies have shown that TikTok is a breeding ground for misleading health information. Doctors have expressed concerns about such misinformation – especially about serious diseases such as cancer — may have perilous effects on human health.

A TikTok spokesperson declined to comment on this week’s Supreme Court decision or the platform’s contributions to the health conversation in the United States, instead pointing to its partnerships with health authorities and mental health resources on its site.

This required mainstream self-diagnosis.

There is an amazing feeling that the application he knows you, serving content describing your symptoms and sometimes even imposing a diagnosis.

Some creators have built a following by detailing the “hidden signs” of conditions such as autism, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and bipolar disorder. Others provide quizzes to support people consider whether they may have one of these diseases.

Some of these posts, which have led users to diagnose themselves with mental disorders, oversimplify convoluted disorders. Some of them have no basis at all. Some of the videos were sponsored by telehealth companies that offered treatments for these conditions.

“Therapy talk” has also exploded on the platform, with people calling their exes “gaslighters” or talking about “bonding after trauma” – using, misusing and popularizing jargon that was once confined to the therapist’s office. These terms have become so ubiquitous that there have been videos parodying the trend.

This ushered in a fresh era of diet culture.

Weight loss content was around long before TikTok and will continue to be around long after it. But TikTok has given us clearer terms to reinforce long-standing and harmful ideas about body image, said Lizzy Pope, an associate professor of nutrition at the University of Vermont who studied weight messages on TikTok.

“Diet culture is always changing,” Dr. Pope said. She noted that for a while, many posts on TikTok were about “protein, protein, protein.”

“I think it’s just an appearance of weight loss,” she added.

For example, Dr. Pope said: When you reduce carbohydrates, you are not dieting; According to TikTok, you maintain hormonal balance. You don’t “cleanse” to lose weight; you take care of your intestinal health. Julie Balsamo, a creator who publishes gut health posts on TikTok like the video above, told The Recent York Times that social media posts sometimes suggest that gut health is all about “limiting.” Her message, she said, is that a vigorous gut comes from a varied diet.

Perhaps nothing has accelerated the TikTok conversation about weight and weight loss more than the rise of Ozempic. The app has become a place for people to show off their bodies “before” and “after” fresh weight loss and diabetes drugs. Users record their first injections and document their side effects. Some research suggests that TikTok videos even have increased interest in drugs — and potentially recipes for them.

It made us start talking about taboo health topics.

During the early months of the Covid-19 pandemic, the platform became a forum where people could connect amid concerns about self-isolation during lockdown, share information about Covid-19 (and misinformation) and talk about your health problems.

“We couldn’t seek support in the usual way, so there were comment sections where everyone was trying to understand other people’s problems,” said Dr. Sasha Hamdani, a psychiatrist in Leawood, Kansas. who posts about mental health on TikTok like the one above. “And it just became an amazing way for people to destigmatize and for health care workers to reach people really where they are.”

At the same time, she found that people seemed more willing to talk about mental health, miscarriageaddictions and other once-taboo topics in confessional-style films. This inspired Dr. Hamdani to do it himself: he frequently posts about his struggles with ADHD

Booming communities have emerged around physical and mental health issues. There’s DiabetesTok, where users guide people through supermarket aisles in search of foods that will support keep their blood sugar levels under control. There is GriefTok, where posts about loss are as intimate as diary entries. There is also SoberTok, where people discuss their struggles with alcoholism and recovery.

Each video is a petite but significant part of the collective endless scrolling.

Credits: @nutritionbyjulie/TikTok; @winnie_thepooj/TikTok; @jelks/TikTok; @megsdeangelis/TikTok; @dermangelo/TikTok; @des.dallagiacomo/TikTok; @trinityywyaa/TikTok; @carringtonxx/TikTok; @thepsychdoctormd/TikTok; @jojoasmr/TikTok; @brookejeffymd/TikTok; @baptisthealthsf/TikTok.