$10 billion dollars.
This is not the monthly salary of the richest person in the world.
It is not how much we spend on food each year.
It’s not the amount of money the fashion industry makes annually either (it’s way more than that).
$10 billion dollars is in fact how much the self-help industry makes every year. And that’s in the U.S. alone.
It’s hard to estimate how much money is actually spent on this increasingly growing industry, as its products and services range from Ted Talk-like podcasts to public seminars and books. The self-help industry goes way back to 1828, when Victorian phrenologist George Combe’s The Constitution of Man came out and writers like Ralph Waldo Emerson followed this new genre. How to Win Friends and Influence People written by Dale Carnegie in 1936 still has a high-ranking spot on Amazon to this day. But in previous years, a new trend has emerged. Whereas people would listen to professional psychologists or intellectuals in order to become their best self, the advice of self-proclaimed fitness and lifestyle gurus has suddenly gained popularity. Why is it that we’re so obsessed with bloggers’ advice, when the people behind a blog aren’t necessarily wiser than our best friend or family member? What qualifies them to give helpful advice in the first place? And why are we absorbing it like it’s as essential as breathing?
Blogs give us the opportunity to consume a big chunk of the self-help industry for free, and we live in a time where the credibility of professionals is at stake. That girl or boy next door seems not only like a more down to earth source, but also like they’re more likely to understand us since they’re not too dissimilar from us. It’s just that they make money with an audience that at the same time legitimises their shared wisdom. Furthermore, they’re not making any money by making us read a particular piece of advice, as that’s done through for example advertisements and affiliate links instead; so what’s the point in lying? Of course it’s still worth pointing out that even then blog posts can lead to the impulse of buying the next self-help book that inspired their post, or promote an example of it through their affiliate marketing program. Now they can even get away with setting up paywalls, where followers have to subscribe to their website in order to get access to specific content; the extra special content, of course.
Take Mark Manson for example. He’s the author of the NYTimes bestseller The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck, and describes himself as an “Author, Thinker, and Life Enthusiast” on his website markmanson.net. On the homepage he explains how he “writes about big ideas and gives life advice that doesn’t suck”. It is true that he provides many research heavy pieces, and makes connections to both ancient and postmodern philosophers in an attempt to solve fundamental, human problems. But there is more to it. Manson is funny. He writes in an engaging and inclusive way that doesn’t alienate his readers. He swears (a lot). And perhaps most importantly, he doesn’t shy away from putting his opinions and proposed tasks as statements. There is something about his articles that make him sound like he’s self-aware enough to follow his own advice, making it easier to trust him with our complex, personal problems we’ll never have to talk to him about in person. Generalised pieces of advice can therefore sell almost as well as horoscopes. They match everyone. The argument isn’t about whether he is right or wrong, or whether he’s just B.S.-ing his way through the self-help industry. The question is rather why we continue to read his and other bloggers’ advice even if most of us struggle to follow through with it?
Everyone is capable of change. That’s a general, accepted belief in therapy. Whereas the determination to change our behaviour is more of a challenge rather than some kind of illusion or unachievable goal, one starts to wonder how many lives have actually been changed by the self-help gurus of this new era. Is our reading a form of procrastination from taking actual steps towards self-improvement? Are we giving them too much credibility? Or are we simply deluded about our own health? After all, a British survey conducted in 2005 showed that 77% of the participants said they “often lead a healthy lifestyle”, 22% stating they “do it all the time”. Whereas there is some evidence that people are doing more exercise particularly through walking, the U.K. is still struggling with an obesity epidemic that makes it hard to give this perception any credibility. The survey also showed that the poorer you are, the least active you are in self care for a healthy lifestyle. However, the results also showed that whereas we might not have achieved our goals regarding physical and mental health, the public is convinced that self care has a positive message. The majority (95%) said they are interested in leading a healthy lifestyle, and more than half (53%) said they are very interested. Almost half of the participants stated they’re interested in doing exercise regularly (42%) and having a balanced diet (49%). So why don’t we follow through with it despite the abundance of advice there is out there?
Perhaps we don’t want to be right. We just want to sound like we are. This might explain the rise of professionals turning into social media stars. Clinical psychologist Jordan Peterson released “an antidote to chaos” in 2018 called nothing simpler than 12 Rules for Life. In this book he combines biblical references, examples from biological studies (in which he for example compares the behaviour of lobsters to our own) as well as his own experiences in a memoir-like way to give advice to his readers. Because Peterson has become a prominent person in the media as much as he is a clinical psychologist and lecturer, he’s got the best of both worlds to gain readers’ trust. He’s got the evidence from psychology and he’s the straightforward friend or nextdoor neighbour who you can have a conversation and argue with. He’s an extremely savvy debater and provides soundbites his fans can easily repeat. Despite the fact that some of his theories and views have been debunked numerous of times, he’s got a safety network of followers that will provide him with the confirmation bias he needs in order to remain credible in any case, no matter if he’s right or wrong.
It goes without saying that even if the self-help industry has some life altering resources, it is also full of contradictions. Walk into any book shop and you will find a book about the pursuit of happiness, while one of the top three articles on Mark Manson’s blog is called “Stop Trying to Be Happy - Why pursuing happiness just pushes it further away from you and how to get around this problem.” On another platform, such as a YouTube channel, you might watch someone give relationship advice while simultaneously see them struggle with their own until the breakup video comes around. If the self-help industry and its consumers were friends, the former would be your best friend giving advice he struggles to follow himself. And guess what? The friend receiving advice would listen and nod in agreement throughout the entire lecture. The weirdest part? It feels really good. So maybe we just want someone to listen, because sometimes we feel like our problems are a little less dramatic when we’ve explained them out loud. This way, reading about advice can feel like the first step to a solution.
Traditionally, I should probably end with some sort of advice that serves as an alternative to what I’ve been arguing against. An answer to the question I posed would be great, too. But I think I’m still one too many perfect sleep strategies and meal prep lunches away from becoming a self-help guru myself, so I better stick with what I’m certain of: I have no f*cking clue.
