See this fancy pink water bottle I’m holding? Now watch as I bash my head in with it.
This is not, I assume, what the makers of the $38 “beauty essential” intended. What they promised was “glamour sipping like a boss.” They wanted me to “be brave.” Maybe they even meant it—insofar as any millennial-focused, direct-to-consumer startup knows I endure a daily torrent of push-notification-enabled psychic assaults and wishes to soothe me with aspirationally charged branding. Look, I’m all for self-care. But this glossy next-level shit—products that can’t just be products anymore, but instead must be mystical vehicles through which to attain some higher state—makes me feel worse.
What if there’s a day I don’t feel glamorous? Or brave? Suddenly I’m not even living up to my water bottle’s expectations. And it goes waaay deeper. Suitcases, sheets, contacts, vitamins, birth control: There’s no mundanity safe from the impulses of startups catering to their favorite demographic’s vanity, sense of entitlement, and love of Helvetica.
Even generic Viagra (sold by Hims) aims to restore agency: “You deserve to have an erection when you want one.” Got that, penises? You’re not the boss! Actually, nobody wants stories attached to basic needs. When every item on my shopping list has its own Insta-perfect personality, I suffer an embarrassment of empowerments. The spiral of self-hatred deepens, until even my toothbrush is mocking me.
But OK, yeah, that shiny handle is just so #goals.