Back when I was depressed and stuck in my head, I never cared much for movies or TV. Anything that required focus felt like work. Following a story? No thanks. I would rather doom-scroll and wonder why I hated my life.

But once I started seeing life with more light, I became obsessed with movies. My nightly ritual became making my Ka’Chava shake, lighting up, and turning on whatever free romance I could find. They weren’t just a way to escape my mind. They were quietly teaching me something I hadn’t realized.

People will say life isn’t a movie or a fairytale to encourage realism.

But life? It’s anything but realistic.

What I love about movies is that there is never a right or wrong way for the main character to grow. Life, like film, is chaotically exciting. You never know what will happen, but lessons will always come. Obstacles, plot twists, realizations, heartbreaks: all part of the coming-of-age journey.

Our favorite characters are always full of potential. Their lives are easily romanticized. Ambient lighting, soft music, effortlessly chic. Even if everything is falling apart, they somehow still make it look cool. Anything feels possible. Real life has constraints, sure, but in movies, everything somehow works out, often not as intended, and that is the point.

Movies have also shown me that a successful life isn’t measured by money or a neat, linear path. Most characters experience lack, financially, emotionally, relationally, before things finally click. If you are insecure or feel behind, movies remind you that your current situation can always be romanticized. In fact, the rougher the patches, the greater the arc. The struggle makes the story richer, the payoff more satisfying. Life, like film, rewards resilience, curiosity, and perspective.

Take Shameless, for example. It’s a TV show, but it perfectly illustrates what I mean. The series dives into poverty, survival, addiction, and all the darker sides of life. Yet it also highlights softness through themes of family and loyalty. No matter what Fiona faced that day, she stepped into her power and proved she was someone not to mess with. Fiona made the same struggles and hustle that so many of us experience look like an action movie you’d watch with popcorn in hand.

Once I realized that life is measured by the lessons that shape us through presence, rather than just the big moments, I started noticing the small details I had been ignoring in my own life. The way sunlight hits my kitchen in the morning, the random smiles from strangers, the quiet thrill of walking somewhere I have never been before. Movies taught me to see these moments as cinematic. To imagine the soundtrack playing, the soft focus around the edges, the sense that I am exactly where I am supposed to be in this frame.

In both movies and life, we face twists that leave us picking up pieces of ourselves. We may be broke, heartbroken, or exhausted, but we keep it together, move forward, and somehow bring more to the table than we realized we had. The messy moments are part of the magic. They create tension, they create story, they create depth. Without them, there would be no arc, no growth, no sense of wow, I made it through that.

Thinking of movies as real life shows that life isn’t so scary. It’s imperfectly fun, never linear, and full of magic in quiet moments. Each coming-of-age film is practically a template for embracing your own story. And the best part? You do not need a director, a script, or a camera crew.

The story is already happening around you. You just have to notice it.

Movies were never meant to portray fairytales, and they don’t. They show life as it is: chaotic, beautiful, confusing, and always moving forward. And in doing so, they remind us that we are allowed to romanticize our own lives, to see the extraordinary in ordinary days, and to give ourselves the same grace we give our favorite characters.

You are the main character in your life, no less interesting than any of your favorite films. It’s up to you to embrace your own interesting. Life isn’t a fairytale. It’s better. It’s a movie, and you’re living it. The camera is rolling, the lights are on, and every scene, every mundane coffee run, every unexpected twist, is a frame in your personal epic.

So tonight, pour that cup of tea, light the candle, take the long walk, call the friend you have been meaning to, and imagine the soft music swelling as you step into your own story.

Because life is happening, the plot is yours, and it’s worth watching.

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Everything I’ve learned over the past twelve months can be distilled into one simple realization:

Many things can be true at once.

It sounds obvious, but I’d argue that this simple idea sits at the core of the human experience.

I often use the phrase “the grass is always greener on the other side.” But the hidden truth is—it never actually is.

I remind myself of this whenever I catch myself spiraling into comparison.

The phrase paints this image of affluence and access that we all want, but what it really represents is something deeper: every lifestyle comes with tradeoffs.

It’s easy to romanticize working for yourself—or even being unemployed—when you’re stuck in a 9-to-5 that drains you.

But when you’re on the other side of uncertainty, of course stability suddenly starts looking very appealing.

Both things can be true.

Another example is the digital world.

These days, monetization feels both incredibly accessible and completely out of reach at the same time.

We live in a world where people are constantly showing us what’s possible online—content creators making money, entrepreneurs building digital businesses, influencers seemingly living dream lives.

But the more access we have to these possibilities, the more overwhelming it can feel to figure out where we’re actually supposed to fit into it.

Lately I’ve found myself thinking: what am I even supposed to tap into when there are so many different funnels?

Then I remind myself of something simple.

There are many ways to access the same resource—money.

And most monetization paths aren’t mutually exclusive.

What works for one person might not work for another, not because one strategy is better, but because people thrive in different environments.

Some people blow up overnight and gain visibility they weren’t fully ready for.

Then they’re forced to grow in public—documenting their internal evolution while strangers on the internet point out every flaw along the way.

That’s just the name of the game.

Sounds miserable? Exactly.

For others, the path is slower. They step back, reassess their life, and build something from the ground up before the spotlight ever finds them.

It might take longer, but the foundation tends to be steadier.

When you zoom out, you realize something important:

There really isn’t a single “correct” path to success.

Think about the people you used to compare yourself to in high school, college, or your first job.

Chances are, many of them peaked right then and there.

We all blossom on our own timeline.

Another layer to all of this is perspective.

One idea I try to live by is this:

The most dangerous blindness is believing your perspective is the only reality.

So much conflict in the world stems from this exact issue.

People naturally gravitate toward the perspective that fits their own experiences and reinforces the story they already believe about the world.

Over time, that perspective becomes the lens through which they interpret everything else.

But the truth is that there are always multiple sides to the same story.

When you start recognizing that—not just intellectually, but emotionally—you become a more empathetic person.

You begin to see the systems shaping people’s lives, the circumstances influencing their decisions, and the invisible forces operating beneath the surface.

And suddenly the world becomes a little easier to understand.

More importantly, you start giving yourself more grace.

Your body relaxes.

You realize you’re not actually behind. You just have unprecedented access to everyone else’s lives.

And most of the time, the lifestyle you think you want is just a carefully curated highlight reel.

Happiness doesn’t live there.

At the end of the day, we all want what we don’t have.

But when you focus on watering your own grass, you become too busy growing it to worry about whether someone else’s looks greener.

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I’ve never felt so lost, yet so excited about my life at the same time.

Lately, I’ve been trying to view this stage of my life from a bird’s-eye view. When I zoom out, I see a bunch of doors—some already cracked open, others so close that I could probably push them open myself. But none of them are quite clear enough to confidently walk through.

I’m 23. Last year, I thought I was doomed. This year, I have enough discernment to know that I’m not.

I’ve never asked God for the final step. I’m just looking for a little tangible momentum—something real to move toward instead of staring at half-open doors and wondering which one is “right.”

When you get shoved into adulthood, no one really prepares you for the daily contradictions. Navigating it can feel like a headache. But lately, it seems like more people are finally waking up to a reality that’s been quietly forming for a while: there actually isn’t just one way to build a life anymore.

Between AI advancements, an oversaturated job market, and a rapidly changing cultural landscape, the traditional path people used to follow without question has started to crack.

I mean…it’s insane.

We grow up believing that as long as we earn a degree, a job will more or less be waiting for us. Then we graduate and realize college isn’t the golden ticket anymore.

If you’re like me, you didn’t have anything lined up right away.

But if you’re also like me, you eventually realize that this might have been the biggest blessing in disguise.

I’m grateful I never ended up down a path that suffocated me just because it happened to be the first door that opened senior spring.

During my first year post-grad, several opportunities I thought were meant for me opened…only to gradually close in the most painful ways possible. At the time, I genuinely thought my life was doomed.

I used to hate when people would say “rejection is redirection,” because rejection just feels like rejection, right?

But looking back now, I can see that the mindset I had back then was the very thing preventing me from building the momentum I’m slowly creating today.

What I’ve realized is that when people define their no’s as not yet’s, they aren’t spiritually bypassing reality.

What’s actually happening is that they believe in themselves so deeply that redirection becomes inevitable.

They know what they want. They trust they’ll eventually get there. So instead of waiting for permission, they start paving their own path—brick by brick.

When I felt the most lost, it was because I was waiting for something to save me.

An opportunity.
A person.
A lifestyle.
A sudden wave of let’s-get-my-shit-together.

But the truth—the one you probably already know—is that the only person who can save you is you.

You’re not going to wake up one day as a completely transformed version of yourself. Change happens in small, almost invisible steps.

And if I could tell my past self anything, it would be this:

Momentum comes before clarity, not after.

Maybe you feel stuck in the abyss right now. Like you have big dreams that require years of steps, but at the moment you’re just trying to figure out step one.

Maybe you feel like God is playing you.

Maybe you’re stuck in a full-time customer service job you don’t want, just trying to make ends meet.

Living in survival mode during the uncertainty of post-grad life is a very real experience.

But it’s not the only way to look at it.

You could live in a state of desperation, begging for an opportunity to appear. You could dwell in the feeling of being lost and blame your circumstances.

Or you could zoom out.

You could look at the bigger picture and see uncertainty for what it actually is: possibility.

You could shift the narrative from nothing is stable yet to I still have the freedom to design my life from the ground up.

I have no idea what’s coming next in my life.

But what I do know is that I’m done fighting to stay inside a game that seems to be evolving in an entirely different direction anyway.

When doors close, I no longer sit around waiting for another one to open.

I go through a side door.

Or I build the damn door myself.

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2025 has not been for the weak. If you’re anything like me, you’ve been living in some form of uncertainty this year. And unfortunately, it’s not just personal anymore—it’s cultural. Not knowing where the hell your life is going has basically become a rite of passage.

The old formula? Graduate college, get a 9–5, settle down, retire? Yeah… that timeline quietly evaporated. Most of us are just standing here like, Cool. Now what?

Maybe you’ve had the rug pulled out from under you more than once. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for a sign from God that never quite arrives. I know I have. And every time it happens, it feels like being suspended in midair—no ground, no direction, just vibes and anxiety.

Here’s what I’ve landed on: this is the world we’re in now. And we have two options. We can ride the wave, or we can let it drag us under. That choice—subtle, internal, made daily—decides whether we sink or swim.

The World We’re Trying to Survive

We’re attempting to keep up with a world moving faster than we can emotionally process. If society were a graph, one line would be skyrocketing—AI, tech, medical breakthroughs, global access to information. The other would be free-falling—job market instability, political polarization, war, environmental collapse.

It’s whiplash.

Generationally, we’re stuck in a stalemate. Boomers are gripping systems that once promised security, often emotionally unhealed and confused as to why they no longer work. Gen Z is begging to be seen, trying to build a life without a clear path or safety net. Boomers don’t get why wellbeing is non-negotiable. Gen Z doesn’t get the emotional distance they inherited.

And honestly? There’s just too much going on. None of us were meant to carry the state of the world on our individual nervous systems.

How People Are Coping (or Not)

From a bird’s-eye view, I see a few different responses to all this uncertainty.

Some people—especially younger generations—are turning inward. As a 23-year-old myself, I’ll say this plainly: being thrown into adulthood post-pandemic was both humbling and exhausting. A lot of us are tired of the outside world dictating our chances of success. So when external reality feels unstable, we do the only thing that feels within our control: we focus on ourselves.

I always say: when you don’t know what to pursue, pursue yourself. Then the right path will reveal itself.

Then there are people who let their circumstances define their worth. And honestly, that makes sense—it’s how we were programmed. We were taught that life is linear, that work equals security, and security equals value. So when the title disappears or the timeline derails, the identity goes with it.

Most people let life happen to them instead of through them. We’re conditioned to believe worth has to be earned, not assumed. So when there’s nothing external to prove it, we panic. We cling to labels, milestones, productivity—anything that makes us feel valid.

And of course, some of us are barely holding it together. Fear takes over when the future feels unsafe. It’s a primal instinct to brace for impact. But what if life isn’t actually as unsafe as we’ve convinced ourselves it is?

Fear isn’t the enemy. It’s information. Anxiety is usually just an unhealed part of us asking to be acknowledged, not eliminated.

A Better Way to Do This

I’ve been in career limbo for over a year, so a grain of salt won’t be necessary when taking what I say. The goal isn’t to get rid of fear—it’s to integrate it. Fear is just an unmet need trying to get your attention.

Most of our fears were formed by older versions of us, running on outdated wiring that equated uncertainty with failure. They’re valid but only for the version of you that created them. They don’t predict the future, even if they’re loud about it.

The shift happens when you stop letting fear drive the narrative and start observing it instead.

And then—hear me out—you romanticize the unknown.

What if uncertainty is where the most possibility lives? What if life is meant to stay in motion, and knowing exactly what’s next would actually ruin the experience? What if growth, not stability, is the real constant?

Uncertainty gives us time. Time to figure out who we are without performing. Time to clarify what we actually want—not what we were told to want. Time to build an internal foundation strong enough to hold certainty when it finally shows up.

Because let’s be real: what matters probably isn’t found in corporate America. Life isn’t defined by the milestones uncertainty delays. It’s defined by self-trust, peace, and fulfillment.

The employed envy those with time. Those with time envy stability. People in relationships envy freedom; singles envy intimacy. The grass is never greener—it’s just different.

So maybe limbo isn’t a loss. Maybe it’s the most valuable gain we don’t know how to measure yet.

I want stability. I want income. I’ll get there. But for now, I’ll take clarity, self-respect, and becoming someone I actually enjoy being. I’m done romanticizing a job just because it’s a job.

Uncertainty doesn’t define our worth. It reveals our courage. It asks us to stay grounded while the ground shifts beneath us—and if we let it, it becomes the very thing that launches us forward.

Being an empath is not for the weak. When you hold meta-awareness of the world, you are able to see through every layer of every situation, even when you don’t want to know what’s there. You see the truth of each wound, emotion, and motivation. It’s heavy work, but only those who have survived the pits of hell can earn the wisdom that comes with understanding humans at their core.

Unfortunately, I give everyone the benefit of the doubt, whether they deserve it or not. The thing is, we’re all either a projection of our conditioning, or a reflection of who we want to become. Or both, because integrating spiritual awareness is not an overnight accomplishment. When someone I cared about made me feel shitty about myself, I didn’t hold it against them. I knew exactly where that behavior came from. It’s hard to stay angry when you know they simply haven’t done their internal work yet. And there’s no revenge, because they will be forced to look inward one day.

I used to have absolutely no concept of self-worth. I was the most insecure person on the planet, convinced I never deserved happy feelings. Whenever I’d catch a sliver of safety or hope, the eery feeling that I knew too well would snatch it away from me. That’s deep, I know. But that version of me is gone. What changed was the way I interpreted people.

I stopped viewing others as mirrors of what was “wrong” with me, and started seeing them as mirrors of their own unhealed parts. Let me explain.

When a friend would shut me down, give judgmental advice, or say something backhanded, I used to assume that I was the problem—too much, too sensitive, too dramatic. I thought their reactions were proof that I needed to manage their perception of me. I saw people as a way to provide me with a false identity because I didn’t have the capacity to discover that myself.

At a certain point, I flipped a switch. Well, it wasn’t an overnight switch. I spent months doing internal work, which gifted me hyperawareness and a strong sense of self. I now know who I am, and I actually like who she is. Now I understand projection so clearly that I can’t take most things personally. My awareness sets me free, because I don’t blame people anymore. I understand why people say the things they do. It’s not about them treating you according to how they feel about you—it’s more about being treated based on the capacity they have for you, and many barely even have a capacity for themselves.

I don’t view anyone as above me, and I don’t view anyone as below me. This mindset shift single handedly changed my life. I’ve had managers say some pretty harsh things, and they’ll back it up with: I like you because you don’t take things personally. They’re half right: I’m comfortable with myself now, so their words don’t land. Not deeply, anyway. I still get triggered, but I don’t let those comments seep into my subconscious. When someone lashes out from insecurity, my BS detector goes off like crazy. I can see clearly that their comments are just their attempt to defend trauma without having to address it.

At the end of the day, people just want to be heard and seen. Until then, they want you to feel how they feel about themselves, which is usually never good.

As for me, it’s pretty exhausting being the person who always understands. I feel like a punching bag for other people’s avoided trauma—meanwhile, they get to live on autopilot, causing chaos and never noticing the ripple effect. They hear what they want to hear and project the rest. But their avoidance is not mine to carry.

I just wish everyone would wake up to themselves so we could treat each other with more care. But there’s a reason we’re not all there yet.

Until then, I’ll keep navigating human messiness with compassion and boundaries, hoping the world catches up someday.

As I doom scroll, I’m hit with TikTok Shop ads left and right. The opening hook is always something like: My brother, sister, and mother-in-law each stopped what they were doing to play with this fidget spinner that just happened to be sitting on the kitchen counter—so basically you need it too.

At first, these videos would just use overplayed adjectives and exaggerated facial expressions to sell you. That’s performative enough, but now I’m seeing literally the same script over and over: Every single person on the bus stopped to ask about my scent because it’s just that good…if you want to be magnetic, you need this perfume.

We know late-stage overconsumption has most of us in a chokehold, especially as every digital platform quietly morphs into a cart to fill. Who knew that TikTok could be a shopping destination? I personally thought it was a social media platform meant for funny clips, but here we are. Creators in the Shop Affiliate Program earn good commission selling products, so of course performance is baked in. I don’t blame them—when paying your bills depends on it, the show must go on.

Lately, though, I’ve seen quite a split on the app. A lot of users are heavily racking up sales by pushing “must haves” because “you better get it now while it’s on sale” (plot twist: it’s always on sale). Others are starting to reject the sales-y sameness entirely. They’re experimenting, posting messier, realer content that doesn’t beg the audience to click a link. They’re realizing authenticity might actually be their golden ticket.

My theory is that people are overstimulated by the high volume of products being waved in their faces. Even the most impressionable consumers are starting to see right through the noise. There’s an overall craving for simplicity—fewer products, fewer micro-trends, fewer false promises. But not everyone can see that yet.

And then there’s the language. Words like “obsessed,” “unreal,” and “life-changing” have become weapons. How can anyone be “obsessed” with everything? Because that’s what these days seem to be all about. Obsession used to mean deep love or genuine passion. Now it’s code for: buy this cheap mass-produced item before your dopamine crash hits.

Over and over, I see internet users getting sucked into the black hole that is overconsumption. If some random girl on the internet who appears to have flawless makeup says she can’t live without the makeup brush, then you must need it too. I mean, if she’s obsessed, and it’s only $6 on TikTok Shop, then it’s too good of a deal to pass up, right? Most people don’t stop to ask themselves if they even need the item, or if it’s just their dopamine receptors craving attention. If anything, they feel guilty for not indulging.

Truthfully, exaggeration sells, and people will do anything for a check. They’ll tell whatever story it takes to convince people to click the link. Consumers buy because their brains are conditioned to chase novelty. It’s not about quality anymore—it’s about volume.

We desperately need to normalize self-control again, with an emphasis on taking only what you need. I think the reason why so many Americans are living paycheck-to-paycheck isn’t because of their circumstances alone. They’re broke because they choose to be a victim of their conditioning which soothes discomfort with constant purchases. Doom-scrolling is designed to keep emotional decision-making in overdrive. I think modern-day, over-consumers need a big fat reality check—and that check starts with knowing better than to allow emotional urges control the scroll.

The TikTok Shop is a trap—one you can only see clearly if you slow down, get honest with yourself, and remember that you don’t need to be “obsessed” with anything to live a good life.

Quick context: every season, a senior man is given a second chance at finding love within a group of 23 women in their 60s and older. At the end of each episode, there’s a rose ceremony where the bachelor hands out only a handful of roses, each granting another round and chance at a real connection. Since the cast is mature, the show focuses on love, loss, and companionship in the later years of life.

As someone who’s always been timeline-obsessed, seeing age portrayed through such an empowering lens was refreshing and disruptive. I’m a proud victim of the canon event everyone experiences in their early 20s when you think you’re running out of time. I’ll admit, I’m guilty of thinking that if I don’t accomplish XY by Z age, I’ll be behind, or even worse…a failure. The show challenged that toxic frontal-love-development mindset immediately.

The Golden Bachelor revealed that life doesn’t have to slow down with age, and that so much of what we believe about “being too old” is simply inherited conditioning. So many people think of life as a checklist: graduate college, start working, get married, have kids, and ultimately, retire. They go about life having their eyes on the same prize: easy living and comfort in their golden years, when life lets them finally slow down. They think fun and adventure is preserved for your youth, which is ironic because most only have time and money in their later years. Supportingly, the cast consists of energetic, full-of-life goldens—with high standards and a whole lot of love to give—who completely opened my eyes.

What inspired me most was watching these women in their 60s show up with confidence, openness, and emotional clarity. They allowed themselves the chance to experience romance again, be vulnerable, and share joy over a sisterhood bond without subscribing to the limiting stories society often places on aging. Their lives weren’t linear—many had navigated divorce, career detours, loss, and reinvention—yet they carried themselves with a sense of self-worth that felt both grounded and aspirational.

These women revealed to me our desires for love, safety, and companionship don’t just fizzle out over time. These women allowed themselves to get swept off their feet by an eligible older bachelor, and proved that lust for love and a genuine spark never actually goes away. Despite all the layers we develop over time, our primal instincts and child-like fantasies are still buried beneath, and are begging to be acknowledged. Whimsical, soulful play has no age.

The season reminded me that life rarely goes according to plan, and that unpredictability is never something to resist—only embrace. The women’s ability to own their stories, honor their lived experiences, and still lead with curiosity and hope left a lasting impression on me. It made me reflect deeply on resilience, identity, and the beauty of continually rewriting your own narrative.

The biggest lesson of all? It’s never too late to create a life you love and make it yours. Emotions found from a sense of possibility, child-like innocence, and yearning for love don’t have to be reserved for the youth. They can be felt, experienced, and embraced at any age. The golden women retaught me what I already knew but let my fears get in the way of: love is abundant, life is limitless, and writing a story full of chapters that make you you is sacred.

courtesy of @classicheidi on tiktok

Everyone unknowingly showed which side they stand on. The split was wild.

The vast majority wrote things like: You’re an adult, not a child. This is concerning. It makes sense—in their eyes, they see a girl being psychotic, insanely weird, and obstructive. What surprised me was how bothered people seemed to be, as if her dancing and singing in the aisle was a trigger. A comment said, “imagine you clock in for your afternoon shift already having the worst day ever, and you see this.” They acted like that that girl would ruin their day because the cringe was actually visceral. I personally am pretty unfazed by seeing stuff like this, but maybe that’s just me.

The minority on the other hand were saying stuff like: You guys just don’t get it. She’s just expressing herself freely, this is a form of semitic therapy and rewiring. Then the middle-grounders chined in with understanding, claiming that dance therapy is great, just not in a Target where people go to shop. They think she’s distracting and in the way. Fair enough.

But the most interesting part wasn’t the content. It was her response, which was…almost spiritual gaslighting.

She claimed she didn’t expect the hate at all, and in fact—she loved it, because it meant that she “triggered everyone’s inner child” and that they should explore why. Truthfully, I don’t think triggered mine awake—I think mine had already been awake, and was more so triggered by the performance this seemed to be. The thing is, I agree with what she was getting at. I just didn’t think her delivery was there as she failed to address the elephant in the room: nuance. She framed every negative reaction as proof of someone’s unhealed wounds. But sometimes…people are annoyed because you’re blocking the paper towels.

This girl also insisted this was her “authentic self.” She overemphasized, “I love that me expressing myself triggers your inner child,” but my here’s first thought: Is this really you expressing yourself? Or are you just trying to prove a point? I believe that anyone who, not only is clearly dramatizing a moment, but also sets up a camera to record said moment, is never authentic. She was gaslighting her audience into thinking that the free-spirited, child-like joy of being alive should be the day-to-day baseline, the byproduct of being high on life. But of course that’s not feasible, and shouldn’t be anyway. When I shop at Target, I’m not in the state of mind to be blissfully free. I’m in a practical, focused, grounded mind—and I like it. I love my energy, and I love this chapter of my life. My soul feels learned and I feel awake. So why should I fix what isn’t broken? If I’m grateful for my life, my inner child is heard, and I love who I am, isn’t that all that really matters?

The majority fought back, unintentionally saying a whole lot about the human experience—they claimed, “we’re not upset or triggered, we’re concerned.” They couldn’t fathom that a grown adult was acting like a child. One pointed out that kids picking out their own outfits was never that deep, parents just don’t want a fight in the morning. And a comment back to that one said, “anything can be deep, you’re choosing not to not go there.” That line stuck with me.

Because it’s true: childhood wounds are everything. They shape everything. Even how we react to a stranger twirling in a store.

The girl in the video is reparenting her inner child by literally cosplaying as her. It could be healing and liberating to accept that we’re still the free, creative, and safe kids we once were. Wisdom is literally built off of wanting to strip down the layers, and that your fears, triggers, and obstacles are a result of something. Something which deserves reparenting.

Here’s my actual take: the nuance everyone skipped.

Her Target act had good intentions, but she fails to acknowledge that humans evolve for a reason. It’s healthy to grow up—the idea is to integrate our inner child into our adulthood, not regress to it. We need to face our open wounds head on and let our trauma travel through our bodies so we can create space for what’s really important: love, peace, fulfillment. We need to realize everything that holds us back is old conditioning from childhood and it doesn’t have to be like that. We can work through those wounds by unleashing ourselves like the girl in the video did. But we use that as a tool to regulate, not as a re-becoming. We are already becoming. We’re just more resilient now because we took the time to get to know ourselves.

The comments on this video revealed that a lot of people lack the ability to look inward—or the awareness to know that’s even an option. And when they see someone acting freely, they reacting according to the layer they live on. The majority allowed themselves to be triggered by and didn’t bother asking why. They just accepted a blanket statement that it would make their bad day worse. Was everyone’s inner child wounds actually triggered? In a way, yes. They were people reacting from their childhood triggers, who saw themselves and their wounds in her. Every comment revealed a layer: surface, wounded, awakened, integrated, performative, avoidant, self-aware, self-unaware.

Most people just accept the surface level truth: that since they got triggered, the girl in the video must the problem. Only a few dig deeper to question the truth and what they know about it. And that—not the dancing in Target—is the most interesting part of all.

You may have noticed while grocery shopping that protein is the hottest thing on the market. 42 grams of protein in a 12 oz shake. 20 in granola. 12 in a piece of bread. I personally find it odd to turn a literal molecule made up of amino acids turned into a cultural trend—but that’s only the tip of the iceberg in how CPG brands take the latest health hype and sprint with it straight onto the shelves. Consumers get exploited daily, and honestly, it’s almost comical how completely they’ve lost agency over their own bodies.

Most people just follow the masses without ever pausing to think for themselves. If TikTok is raving about protein, brands will listen and respond with protein everything. If fiber becomes the nutrient of the month, suddenly even yogurt brands will find a way to squeeze fiber into the SKU’s. The scariest part of this groupthink is that many never question whether they actually need more fiber or protein or antioxidants or Omega-3’s. Reels told them it was important, and the creator looked confident—so why not believe them?

The umbrella trend behind all this is “health and wellness,” which is a productive cultural shift. People do value nutrition and self-care more now. But the issue isn’t denial—it’s false confidence. People assume they know enough, and that anything that seems healthy must be healthy. “Made with only natural ingredients” looks like a green flag. Sugar free must be a better alternative right? Wrong. And food brands are taking advantage of this blind spot in full force.

Suddenly, shelves are filled with “nutrient-packed” products that no one in particular asked for. Most people were never taught how to read a nutrition label, and brands count on that. It lets them innovate all-in-one solutions, because what could be more convenient and nourishing than that?

Here’s the reality: many brands don’t actually care how your food is processed, as long as the packaging hits those buzzwords we all know and love. Convenience is prioritized over quality. This isn’t inherently evil because not every brand needs to be organic and “clean.” Every market needs variety. A lot of consumers just want comfort, and hey, if their treat of choice claims to also be a “good source of calcium,” that’s sufficient.

Here’s the thing though—that calcium-boosted ice cream is probably jam-packed with ingredients you can’t pronounce. That double-fiber bread might be produced with synthetic preservatives and dough conditioners. And products that brag about being “free” of something else—lactose free, gluten free, sugar free—usually achieve that by replacing the missing component with something engineered. Free doesn’t mean better, it means substituted.

Now, some may ask why processing even matters if they’re “just trying to build muscle.” The reason: highly processed foods tend to rely on added fat, sodium, sugar, stabilizers, and emulsifiers—all of which contribute to metabolic issues, inflammation, and a disrupted gut microbiome. A stressed microbiome compromises immunity, energy, digestion, and long-term disease risk. A simple rule of thumb: if you can’t tell whether an ingredient is food or chemistry, it might be worth putting back. I’m not saying this to shame, I’m saying this to wake you up.

Even those who know better still get trapped by brands using novelty to sway, and guilt-tripping to create insecurity. When a product claims to have all the vitamins, protein and fiber in one convenient serving and tastes just as good as the original, people lose their minds. It’s the same pattern we see with skincare and wellness. When enough nutritional buzzwords are thrown around, consumers reflect on where they may be lacking. If everyone is raving about protein and you realize you never consider your intake, you’ll probably overcompensate by grabbing anything labeled “high in protein.” CPG brands love to take full advantage of vulnerable humans.

Ingredient literacy is so low because people don’t know what they lack, and often don’t care enough to find out. They look for quick fixes, and products that appear slightly healthier do the job. And yes, it’s reasonable to think, “I would love to shop fully organic and whole-food, but I can’t afford it.” I believe health—especially around food choices—should be accessible as a basic human need. But I also believe that healthier choices don’t have to cost more. It’s about your mindset in the grocery store, knowing what to prep, and how to prep it. Ironically, chances are those who stick with processed foods end up consuming more calories than they need anyway.

If there’s one point to takeaway from this piece, it’s this: Reclaim agency over your body. Don’t let marketing theater and misleading food labels make decisions for you. And now you’re aware of how subtle the manipulation is, don’t shame yourself. Be thankful that you can now see right through it and think smarter not harder next time you grocery shop.

Centuries ago, young people underestimated the power of the product. Now that they’re waking up to it, it takes more than just a skin cancer statement to make a sunscreen product stand out in a now-saturated market. Vacation knows how to take the cake.

Here’s how they do it: Nostalgia through beautiful aesthetics.

If there’s one thing Gen-Z appreciates, it’s pretty packaging and cohesive branding. If a brand knows how to tap into graphic design—high-contrast fonts, bold yet simple color schemes, minimal fluff—that’s all it takes to get them on the bandwagon.

When you visit Vacation’s website, you teleport to the 80’s—vintage Miami bombshells, flashy yet glamorous, gritty yet optimistic, fueled by the electricity and ease of the time. The site features retro clips of beachgoers lathering on sunscreen, getting up to no good, yet living the lavish South Florida life: you would never guess that Vacation was founded in 2021.

In bold you see Vacation’s tagline: “The World’s Best Smelling Sunscreen.” My favorite visual once you scroll down is The Vacation Clipper, consisting of a carousel of coupons that look straight out of an 80’s magazine, each linking to various shop pages.

This is what I call a brand who knows how to commit to the bit—and pull it off so seamlessly, that it feels like you’re truly stepping back into time.

By depending on nostalgia, Vacation not only nails the aesthetics but also establishes trust across the brand.

Boomers gather that this brand really gets them, as it appeals to tradition, especially in such an ever-changing landscape. They see a reflection of the past they know; younger consumers see a retro dreamscape that feels familiar through design. Vacation makes sun protection luxurious and fun—the thing that “cool people” do.

It doesn’t lead with fear-based messaging about cancer like other brands. Vacation knows that Gen Z is obsessed with anti-aging, so of course they already know the importance of daily SPF. In the rise of health and wellness among this generation, Vacation makes sunscreen fun, not a chore. It leads with the visual stimulus and emotional attraction that make it stand out on the shelves.

Vacation also masters duality:

“Everything you love from the past mixed with modern skincare science.”

When the branding so heavily leans into a time when people were unaware of the importance of SPF, it’s easy to assume that the formula reflects that. However, the products are made in conjunction with Dr. Elizabeth Hale, SVP of the Skin Cancer Foundation, and are Hawaii Act 104-approved, so they’re both safe for the skin and the planet.

That’s the sweet spot. Gen-Z is both progressive and aesthetic-driven—they care about the Earth, their health, and identity, but they also want a luxurious, finer-things-in-life experience. Vacation gives them both.

The main selling point? Definitely the scent.

I’ve smelled it and used it myself, and can confirm: it’s amazing—warm, creamy, and nostalgic. The sunscreen smells straight out of a resort beach in the Bahamas—sipping a Piña Colada, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, listening to the waves crashing. It screams vintage charm mixed with the sweetness of nostalgia and indulging in fun during the summer months: something that is becoming more and more of a luxury in a culture that over-romanticizes work.

It’s kind of ironic that Vacation is reminding people that enjoying the sun doesn’t have to be a luxury when sunscreen has long been associated with luxury itself (vacations, beach trips, etc). Now, protection becomes pleasure. Health becomes hedonism.

Now that we know how to protect ourselves, we can also acknowledge how sunscreen does wonders for our mental health and overall well-being. The brand reminds us that joy, rest, and leisure don’t have to be reckless to feel real. It’s the rare product that bridges science and soul, making self-care feel like self-expression. Essentially, sunscreen is a basic necessity, and Vacation knows how to sell it—making luxury accessible and safe for all.

Rachael Dionisio is a brand strategist and insights storyteller fascinated by the intersection of psychology and storytelling. With roots in luxury retail and a passion for understanding what makes people feel seen, she explores how emotion shapes behavior both on the sales floor and in digital spaces. Her work bridges empathy and analysis to uncover the invisible forces behind why we buy, connect, and belong.

1. Consumer behavior drastically differs from store to store. What classifies as the typical customer at corporate retail is a completely different persona than a regular at a local luxury store. What this means is our wants and needs exist on a much wider spectrum than we realize. Most don’t have any intention to spend money, but the ones that do either view the experience as a quick, in-and-out errand because they have sh*t to do, or they view it as a pampering self-care session, like a slice of a private, personalized appointment, but for some, it really is just that intimately luxurious.

2. A lot of customers don’t realize that when they walk into a store, they’re really walking into an experiment with invisible factors designed to influence how they perceive, engage with, and interpret the product being sold. Everything—from the music being played to the temperature—is strategic. When the music is loud, upbeat, experimental, customers become playful—they want a wardrobe spice-up. When the music is 2000’s classics, customers become nostalgic and safe—they want comfort. When the temperature is warm, customers are in the mood to try stuff on. When the AC is blasted, they suddenly aren’t as much in a rush as they thought. It’s not manipulation, it’s permission. It’s a way to help customers feel safe enough to explore who they are through what they buy. It’s mood-setting. It’s intimate. And when brands understand what people truly crave, they can design experiences that reflect that desire back to them.

   

3. Every purchase is an act of emotional regulation—people don’t buy products, they buy a shift in how they feel.

   1. For some, it’s about staying in their own energy, quietly curating their experience. They value their own experience of the store, wanting to study every item that draws their eye at their own pace. They simply do not want to be bothered. If they see something they like and can justify, great, but they didn’t come in with expectations. They’re probably in a high-traffic area, casually browsing what’s around or killing time. Sometimes a store is just a stage for presence. They’re not shopping for clothes, they’re shopping for stimulation and inspiration—with maybe a few practical wants on the back burner.

   2. For others, that looks like a personalized styling experience, allowing the associate to take control on how they can make them feel special, safe and seen. These people came in for a reason—they have money to spend, a style in mind, and time on their hands. They’re running off adrenaline. It’s likely they’re in the middle of a full-on shopping spree because of a desperate need for retail therapy. It’s just as likely they’re on a mission to find the perfect black bomber jacket and figured this seems like a store that would have one.

   3. For a few, they’re just bored. They come in to entertain themselves, to spark conversation, to lightly browse and connect through it. Maybe their curiosity led them in, or they need their cup filled through small talk, or they are nosey. Ironically, these customers are the easiest to sell to because they thrive off of attention and engagement. They want to be amazed by something innovative, unconventional or unbelievably practical.

      

4. Customers are more likely to purchase when the deeper, invisible reason for coming in is met. At the end of the day, we just want connection in whatever form it comes.

   1. For me, I light up when I find a piece that could only be described violently me, and that’s enough to justify. I’m looking for something to validate my sense of self, and the version of me that I’m trying to create, one wardrobe addition at a time.

   2. Possibly for you, it’s about the quality time with the friend you’re shopping with, and when they purchase something, you feel more inclined to. You want to share the energy of the experience and have some underlying FOMO. For you, money is worth the feeling the memory provides, no matter what.

   3. Maybe for some, they need the associate’s confirmation on how the piece looks on them, and that’s enough. Knowing that teal is their color boosts their self-esteem more than they realize. They’re insecure, and insecure about being insecure, so they need a little extra love and uplift.

I could go on, but here’s what it all comes down to: these emotional cues—safety, validation, curiosity—don’t stop at the store’s doors. They show up everywhere consumers interact with brands. The scroll is just the new sales floor. Every click, every add-to-cart moment is still driven by the same quiet desire: to feel seen.

Consumers use products as mirrors, searching for reflections of who they are or who they want to be. When they say, “I’m just looking,” they rarely mean it. What they’re really doing is testing whether they can be understood without judgment.

Retail, at its core, is emotional translation. Every purchase fills a void we can’t always name but instinctively feel. We all carry hidden insecurities, and what we buy—knowingly or not—is often a balm for them. After years on the floor, I’ve learned that customers are endlessly layered. Beneath every interaction is a craving for connection and affirmation. That’s what makes this work so fascinating: it’s never just about selling to me. It’s about decoding what makes people feel whole.

And if I had to summarize it:

1. Brands win when they create spaces that make people feel emotionally understood.

2. We don’t shop for things. We shop for versions of ourselves. Retail is just the mirror.

Rachael Dionisio is a brand strategist and insights storyteller fascinated by the intersection of psychology and storytelling. With roots in luxury retail and a passion for understanding what makes people feel seen, she explores how emotion shapes behavior both on the sales floor and in digital spaces. Her work bridges empathy and analysis to uncover the invisible forces behind why we buy, connect, and belong.

Let’s zoom out. When you splurge on a pricey top at Free People, you’re not purchasing for practicality. You’re purchase for the feeling that top offers—confidence, security, individuality, control. You feel empowered wearing something that reflects you inside and out—something that allows the world to view you the way you wish to view yourself. Because when we buy things, we’re never really purchasing just an item. We purchase self-validation.

Every purchase we make is a small token contributing to the whole we’re subconsciously creating: our ideal, highest selves.

Let’s zoom out even more. While studying consumer behavior in my advertising classes at Boston University, I realized the insights I uncovered dug a whole lot deeper than demographics or even psychographics. To truly understand consumers, you have to view them on a soul level. What they want is to mold a solid sense of self. They want to build their identity and own it. Even if they don’t realize it or can’t put it into words, that’s what’s happening.

Consumers buy according to the vibe they want to give off, the aesthetic they want to portray, the lifestyle they want to live. Basically, every time we justify a purchase we know we don’t need but want, we’re actually just creating our dream lives by literally becoming our dream selves. Every brand we choose to align with says something we wish others could see, or that we wish we could believe about ourselves. The skincare we use, the gym we go to, the groceries we buy—they’re all extensions of our inner worlds.

Tangible, luxurious items (whatever luxury means to you) allow us to preview our own future. The short-term dopamine rush as we tap our chip acts as a portal to the feeling having it all. We get all giddy, which is really a taste of empowerment from doing something our highest self would do. I mean, what’s more empowering and adrenaline-rushing than living your truth, while also adding a cute new piece to your wardrobe?

And what does this mean for marketing? We all know brands cater to what their audience wants, but that perspective tends to be limited to what they want today. The consumer journey mirrors a life cycle: we grow with the brands we choose to align with. When the consumer evolves, their brands should evolve with them.

Brands—I’m talking to you now. It’s not about who your consumer is now. It’s about who they want to be. Because that’s where the real magic of consumer insights lives.

And maybe that’s why good branding feels like coming home to a version of ourselves we’ve been chasing all along.