Wellness isn’t about willpower; it’s about who can afford to participate.
Wellness used to mean something simple: taking care of your body, your mind, your basic health. But lately, it feels more like a luxury brand than a lifestyle. Between $20 smoothies, $3,000 retreats, and “non-toxic” products that cost half your rent, the message is clear—clean living is for those with money to burn. If you can’t afford infrared saunas or adaptogenic mushroom powders, are you even trying?
The problem isn’t wanting to feel better. The problem is when feeling better becomes something you have to buy your way into. Wellness culture loves to say it’s about discipline and self-love, but the fine print always reads: “Terms and conditions apply.” The more the industry grows, the more obvious it becomes that many of these health trends aren’t just about feeling good—they’re about proving you belong in the right socioeconomic tier.
1. Wellness products are marketed as essential—but priced like luxury goods.
The wellness aisle has become a trap. One glance at the shelves and suddenly your basic soap isn’t good enough—it has to be paraben-free, fragrance-free, organic, and small-batch. Toothpaste with “clean” labels costs triple the standard kind. According to Camilla Cavendish for the Financial Times, the modern pursuit of wellness has evolved into a new status symbol, replacing traditional markers of success like wealth and overwork with longevity-oriented habits such as yoga, fasting, and strength training.
It’s not that these products are bad. Many are genuinely helpful. But the way they’re marketed makes it feel like you’re failing if you can’t afford them. Clean living becomes another form of status signaling, where health isn’t just about habits—it’s about branding.
The wellness industry has turned self-care into a subscription model, and the price of entry keeps climbing. Being healthy shouldn’t require a credit check, but the way things are going, it’s starting to feel that way.
2. “Natural” and “organic” labels are now shorthand for “rich people food.”
Walk into any trendy grocery store and you’ll see it: the same bag of oats that costs $3 at a regular store somehow jumps to $9 once it’s labeled “organic” and packaged in a matte pouch. Per Maddison Breen for the National Library of Medicine, health food snack products displayed significantly more nutrient content claims, health claims, and buzzwords compared to equivalent products sold in regular aisles, often leading to higher prices despite similar nutritional profiles.
It’s not about the actual ingredients anymore. It’s about the image. Buying “clean” foods becomes a performance, and those who can’t afford the premium are seen as lazy, uninformed, or worse—irresponsible. Never mind that many of these labels are loosely regulated or slapped on products that don’t even need them. In a culture where grocery choices are politicized and moralized, having access to organic kale turns into a statement about your worth. Clean eating stops being about nutrition and starts being about class.
3. Wellness influencers push products disguised as personal growth.
Influencers don’t just share routines anymore—they sell them. Every smoothie recipe includes a code for $65 protein powder. Every “healing” ritual comes with a discount link for a $300 meditation mat. As stated by Lucy Maguire for Vogue Business, affiliate marketing has become a key revenue stream for influencers, with platforms like ShopMy and LTK enabling creators to monetize product recommendations through affiliate links.
The worst part? It’s all wrapped in the language of empowerment. “Invest in yourself.” “You’re worth it.” “Raise your vibration.” The implication is clear: if you’re not buying what they’re selling, maybe you don’t want to feel better badly enough. It’s manipulative, polished, and highly profitable. And because so many influencers present themselves as relatable, their messaging hits harder. What looks like advice is often just an ad—and in the world of wellness, the person with the most affiliate links is suddenly the most “enlightened.”
4. Time—an invisible luxury—makes wellness routines unattainable for most.
Meditate for 20 minutes. Cook fresh meals daily. Move your body. Get sunlight. Journal. Ice bath. Eight hours of sleep. No screens before bed. The checklist for “optimal living” keeps growing—but who actually has time for all of this? The wellness lifestyle assumes you have hours a day to care for yourself. That’s not reality for most people.
Single parents, shift workers, people with chronic illness or low-wage jobs—this isn’t just difficult, it’s impossible. But the messaging doesn’t care. It still frames your inability to keep up as a personal failure instead of a systemic issue.
Wellness advice becomes another voice shaming people for being tired, broke, or burned out. It ignores the fact that rest is not the same as free time, and privilege often looks like the space to just breathe. Without acknowledging time as currency, wellness stays exclusionary by design.
5. Mental health support is repackaged and resold as premium content.
Therapy is expensive. Support groups are hard to find. So the wellness world stepped in—with self-help apps, mindfulness memberships, and mindset coaching that costs hundreds of dollars a month. There’s nothing wrong with seeking emotional tools outside of a traditional therapist. But when that support gets paywalled, it stops being accessible and starts being predatory.
TikTok therapists and Instagram coaches now charge for access to the same validation and grounding statements that used to come free from friends—or, you know, the internet. Feeling overwhelmed? Buy the workbook. Struggling with trauma? Subscribe for exclusive healing prompts. It’s all polished and professional until you realize mental health is being monetized like fast fashion. And people who can’t afford it? Left to feel like they’re failing at healing. You shouldn’t need a credit card to start feeling better.
6. Fitness culture pretends to be inclusive, but it’s built on exclusivity.
The wellness world loves to throw around phrases like “movement is for everyone” or “just start where you are.” But many fitness spaces—whether they’re high-end gyms or boutique yoga studios—require a steep financial buy-in. It’s not just the memberships, it’s the matching outfits, the branded gear, the $30 drop-in fees, and the unspoken social code.
And if you’re not thin, affluent, or already in shape? Good luck feeling welcome. “Wellness” becomes shorthand for a very specific aesthetic—and anyone who doesn’t match it feels like an outsider. It’s hard to feel empowered when you’re being judged before you even hit the mat. Real health doesn’t require a Lululemon wardrobe and a Pilates membership. But the industry doesn’t profit from that truth. So it keeps selling a version of fitness that looks more like a status symbol than a basic human right.
7. “Self-care” has been rebranded as something you buy, not something you feel.
Once upon a time, self-care meant something radical—especially for marginalized communities. Resting, resisting, saying no. Now it’s bath bombs, skincare routines, and $70 candles wrapped in “you deserve this” marketing. That quiet rebellion got swallowed by capitalism and spit back out as luxury.
There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little indulgence. But when consumer goods replace real care—therapy, boundaries, community—the message gets warped. You can’t moisturize your way through burnout, and no amount of rose quartz will fix systemic oppression.
Self-care becomes another task on the to-do list, another reason to feel like you’re not doing enough. When care is commodified, the people who need it most often get pushed out entirely. What was once free—joy, rest, reflection—now comes with a price tag and a promo code.
8. Food morality is creating shame instead of support.
Wellness culture doesn’t just tell people what to eat—it tells them what kind of person they are if they eat the “wrong” thing. Sugar is toxic. Gluten is evil. Coffee is questionable. And if you’re not eating raw, organic, vegan, sustainably sourced everything, you’re doing it wrong. Food becomes a moral test—and failing it feels like a character flaw.
But the truth is, not everyone can afford to eat perfectly. Not everyone has access to farmers’ markets, time to meal prep, or a freezer full of smoothie packs. And yet, wellness influencers talk about food choices like they’re purely about willpower. That attitude ignores food deserts, cultural differences, and economic realities. It turns health into hierarchy. In the name of “clean eating,” wellness culture shames the very people it claims to help.
9. Wellness retreats promise healing—but only if you can pay for it.
Forest bathing in Bali. Breathwork in Tulum. Chakra alignment on a mountain in Arizona. It all sounds magical—until you see the price tag. Wellness retreats are marketed as life-changing experiences, but many cost more than a month’s rent (sometimes several). Healing becomes something that happens on a curated trip, with a private chef and a sound bath, not in your living room after work.
There’s nothing wrong with taking a break. But when healing is packaged as an exclusive getaway, it sends the message that transformation isn’t for the overworked or underpaid. Retreats often erase the context of the land they occupy, too—spiritual tourism disguised as self-discovery. The irony? Many people don’t need a retreat. They need affordable housing, a break from stress, or a safe community. But those things don’t look as good on Instagram.
10. Clean beauty standards replicate the same old classist ideals.
The wellness industry loves to talk about “clean beauty”—no parabens, no sulfates, no fragrance. But these products aren’t just safer (sometimes); they’re wildly more expensive. That $48 bottle of “non-toxic” deodorant still sits next to a $3 drugstore one. And suddenly, hygiene becomes a class issue.
There’s pressure to not just be beautiful, but to be pure. To use the “right” ingredients, to avoid anything that sounds like a chemical—even if that chemical is harmless. It creates a new version of shame. You’re not just judged for how you look—you’re judged for what you use, what you can use. Clean beauty sells peace of mind at a premium, and people with less income are stuck choosing between what they can afford and what makes them feel safe. It’s skincare with a side of moral pressure.
11. The wellness narrative blames individuals for systemic failures.
Can’t sleep? Try magnesium. Burned out? Meditate harder. Depressed? Go for a walk. Everything gets framed as your responsibility. And if it doesn’t work? That’s your fault too. The wellness industry is obsessed with optimization—but only on an individual level. The bigger picture is always conveniently left out.
No amount of kale can undo a broken healthcare system. No morning routine will fix low wages, unsafe housing, or racial discrimination. But wellness culture keeps selling the idea that all you need is discipline, positivity, and a better planner. It personalizes problems that are deeply collective—and in doing so, lets the systems off the hook. This isn’t just unhelpful. It’s harmful. Because when people feel like their suffering is their own fault, they stop fighting for the change that could actually make things better.