Let’s get this out of the way straight out of the gate: I’m annoyingly healthy. I’ve blissfully plain-sailed my way through five decades of life with minimal medical maladies; only the usual plethora of viral and bacterial infections, a classic middle-aged man hernia operation, and a fair amount of unpleasant sporting injuries. With no lasting effect from any of these (so far), I wouldn’t quite say I’ve won the genetic lottery yet, but my balls are looking favourable.
In terms of how I look after myself… well, that’s a mixed bag: a non-smoker, definitely not a non-drinker, a decent amount of exercise to compensate for a desk job, and a diet that’s a little better than in my youth, but certainly not wholesome enough to impress any food blogger.
Undaunted by the corporate labyrinth they’d created, I jumped straight in and placed my order, after which I thought it best to actually read their website. For the rare few inclined to check, the terms and conditions are pretty explicit:
Our test and this website does not make a medical diagnosis nor is it intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.
The ‘About our laboratory’ section of their site starts again with a recommendation to see a doctor if you believe you have a medical condition or are seriously ill, but it’s followed immediately by what seems like an attempt to persuade you otherwise:
However, bioresonance hair testing is proving to be an alternative which is helping people to experience new health benefits.
It’s a perfect balance of keeping on the right side of the law while sweeping aside any doubts you may have about making a purchase. While the “How does it work though?” section of page fails to tell us anything about how it actually works, it does tell us that Bioresonance technology has improved significantly in the last few years, and that your hair strand will be tested and will tell you whether you have any reactions, and “therefore whether or not you need to avoid that item”.
The equipment they use for the testing is the MARS III Quantum Response System (Multiple Analytical Resonance Systems). If the use of the word Quantum is already worrying you, perhaps the reassurance that the device is “manufactured and listed as a medical scanning device class 11a” should help. Sadly, this is almost certainly wrong. Chances are they actually mean IIa as per the UK Government Classification of Medical Devices. This classification also doesn’t speak to whether the machine in question does what it claims, but more about the risk that it carries. The £25 I paid for my test may have sounded like a bargain initially, but it seems that I paid a quarter of the price of buying the machine itself as it can be found for less than £100 on Amazon – tempting!
The test itself is certainly harmless. All you need to do is snip a few hairs and send them off, so unless you suffer from aichmophobia then you should be just fine. When my kit arrived, I opted for chest hairs (the little remaining hair on my head is too precious to remove), which I sent off for analysis.
As already established, I’m generally about as healthy as you get, but specifically in terms of how I react to food, I’m gold-standard. As a proud Scotsman I regularly consume deep-fried everything, love a good curry, and in terms of liquid refreshment I regularly partake in all the bad stuff, from coffee and Irn-Bru on the softer side, to a glorious array of dizzying delights on the alcoholic end of the scale. Despite the national cliches, I’m no stranger to a salad, and have in my years consumed all manner of food and drink. With all that in mind, other than well-earned hangovers I’ve suffered no ill-effects whatsoever; I’ve never had acid reflux, heartburn, bloating, indigestion, stomach cramps, or any other common post-food-consumption ailment. Any diarrhoea has likely been attributable to questionable food hygiene rather than food intolerance (yes, I’m looking at you, proprietors of now closed ‘Taste of Punjab’ takeaway on Argyle Street), and certainly no food allergies (worth noting that allergies and intolerances are different things).
Considering the seemingly superhuman strength of my constitution, surely my food sensitivity test would come back clear? The results arrived within a few days, and were potentially devastating. Interestingly, after the pre-amble in my report, there’s a short paragraph about Bioresonance therapy and testing, with accompanying diagram. These are presumably required as part of legal disclaimers, but are missing from anything you may have read before making your purchase:
Bioresonance therapy and testing is categorised as a complementary and alternative medicine (CAM). This is a diverse group of therapies, practices and products, which fall outside of conventional medicine or healthcare. The findings in the report do not make a medical diagnosis.
The results come with a percentage value and a colour coding, which indicate the level of potential sensitivity. The FAQs recommend the following:
for best results, we do recommend removing all items from the diet reacting at over 85%.
In order to avoid further bloating my word count in this article I’m not going to list everything that showed up at 85% or above, and instead I’ll only list those that hit the red-zone of 95% or above. I’d encourage you to try to work your way through these these in the style of Daniel Radcliffe storming his way through Alphabet Aerobics:
Food items
Ale (off to the WORST possible start), Alfalfa, Almond, Barramundi, Basmati Rice, Bell Pepper – Red, Catfish, Chayote, Cherries, Chicken, Chicken Of The Woods Mushrooms (Laetiporus), Chickpea, Cornish Game Hen, E 104 Quinoline yellow, E 320 Butylated hydroxyanisole (BHA), E 327 Calcium lactate (salts from lactic acid), E 330 Citric acid, E 461 Methylcellulose, E 623 Calcium diglutamate, Calciumglutamate, Fuji apple, Grapefruit, Herring, Jackfruit, Jujube, King Oyster Mushrooms (Pleurotus eryngii), Lager, Moose, Oranges, Pomfret, Purslane, Rose Wine, Sage, Sea cucumber, Soursop, Starfruit, Viili, Wakame, Wheatgrass.
Non-food / environmental items
Other environmental factors which may cause sensitivity: Amongst the ‘big-hitters’ on this equally long list are cats (I’ve lived with cats almost my whole life – cute pictures available on-request), chlorine (the stuff they put in all the swimming pools I’ve ever been in), and polyester (you know, that stuff they use in clothing, which I regularly wear).
Nutritional imbalances
The only ‘red’ item is Zeaxanthin (found in leeks, okra, spinach and watercress), but some basics like carotenoids, fibre, and iron also make the list with lower percentages.
Metals
Apparently proximity to copper, gold, nickel, or palladium might cause me problems. That’s a shame as I’m a big metal fan (the music, not the air current-generating rotational device). Perhaps it’s referring to mosh pit trauma? I hereby promise to avoid Nickelback at all costs, just as a precaution.
Gut biome
This was the only part of the test to come back clear, but considering everything else I’m supposedly ‘sensitive’ to, that was little compensation.
So let’s be clear: This test isn’t really for me. It’s not meant for people like me. The real target here is vulnerable people with ongoing health problems, some of whom have probably tried and failed many times before to find the key to those problems. Potentially there could be a dietary issue, but in many cases, there may be something more complex and hard-to-identify going on. If those people, perhaps in desperation, take the plunge and spend their money on a food sensitivity test that has not been proven to work, then the likelihood is that they’ll embark on an extremely stressful and unnecessary set of restrictions. Such courses of action can cause nutritional deficiencies themselves, but aside from that, it may also prevent them from seeking genuine medical assistance and potentially missing a diagnosis of something more severe.
Food intolerance is of course a real thing, and there’s useful guidance from the NHS on how it might be diagnosed and treated. If you think you may have some form of this, or something else which is causing your symptoms, then please keep your hair intact, put down your wallet, pick up the phone, and call a real doctor.
A battered bag, a worn-down shoe, a cast-off top – thrifting promises a gentler kind of consumerism, one rooted in restraint rather than impulse, making it a visible marker of sustainability. Over 40% of Gen Z consumers buy second-hand to reduce their environmental impact. Online, it’s framed as the ethical antidote to fast fashion. In reality, it’s wrapped in trend cycles, curated racks, and second-hand price tags that deceptively resemble originals.
Regardless, thrifting has gained popularity in recent years for good reason. It offers an affordable way to shop while reducing demand for new clothing production. In a world where fast fashion is constantly criticised for its toll on the environment, thrifting presents an alternative that feels conscious and corrective. It allows clothing to be reused instead of discarded, and extends the life of garments that might otherwise have ended up in landfill.
For many young people, it feels like a genuine way to align their personal choices with their core values, be it environmentalism, individuality, or financial practicality. Instead of buying mass-produced, trend-driven items, Gen Z now seek unique pieces that express identity and reduce the guilt of consumption.
However, the idea that thrifting is inherently sustainable, ethical, or accessible deserves closer scrutiny. As it becomes more mainstream and commercialised, thrifting often reproduces the same problems it was meant to resist, from overconsumption and waste, to pricing and aesthetics disguised as ethics.
Sanjana, a 22-year-old psychology student at Singapore’s Nanyang Technological University (NTU), first started thrifting in 2020, drawn in by the promise of both style and sustainability. ‘It felt good to put my beliefs into my money,’ she explained. ‘I’d rather spend $20 on a thrifted piece than $20 at Cotton On. I was willing to spend even more, actually.’ She was influenced by the slow fashion movement, which was gaining traction online. ‘Back then, it was more about sustainability. Now it’s become more about putting outfits together, and less about where the clothes come from.’
Like many others, she believed in the idea that thrifting offered an ethical, slower-paced alternative, but her views have evolved. ‘Nowadays, I’m not sure if it really aligns with my values anymore.’
Thrifting has become the default example of ethical consumption. Sanjana’s views reflect how for many, buying second-hand feels like a conscious choice, one that’s morally sound. Thrifting has come a long way from its origins in societies where lower-income communities practiced barter systems and repurposed clothing items as a necessity. In recent years, it has become a cultural movement, especially among Gen Z. What used to be dismissed as “second-hand” is now rebranded as “vintage”.
For a generation raised on climate dread, spiralling living costs, and an internet full of adverse news, thrifting provides a rare kind of relief. It allows people to consume without guilt, a way to shop without feeding the problem. Unlike fast fashion’s mundane uniformity, second-hand clothes carry the promise of individuality. They suggest intention, identity, and resistance, whether or not any of that is true.
Social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram have transformed thrifting into a curated lifestyle. Thrift hauls, outfit transitions, and second-hand styling guides rack up millions of views. For example, with over 1.5 million views on a single clip, Brooklyn Karasack became viral for repurposing vintage clothing into trendy new looks, a makeover format now familiar across the app.
Resale platforms like Depop and Carousell further allow young people not just to thrift, but to resell and monetise thrifted fashion. Reflecting this shift, by 2030, the second-hand fashion market is expected to double in size compared to fast fashion. This growth is driven by the increasing accessibility of platforms like ThredUp, and community events like flea markets or thrift pop-ups.
In Singapore, second-hand shopping has grown into a full-blown weekend experience. Instagram thrift accounts operate like micro-businesses, and curated pop-ups pull in large Gen Z crowds with music, food, and mood lighting. Thrifting is no longer just functional, it’s fashionable, even aspirational. This shift, while understandable, raises questions about what we are really doing when we buy second-hand: rescuing clothes from waste, or simply repackaging the urge to buy.
Thrifting is often seen as an easy win for sustainability. It takes existing clothes and puts them back into circulation, supposedly reducing demand for new production. This is the core claim behind most thrift marketing and content. But as thrifting culture has gained momentum, the sustainability message became increasingly simplified: second-hand clothing means less demand for new production, which means less pollution, water usage, and waste. Yet, like most things that spread too easily, this story has smoothed over a few inconvenient details. The reality, as always, is more complicated.
Not all donated or thrifted items get worn again. In fact, a large proportion of second-hand clothing, especially in curated thrift settings, is ultimately discarded. Many thrift businesses buy clothing in bulk, unsorted and priced by weight, before handpicking a small fraction for resale. What doesn’t meet aesthetic standards is either re-exported, passed along to donation centres, or discarded entirely. Most of it rarely makes it into someone’s wardrobe. Some of it was never meant to.
Sanjana, NTU student, has seen this pattern unfold. ‘They say they’re extending the life of clothes,’ she said. ‘But I’ve seen the same brands, the same tags, pop up again and again. You realise it’s just circulating. The rest gets left behind.’ She added that it becomes hard to see how buying something second-hand genuinely prevents wastage, especially when stores restock weekly and run on trend cycles.
Beyond the discarded clothing lies the issue of transport. Many thrift shops in Singapore and Southeast Asia import their inventory from the United States, Japan, or Europe. The logistics – shipping, storage, sorting – create an environmental burden that is rarely acknowledged. Clothes pass through multiple warehouses and pairs of hands before ending up on a “curated” rack. If they don’t sell, the process starts again. All of this happens under the banner of low-impact living.
Take, for example, the journey of a single thrifted shirt. It’s donated in the U.S., shipped to a warehouse in Malaysia, sorted by style and condition, picked up by a Singapore-based reseller, and eventually sold in a curated boutique in Tiong Bahru. If it doesn’t sell, it is rotated out and shipped again. Every step involves fuel, packaging, labour, and time. The carbon footprint may be lower than producing new clothing, but it’s far from zero.
Globally, the waste from second-hand clothing ends up somewhere. In Ghana, about 40% of used garments are dumped in landfills or burnt in open-air sites. In Chile’s Atacama Desert, mountains of unsellable fast fashion sit under the sun, never decomposing. These items were once marketed as recyclable, ethical, or part of a circular economy. Yet, most of them reached no second owner. They reached the end of a system that has learned how to dispose of things faster than it can reuse them. This causes entire communities to deal with the environmental impact of unsold fast fashion and second-hand waste.
Waste is not the only issue. Even as thrifting promises to shift the way we consume, it often ends up encouraging the same patterns it set out to fix. Once considered the antidote to overconsumption, it seemed to offer a slower, more intentional alternative to the churn of fast fashion. Today, it increasingly fuels the same consumption habits it was supposed to challenge.
The rise of thrift hauls online are a clear marker of this shift. Videos featuring bags of clothing, quick outfit changes, and dramatic before-and-after transformations are now a staple on TikTok and Instagram. The format has become predictable, the content highly shareable. The message that comes through is clear: it is okay to buy more, as long as it is second-hand.
Sanjana admitted that she had been drawn into this mindset. ‘There were times I knew I didn’t need something, but it’s hard to be in a room full of cute clothes and have restraint,’ she said. ‘It felt harmless. But it wasn’t really different from fast fashion, just labelled differently.’ She also pointed out how curated stores encourage browsing with a different kind of justification. Essentially, the impulse to purchase remains, but the guilt is numbed.
The tote bag analogy, often mentioned in sustainability discussions, applies neatly here. Reusable canvas totes were originally introduced to cut down on plastic waste. Soon after, they became fashion statements. People started collecting them from cafés, museums, and events, only to display them as shelf pieces, or stash them away unused. Many were eventually discarded. The problem wasn’t the tote bag itself. It was the uncritical belief that excess is harmless when it comes with good intentions.
Thrifting has followed a similar path. The practice started as a practical and often necessary act. Gradually, it became a lifestyle, then a form of content. Some influencers no longer buy second-hand for personal use, but to resell, photograph, or build a brand. In turn, many consumers now thrift to participate in a trend rather than out of need.
None of this makes individual thrifters inherently irresponsible, but the shift in behaviour matters. Thrifting is no longer simply about reuse, it has developed its own version of fast cycles: constant new stock, rapid rotation, trend-based pricing, curated drops. Though the aesthetics are different, the pace feels particularly familiar.
Alongside shifting consumption patterns, the economic role of thrifting has undergone its own quiet transformation. Thrift stores have long been associated with affordability. For decades, they offered clothing at a fraction of retail prices. This made them important not just for sustainability, but for access. Today, this function is under pressure. In Singapore, many second-hand stores now market themselves as “curated” or “boutique-style.” They select items based on trend categories, such as ‘clean girl’, ‘cottagecore’, ‘Y2K’, and price accordingly. A blazer might cost $40, a basic tee $25. The same pricing logic applies across flea markets, pop-ups, and online resale pages.
Sanjana has noticed the shift. ‘There’s a huge difference between a thrift shop that sells what it gets and one that curates,’ she said. ‘It’s no longer about affordability. It’s about aesthetics. It feels like they’re selling a look, not clothes.’ Some stores, she added, even filter based on what will photograph well for Instagram. Items that are too worn, plain, or off-trend rarely make it onto the rack.
This shift has introduced a new set of barriers. While some buyers can still access affordable options, the curated market increasingly targets middle-class consumers looking for ethical alternatives that align with their personal brand. The experience has become more performative. Second-hand shopping is now part of a larger narrative about identity, values, and visual taste. That narrative, however, comes at a cost.
The result is a quiet displacement of the communities that once relied on thrift stores. Another NTU student described it as “retail gentrification”. He explained how items once dismissed as unfashionable or low-value, like carpenter pants or boxy jackets, are now rebranded as vintage essentials. ‘It was never meant to be a trend’ he said. ‘But now, everything from Carhartt to ripped T-shirts, is being sold as an aesthetic. And worse, fast fashion has started mimicking thrifted styles. It’s all been commodified.’
The idea that thrifting is financially inclusive no longer holds. The more it is styled and streamlined, the less accessible it becomes. It may still be second-hand, but the economics feel thoroughly conventional.
Social media plays a central role in that commodification. Influencers often frame thrifting as a morally superior act: an identity, not just a behaviour. Haul videos, outfit shots, monthly closet clean-outs, all feed the same attention economy that drives fast fashion marketing. Some influencers partner with curated resale platforms and post professionally styled lookbooks. Gone are the dusty racks and mismatched sizing of traditional thrift stores. In their place are boutique displays and “drops” of hand-selected items. The reality of thrifting: time, patience, inconsistency, doesn’t trend well.
Even so, the appeal of second-hand fashion remains strong for many consumers. Compared to traditional retail, the second-hand economy does offer certain practical and emotional advantages. For many, it represents a more thoughtful way to shop. For those who thrift responsibly, the environmental benefit is real, particularly when purchases are rare, considered, and worn for longer than a single trend cycle.
Despite rising prices in curated thrift stores, second-hand shopping can still be cheaper than retail for those who know where to look. Community-led initiatives, donation-based shops, and non-curated spaces continue to provide access to affordable clothing, even if they receive less attention than trend-focused thrift businesses. The infrastructure isn’t completely broken, it’s just uneven.
Then there is the matter of alternatives. The fast fashion industry’s dominance hasn’t disappeared, it has simply adapted. For many Gen Z consumers, including Sanjana, brands like Shein or H&M are still a regular fallback, especially for basics. ‘For sizing especially,’ she explained, ‘Shein is one of the places that actually has sizing options. I think a lot of people face that issue.’ As such, access to clothing that fits, that ships quickly, and that doesn’t demand time spent digging through racks, still holds real appeal.
Even curated thrift stores reflect this reality. It’s common to find items from Shein or Cotton On resold in second-hand spaces, often at higher prices than their original retail tags. When fast fashion shows up in thrift stores and sells as vintage, the ethical lines start to blur. The line between conscious shopping and aesthetic performance becomes harder to draw.
This doesn’t make thrifting a failure, but it complicates the claim that it’s a catch-all solution. For some, it’s still the best available option. For others, it’s a workaround, more appealing than fast fashion, but shaped by many of the same incentives. In both cases, the belief that thrifting is inherently better creates its own kind of complacency.
Sustainable behaviour does not come from labels or platforms alone, it comes from the choices made within them. In that sense, thrifting is neither saviour nor scam. It is simply a system, one that can be used thoughtfully, or not.
For Sanjana, what began as a decision grounded in her values, now feels far less straightforward. Thrifting once offered a way to shop with intention, an alternative to fast fashion that aligned with how she wanted to live. But the culture has shifted. ‘It’s become really hard to say thrifting aligns with my values,’ she said.
She still thrifts, but with more hesitation. She’s buying less, repairing more, and choosing swaps when she can. The excitement has given way to something slower, quieter, and more deliberate.
Her habits haven’t disappeared, but the certainty that once came with them has. In a culture that increasingly rewards aesthetics over substance, that shift might be the most honest response possible.
None of this means thrifting is inherently harmful, but it isn’t undoubtedly good either. Its impact depends on how it’s practiced, by whom, and within what kind of system. At its best, second-hand shopping can extend the life of garments, reduce demand for new production, and provide affordable options outside the retail cycle. At its worst, it mimics the same problems it was meant to resist: overconsumption, exclusion, and waste, just dressed in better lighting.
Sanjana sees this contradiction too. ‘I think thrifting started off meaning well,’ she said. ‘But now it’s kind of become more sinister, like greenwashing. It disguises itself as sustainable, but there’s so many issues behind it.’ For her, the shift from slow fashion to curated hype has made it harder to participate ethically. ‘Sometimes I see those massive thrift hauls online, and it actually upsets me. You don’t need that many clothes. What are you doing? Who is this helping?’
Her discomfort reflects a larger social pattern. Cultural narratives often flatten complex systems into slogans. Once those slogans start to feel good, they become harder to challenge. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram accelerate this process rewarding clarity over nuance, and aesthetic over context. Algorithms don’t question whether second-hand shopping is sustainable, they just amplify the voices that say it is.
Maybe the real takeaway isn’t about thrifting at all. It’s about how easily we accept comforting stories, especially when they are well-marketed, neatly packaged, and just plausible enough to escape scrutiny.
The virus analogy for misinformation is the idea that misinformation spreads from person to person like a virus, and that people become infected by misinformation like they become infected by a disease. This epidemiological metaphor extends to proposed solutions for misinformation such as inoculation interventions, which are described as metaphorical vaccines that deliver mental antibodies to confer resistance against misinformation. Inoculation interventions have enjoyed widespread attention, particularly in the form of serious games.
In this article, we want to address a common pushback to these criticisms, which is that mathematical models from epidemiology can be adapted to track the spread of misinformation across social networks. These models have been found to fit social network data well, which has been interpreted as evidence supporting the virus analogy for misinformation.
At a descriptive level, we do not question that it is useful to draw an analogy between the spread of misinformation and the spread of biological viruses. Given the extensive modelling work in epidemiology on how biological viruses spread, it is reasonable to apply these frameworks more broadly. In fact, the use of epidemiological models in the social sciences extends beyond misinformation research. As academic philosopher Dan Williams wrote when facing the same pushback for critiquing the virus analogy:
There is nothing unique about misinformation that makes it amenable to such modelling … the models will apply equally to engaging truths, juicy gossip, funny jokes, new fashions, and so on.
Williams was right: essentially, any phenomenon with a positively accelerating growth rate is a potential candidate for this type of modelling. For example, song popularity, growth in church memberships, opinions, ideas, and a plethora of other social phenomena have all been mathematically modelled like the spread of a viral contagion. But this modelling does not necessarily mean that we should conceptualise and treat these social phenomena as if they were viruses.
The problem is that there can be similarities between the spread of misinformation and the spread of biological viruses even though the underlying systems that cause their spread are fundamentally different. Indeed, in terms of the mechanisms of infection, there are substantial differences between the two systems. Viral infection can occur when virus particles bind to receptor proteins on cell membranes and inject their genetic material in the form of ribonucleic acid (RNA) or deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) into the cells, thereby allowing the virus to replicate. Misinformation “infection”, on the other hand, does not take a physical form in the same way – there are certainly no cells, proteins, or genetic material, and if there are psychological counterparts, they remain unidentified.
Furthermore, people are not passively “infected” by misinformation like they are with a virus. People have motivations, beliefs, and interests that determine the (mis)information they consume, share, and believe in. Super-spreaders of misinformation are not akin to super-spreaders of biological viruses. Misinformation super-spreaders often spread misinformation for specific purposes, whether it be financial gain or popularity. Such motivations are not relevant for biological virus super-spreaders.
These differences in the mechanisms of infection may ultimately limit what can be learned by comparing how each phenomenon spreads throughout the population, but epidemiological comparisons are certainly a good starting point for understanding the potential exponential spread of misinformation.
At the end of the day, biological viruses are just a metaphor for misinformation and, like all metaphors, there are similarities and differences between the tenor and the vehicle. Using the extensive epidemiological modelling of virus spread to understand misinformation spread highlights the similarities. However, similarity in one dimension, such as spread, does not preclude differences in others. Depending on the number and severity of these differences, the usefulness of the metaphor could be completely undermined.
As noted above, one such dimension where we believe the tenor and the vehicle diverge is vulnerability to infection. Oddly, this claim was rebutted by noting that misinformation and viruses spread similarly, which essentially led the author (Sander van der Linden, the main proponent of the virus analogy for misinformation) to conclude that differences in vulnerability to each phenomenon were not problematic. But similarity in spread is not relevant to our claim about differences in vulnerability, because they are distinct dimensions of comparison. Thus, considering the ways in which the tenor and the vehicle are different (as well as similar) is important to avoid problematic reasoning and unwarranted conclusions.
If misinformation does behave like a virus, then we can also create a vaccine.
This statement is a non sequitur – the premise that misinformation may behave similarly to biological virus in no way leads to the conclusion that we can then also create a vaccine against it. A virus compromises our immune system; misinformation does not. Fundamentally, this is the issue that we have with the virus analogy of misinformation: it has been overextended to the point that psychological vaccines are promoted as a cure for misinformation, despite the obvious differences between the immune system and the mind. In our view, this overextension is misleading and alarmist.
In conclusion, we do not deny that misinformation is shared among people and can therefore be mathematically modelled like a viral contagion. Moreover, we encourage research efforts of this sort. There may be better metaphors where the tenor and the vehicle are both in psychological space, such as comparing the spread of song popularity, or other social phenomena with a positively accelerating growth rate, with the spread of misinformation. Nonetheless, the extensive modelling work in epidemiology cannot be ignored.
However, encouraging such work does not speak to the somewhat dystopian assertions of the virus analogy that we are challenging: that people become “infected” with misinformation in the same way they do with a virus, and that there are “psychological vaccines” that can generate “mental antibodies” to combat it. There are fundamental differences between (mis)information transmission and viral contagions. Framing the former as the latter reduces complex cognitive and social processes involved in human communication to mere “infections” and “cures”, which ultimately distorts our understanding of the misinformation problem.
Confirmation bias is a psychological phenomenon where things that we agree with are considered true simply because they confirm our already established ideas. It’s the opposite of cognitive dissonance, where we simply ignore or refuse to accept things that we disagree with. Both concepts are dangerous traps, often times because we don’t recognise them as factors. Things that we agree with are normal, things we don’t agree with are weird.
Which is why, when I saw a headline from the NY Post which read, “Gen Z Women are Choosing Older Men Over Guys Their Own Age—and It’s Not Because They’re Sugar Daddies”, I suspected that the only reason I was going to click on this link was because the article would tell me something that I wanted to believe.
Let me caveat this: I have been married for 16 years and have no personal interest in this story. It is not about my dating or romantic preferences. Hi, honey! My motivation is more schadenfreude – I want to be happy at other people’s misery. Not just any other person, but the people that have essentially tanked my country in the last 100 days. It’s not a noble motivation, but it’s there and I feel compelled to be honest.
The headline references a somewhat sexist stereotype that younger women would only prefer to date older men for resources and security. The “hook” of the article is that this tired stereotype isn’t actually the reason that Gen Z (defined as women in their 20s) are pursuing men a generation older (30-40) – it argues that it’s not about money, but rather if they dial that birth year back so that it begins with a “19” rather than a “20” the man is less likely to have been sucked into the Rogan/Tate/Petersen worldview.
In other words, these women are more likely to find someone who doesn’t despise them because they’re women.
This headline caught my eye because, in the United States, things seem very bleak. If you know an American, understand that our despair is not just because we have a president who seems to decide policy on whims, a feckless legislature branch unwilling to stop him, and a judicial system that lacks teeth. That would be bad enough, but there is an older generation that cheers all of his actions on, despite having pretended former president Obama was acting like a tyrant because he wanted to break the filibuster rule. Even that is bad enough, but it’s also being cheered on by a younger crowd who believe in some platonic ideal of masculinity that is hyper-competitive and can be “won.” If you’re an American and even vaguely liberal, it seems like you are in enemy territory. This headline told me that while they may be numerous, they are being rejected by the women that they pursue.
It makes me think of the Lysistrata, Aristophanes’ play where the women of Athens and Sparta withhold sex from the men until they end the Peloponnesian war. I support this entirely and wish I could do something more. Why should these women “reward” the type of male who has voted to remove their rights, who views them as less equal, and thinks of them only as a collection of parts.
So, it’s confirmation bias, the article tells me something I want to hear, but as a good skeptic I can’t just swallow this. I must check on it… and one look at the source made me very skeptical. The NY Post – despite being created by an original founder of my country (and terrific rapper), Alexander Hamilton – is now a tabloid. My suspicion was that this article was some clickbait, possibly generated by AI, and would end up trying to sell me a membership to a dating site. The Post article was dated 18 April 2025 and it references an article in the Independent from the 16th. The two articles are so similar that the authors should be sharing credit. They both follow the same structure, both reference the HBO series “White Lotus,” and both have an internet user making a comment that Walton Goggins’ older character probably doesn’t listen to Joe Rogan.
I also discovered an article on Medium, which has the same first six paragraphs, but then ends with a three-paragraph warning that sometimes age-gap relationships also have a power imbalance. Publishing on Medium requires nothing more than an account, so a cut/paste job here isn’t surprising. Like “The Skeptic”, the other two sources have editors to approve stories and help with writing, such as adding an unnecessary “u” to words like “color” and “flavor.”
Let’s investigate… image via Andres Siimon on Unsplash
The story got stranger when I found a link to the same story on LinkedIn, dated the same as the first Independent article. I was surprised when I clicked on the link, because it let me know that I had a LinkedIn account I don’t remember signing up for. It was also the same article as the other two. This fourth version of the story followed the same pattern as the others, but lacked the wordy summary of the White Lotus, or the list of Spring-Summer celebrity romances.
Having been fooled by James Vanderper, I decided to contact ‘James Aaron Brown Dr. Strategic Leadership’ (this is how his name appeared on the LinkedIn profile), expecting nothing. Based on that title, there was no way this was a real person. All I wanted was the justification for the percentage of women dating older men because of their socio-political views. I actually didn’t want this. I wanted to see what would happen if I asked. As an academic I love talking about my research, it’s a thing that we like to do. Asking a specific question like this would either get no response, or it would get the information I wanted.
However, James Aaron Brown Dr. Strategic Leadership, did respond. He thanked me for my email and interest in his writing and provided a list of sources. There were two problems with the list: the first was that no research appeared, not even a link to the alleged Bumble survey. The second problem was that the list of links was a series of articles that told me the younger generation doesn’t view age differences as that important, there is a divide in Americans as women gravitate more to the left while men are basically running to the right, resulting in men having trouble finding dates, and then a Buzzfeed article. Also included as a source was the NY Post article published two days after his LinkedIn version.
At this point, I felt like the James Aaron Brown Dr. Strategic Leadership was a sock puppet using AI to generate articles. I found a James Aaron Brown, a business instructor at National University. National University (NU) is an online only university with a regional accreditation from the WASC. I took this at face value, because trying to understand the accreditation process sent me to a strange, alien, and incomprehensible land. I emailed him again, and then I emailed the writers of the Independent and NY Post.
Brown responded again and, surprisingly, he admitted that the article was AI generated, that he was irresponsible in posting it, and that he was going to pull it down. He did, as well as deleting his LinkedIn profile, which I thought was extreme (between drafts the profile has returned). Something about this whole thing seemed odd, and I don’t like making assumptions. His Instagram link on his email signature went nowhere, a podcast he hosted stopped making episodes in 2023, even his faculty page for the college that employs him has very little actual information other than the most generic business buzzwords.
At the end of all this, my conclusion is the same as my initial suspicion: this was an AI-generated article that appealed to an existing bias. I don’t want to say that I should know better, because I did know better and I still clicked on it. As my cynicism grows, I am starting to view every headline that has some good news in it as dubious. I clicked on this link because I wanted to believe it and because I knew that it was probably bollocks. To repeat from the beginning: the headline makes sense since, in America, conservatism is more extreme and contains a current of hetero-normative patriarchal misogyny. Women, as a population, are becoming more liberal and are turned off by this social movement. This would compel them to seek out populations more amenable to their views – whether that’s an older generation isn’t guaranteed.
The article attempts to capitalise on the popularity of this White Lotus show and two “age-gapped” characters getting together at the end. I’m not one to criticise a pop-culture tie-in to make a point; that’s fine, but the article must succeed in making the point. This article fails in that regard. As I’ve written a few times before, and any honest skeptic will also say, skepticism is hard, and it’s even harder when we have to turn it toward something that we want to believe.
The Skeptic podcast, bringing you the best of the magazine’s expert analysis of pseudoscience, conspiracy theory and claims of the paranormal since its relaunch as online news source in September 2020.
People tend to have misconceptions about what is involved in being a journalist. We have this notion that journalists are the tenacious tellers of truths, speaking truth to power. Lois Lane. Their job is to take to their newspapers and tell people what all the bad guys have been doing, and how they know.
That’s the impression we typically get from the fiction we consume – journalism is about individuals, the personalities who dig deep, right wrongs, then tell you all about it. But it’s not really how journalism works. It’s not even how it works when it’s working the way it should, because journalism isn’t really meant to be about the voice and personality of the journalist, it’s meant to be about the unvarnished truth.
If anything, when you know too much about the personality of the journalist, that can start to put varnish on that truth. Well, Lois Lane would say that Lex Luthor’s businesses are dodgy, she’s sleeping with Superman, the guy who has taken a completely irrational dislike to poor Mr Luthor. Not content with blasting Lex with his laser eyes, now Superman has set his attack dog on him in the press.
The fact that Lex Luthor is guilty, and his businesses are objectively dodgy, can’t rest on Lois Lane’s say-so, it has to be painstakingly presented with the evidence. Here are the blueprints for a series of orbital satellites, designed and manufactured by corporations owned by Mr Luthor. Here is the transcript of an intercepted phone call, in which Mr Luthor outlines his plans to use said satellites to control the world. Here is the receipt for one Kryptonite Warsuit, signed by L Luthor. If Lois Lane has all of that evidence, there’s never a point where she has to say “Lex Luthor is a bad guy who should be in prison”, because the evidence speaks for itself.
Real investigative journalism takes serious work. Photo by Krišjānis Kazaks on Unsplash
In fact, if Lois Lane wants those articles outlining the guilt of Lex Luthor to be taken as seriously as possible, she needs to make sure she doesn’t then use them to advocate for a particular punishment. Leave the calls for his imprisonment to the opinion pages and the editor’s column; this is journalism, not advocacy.
That’s the lofty ideal of objective journalism, to lay out what is true and expose what is unknown in a way that isn’t personal and doesn’t call for specific action. News articles shouldn’t ever include the journalist telling you what they think, and they should never use “I” as a pronoun. As far as you’re concerned as a reader, it should be hard to tell there even is a journalist there at all – the words should feel like they’ve occurred spontaneously.
That’s not the case with feature pieces, of course, which might include some first-person perspective. Magazine pieces also have more leeway – with The Skeptic, for example, the standard is for an objective presentation unless there’s cause to deviate from that. Ideally, articles should be from this hypothetical (though in practice unreachable) external viewpoint, above it all and outside of it all.
Tell me but without telling me
That’s obviously not to say that journalists don’t have specific perspective, and it’s not to say they can’t indicate what kind of opinion the reader should take from what they’re presenting, or what action should be taken as a result. It’s just not really for the reporter to express that – and that’s where the expert voice comes in.
In almost any news story longer than a couple of paragraphs, you’ll typically find a quote from someone. It is the basis of the Fourth Paragraph Law of Bad PR – if there is a quote around the fourth paragraph of a news story, and that person has a commercial interest, there’s a good chance they’re from the company who provided the story.
That’s not always a bad thing; I’ve been that spokesperson, many times. When there is a story in the Times about some dodgy cancer product for sale on Amazon and you see a quote from me in there, it’s often because I’m the one who found that product for sale on Amazon and flagged it to the Times. When there were articles about how much money the NHS was spending on homeopathy, you’d see a quote from me in there as the person who figured that out and told the newspapers about it.
Then there are the cases where I wasn’t the person responsible for the story – maybe someone at the Telegraph actually did check eBay and find Miracle Mineral Supplement for sale. That’s obviously bad, and eBay should stop doing that. eBay should even update their policies and police their site better, so people can’t upload and sell dangerous fake cures like that. The people selling it should be investigated and perhaps even charged under laws designed to protect people from dangerous substances. But, there is that journalistic ideal where, as the uncoverer of truth, a journalist can’t then call for action to be taken by authorities and for eBay to change their processes. So how do you reflect those aims and opinions in your article?
First, you might put those points to eBay as questions to respond to:
‘Dear Mr eBay, do you think your customers should be sold industrial bleach under the guise of a supplement, and if not, what do you intend to do about it?’
‘Dear Ms eBay, do these listings reflect the standards of your site, and what your customers should come to expect?’
Get the right response to those questions, and you can publish them as a direct quote, with your question hidden, for example: “Emma Zon, the spokesperson for Amazon, said, ‘These listings do not reflect the standards of Amazon, and will be removed immediately. Customers should be sure to check that what they’re buying isn’t potentially dangerous.’” Hey presto, your call to action is in the story, without you as a journalist having to say it yourself.
The problem with that approach is that spokespeople are often smart, and they’ll rarely give you the quote that you want. They’ll say something that best suits the needs of their company and that can mean not answering at all, or it could mean giving a self-serving answer that deflects criticism. That’s where external stakeholders are handy. Someone’s selling something that claims to cure autism? ‘Bob Citation of the British Autism Society warned customers not to fall for fake cures, and called on eBay to do better for their customers.’ A cancer claim being made for something completely ineffective and dangerous? ‘Caroline Spokeperson from British Cancer Researchers said the police need to crack down on those who prey on the sick and the vulnerable.’
While the journalist never actually said for themselves what they think of those products or what they think should happen, it’s very clear – they’ve sought out quotes from organisations whose positions are self-evident, and they’ve provided lines that align with what the journalist wanted, coincidentally enough. There’s nothing nefarious here, it’s just good story building – you go to the stakeholder likely to give you the perspective your readers will want to hear. Then, when you speak to them, you might ask them prompt questions to direct them towards particular bits of the story to react to. “And what do you think eBay should do about it? … And what action do you think could be taken to stop this?”. That’s how I end up fielding calls on stories I didn’t originate.
That’s all well and good, of course; that’s the best side of things. But it’s not the only way that these kinds of interested party quotes end up in the newspapers. Some are added for balance or perspective.
Take, for example, a story about someone who has decided to treat her breast cancer with herbal remedies and Gerson therapy. One such article appeared in the Mirror in 2015. In that article, obviously there was going to be lots of quotations from the patient herself – she’s sharing her story, telling her truth. But in order to run a story like that, you have to provide some degree of cover.
So, you interview a cancer expert who tells you that this is a bad idea. You run a 2,000 word article praising Kelly for taking control of her health, but as long as the last 80 words are from a cancer charity telling people not to try this, you as a journalist for a national newspaper can feel great, because you showed both sides of things. It doesn’t matter that the readers won’t read right to the end, and even if they do they’ll ignore 5% of the article because it disagrees with the other 95%.
Those are the bad ways to use quotes in newspapers, as a way figleafing over the fact that you as a journalist are telling a sensationalist and irresponsible story, but it’s OK because you included views from an expert.
Then there’s the other type of expert quote – the one who has nothing to do with the story, but has been drafted in to give the story gravitas and credibility it would otherwise lack. These are the kinds of stories I used to cover quite a lot in the Bad PR field. You’d get a psychologist like Geoffrey Beattie, who would crop up in PR stories like the one saying that scientists had discovered the formula for the perfect handshake… and it was an advert for Chevrolet (whose used-car sales team were so friendly, they’d even studied how to put you at ease with a handshake).
Maybe it’s Bad PR
Back in 2015, I gave talks about this model of expertise in the media, and how it commercialised and commodified science at the hands of the PR industry. I concluded that commercial pressures on the journalism industry have weakened the ability to accurately report science reliably, and reliance on the PR industry cannot fill the gaps. But when scientists lend their voice to PR stories, they cheapen their reputation and the reputation of science, because the public cannot be expected to distinguish real science from PR stories disguised as science.
That was a decade ago. Things have not improved since – budgets have tightened and journalism has felt even more of a squeeze, from multiple directions. It’s far harder to turn to your address book to find that expert voice that you want. But almost all stories require a quote to round them out and, if you’re writing half a dozen stories per day, you’re going to be up against it. You might not even have the time to pick up the phone and call a team that specialises in finding relevant experts. You probably don’t even have time to go onto social media and put out a #JournoRequest.
So, where do you turn? Well, you might turn to a service like Response Source.
Response Source is a service that connects journalists to PR companies. PR companies sign up and pay to be part of the platform, while journalists sign up for free. Journalists can put out an enquiry for a quotation, spokesperson, expert, background information or product review, and they can explain what they need and how soon. That enquiry will then be sent out to any PR company who signed up for those chosen categories, who can then see if they have an expert that can fit the bill. If they do, they can get in touch via Response Source – the journalist gets their expert and the PR company gets their expert placed in the press, carrying whatever brand name they’re promoting along the way.
It’s not, on the face of it, a terrible system. But, as with everything in 2025, it is one that is hugely open to abuse and in ways we’re not quite ready to cope with.
Are they Superman?
This was made very clear in an investigation from Rob Waugh at the Press Gazette recently, who looked into some of the current prolific expert commentators in news articles. Waugh cites the consumer features editor of The Sun, Laura Purkess, whose requests on Response Source for expert comments reliably get responses from a particular PR agency, who provide three or more written comments on almost any subject, within an hour of the request going out.
Which is exceptionally fast, given that it supposes that a PR company has received and read the email, contacted their list of experts, found three willing to comment, had those three write and check their comments, sign them off, collate them, and send them back to the journalist. And it’s somewhat suspicious, given that the PR representative who responds doesn’t have a surname or an agency name.
Press Gazette feature the case of one expert called Rebecca Leigh. She put herself forward after a journalist put out a call for insight on the environmental impact of avocados, and offered an in-depth comment on the carbon footprint of the fruit. In the past, she has provided comments to journalists on employee benefits, budgeting, business degrees and music streaming. She has been quoted in Fortune talking about “loud budgeting” and by Business.com talking about the best countries in which to obtain a business education. She has written for DrBicuspid.com about how to write a business plan for your dental practice.
Rebecca’s profile on a site called Academized said she was a science educator with 12 years of experience and a biochemist with a background in molecular biology and biotechnology. It has her picture on there; the same picture also appears on a website called Leaddev… where she is called Sara Sparrow.
According to Academized, there’s nothing sinister about this – they use fake names and fake images for real writers to preserve their anonymity. But it obviously invites the question, if the name and the photo are fake… is the expertise real? Does whoever Rebecca or Sara really is actually have that expertise in biotechnology and molecular biology? And, if so, why is she spending her time writing about dental practices and business education?
Press Gazette covers an even more high-profile case, of the therapist and psychologist Barbara Santini. Barbara has an MSci in Psychology, Philosophy and Linguistics from the University of Oxford, and has offered comments and interviews on everything from friendship in old age to astral projection to being ‘ghosted’ by friends. Her comments have appeared in national and international publications including Vogue, Metro, Cosmopolitan, The i Paper, the Express, Hello, Shape, Women’s Health, Yahoo, Good Housekeeping, the Telegraph, the Daily Star, the Daily Mail and the Sun. Press Gazette explains that, in terms of media mentions, Santini is likely one of the most prominent psychologists in the UK.
Yet she doesn’t have her own website, social media, or LinkedIn. If you google her, you’ll find she has an about.me page, where she’s described as:
a freelance writer and a sex and relationships adviser at several companies. Barbara is involved in various educational initiatives aimed at making sex advice more accessible to everyone and breaking stigmas around sex across various cultural communities. In her spare time, Barbara enjoys trawling through vintage markets in Brick Lane, exploring new places, painting and reading.
That site does have a link that reads “Visit my Website”, but when you click it, you go to her profile on Peaches and Screams, a sex toy website she apparently works with. There, she is:
a fabulously quirky freelance writer and sex and relationships adviser at Peaches and Screams, where she’s on a mission to make sex advice as accessible as a good cup of tea and to shatter taboos across all cultural corners. When she’s not busy revolutionizing the way we talk about sex, Barbara’s diving into her delightfully eccentric hobbies. She floats her way through yoga classes (yes, on water!), hunts down the most fabulous vintage fashion finds, and loves cracking the codes in escape rooms. Right now, she’s having a blast transforming her newly acquired grand Victorian house into a whimsical wonderland, obsessively scouring Facebook Marketplace for the perfect reclaimed tiles, doors, and fireplaces to add that touch of vintage charm.
When Press Gazette tried to speak to Santini, they were told that she couldn’t talk over the phone, but she was willing to message via WhatsApp, where she refused to answer any questions about her credentials… but she did threaten to sue Press Gazette if they ran a story questioning whether she was real or not, saying
I am an accredited consultant for Peaches and Screams and my credentials and professional affiliations are a matter of record. Should you proceed with this article, my solicitors will initiate immediate legal action for defamation, including claims for damages arising from reputational harm. Further, your conduct may constitute harassment under the Protection from Harassment Act 1997, and any misuse of personal data to advance false claims will be treated as a breach of GDPR. Cease all communication with me directly. Any further correspondence must be directed to my solicitors, who should be contacting you sooner.
Press Gazette printed the story and, as yet, have heard nothing from any lawyers. Since the story went out, Santini’s name has been removed from articles in the Guardian, Mirror, Sun, and BBC, but she remains quoted in many, many more.
Santini might just be the most prominent example of a quoted expert of questionable existence, but she’s by no means alone. And the machine is being fed from both sides – PR companies use these request services to match their product up with an expert where they don’t have an existing relationship. George Driscoll, PR manager for the fintech app Remitly said he wanted an expert who would provide comments on food trends, and received an offer from a pastry chef who had a recipe blog. When he tried to verify who they were, there was no social media – despite them apparently being a prominent online food chef. They had a phone number, which, when added to WhatsApp, showed the photo of the man who ran SEO for the recipe website.
Let’s investigate
As an editor and quasi-journalist, I was intrigued by how this world worked. So, I inevitably joined Response Source and made a request of my own.
I explained, I am an online editor looking for an expert to talk about digital manipulation, how digital tools facilitate the spread of misinformation online, and how readers can be manipulated by falsehoods. I prompted for comments on how has the landscape changed over the last five years, and what do readers need to look out for when it comes to spotting fakery online.
I submitted that request at 4.40pm, and at 4.51pm I got a response, from someone simply called Star, at a company called fatjoe, who had already reached out to “tech expert” Joe Davies, who provided:
Have you ever clicked ‘share’ on a shocking headline, only to discover it was completely fabricated?
Digital misinformation has evolved from crude hoaxes to algorithm amplified deepfakes, making critical literacy your first and best defense against falsehoods online… While platforms have rolled out fact check labels and takedown policies, enforcement remains inconsistent, and sophisticated forgeries still slip through automated filters… Misinformation today is engineered for virality, not for truth. By sharpening your digital skepticism and adopting simple verification steps, you can inoculate yourself and your network against the next wave of online fakery.
In just 11 minutes, Star had apparently seen my request, sent it to Joe, caught him at the right time for him to see it, and he’d written a response of 186 words that he was happy with, sent it back to Star, who sent it back to me. It’s an impressively quick turnaround.
Joe is real enough, I found him on YouTube doing an interview for a podcast called SEO For Hire. He runs fatjoe, a “content marketing and SEO agency that stays at the forefront of digital trends”. Joe had also tweeted, six hours before my request: “Google is a librarian, AI is a journalist” and spent all day talking about how LLMs are important for AI SEO. It certainly seems like Joe ‘wrote’ that 186 word quote within 11 minutes of my request via AI.
12 minutes later, 23 minutes after my request, I had another response, this time from someone called Jen, of Liberty PR and Marketing, offering me “a few examples of the kinds of advice” Naomi Owusu, the CEO of Tickaroo, could tell me about. Her advice included:
Ask who gains from a story and be skeptical – this can help you confirm the validity of your sources. For example, if a story on the incredible effects of rhubarb references a study that the Rhubarb Farmer Association of America commissioned, the findings in that study may need to be examined more thoroughly. Did another independent study also find these findings? Has the study been peer-reviewed?
Those are the kinds of thoughts that might hypothetically have been given to me by Naomi Owusu, the CEO of Tickaroo. 40 minutes later, Jorden of GWI, the consumer insights platform, sent me a list of the top four most-trusted news sources in the UK, which had TV news at 44% and national newspapers at 22%. They offered to put me in touch with one of their data experts, Chris Beer or Matt Smith. I declined.
I’m not saying that Chris Beer, Matt Smith, Naomi Owusu aren’t experts in this area – I’ve honestly no idea, and that’s not really the point. Joe Davies may be an expert in using AI to boost the SEO of companies, but that’s obviously not really the kind of expertise I was looking for. And to be clear, I’m certainly not saying Chris Beer, Matt Smith, or Naomi Owusu don’t exist. I have no information either way, and this story isn’t about checking that.
What is clear is that we’ve got a media ecosystem built around the requirement of quotes and expert voices to carry authenticity and round out a story and we’ve simultaneously built a system that accelerates that whole process, while removing the time and resources and training journalists might need to check whether their expert even exists, let alone whether they are qualified and relevant. Whether this good or bad, or what we do about it – as any good journalist, I leave it to the reader to make up their mind.
What’s your morning routine? For me, I brush my teeth, wash, put my contact lenses in, and I might put on a face cream with SPF. But for some social media influencers, it goes a lot further – they engage in the ‘morning shed’.
Confusingly enough, the morning shed actually starts the previous night, with a nighttime routine – it might mean putting your hair into some sort of heatless curl contraption and putting on a face mask or under-eye mask to wear overnight, meaning there are things to remove when you wake up. Hence the morning ‘shed’ of your overnight treatments or styling devices before you start the day.
I’m not going to criticise women for doing things overnight that make them feel a bit more like themselves in the morning, or that save them time when they’re getting ready the next day. However, I do worry how it might affect people’s sleep and sleep position, if they’re angled into particular directions because of additional products in their hair or on their faces.
It’s probably no surprise that some of these overnight treatments include things that aren’t evidence based. Many of the morning shed videos I’ve watched start with the influencer removing their mouth tape – a practice used by people who hope it will stop them snoring, but that can actually be quite dangerous (especially when the tape is covering the whole mouth), and at best is just plain pointless.
But the thing oddest thing I’ve seen frequently referenced in the morning shed is the removal of a castor oil pack, either as a large fabric pad tied to the belly or a smaller sticky patch worn directly over the belly button. According to Healthline, a castor oil pack is a piece of wool or a cloth soaked in castor oil that you can apply on the skin, which people use in the belief it can combat “skin conditions, blood circulation problems, and digestive issues.” What’s more, according to Women’s Health: “many people are turning to castor oil to help get rid of unwanted belly fat and to tone the stomach area.”
Users go even further with their claims, this with Instagram influencer Millie Mae explaining:
WHAT DOES THIS DO?
The natural compounds in castor oil help to stimulate the lymphatic system, reduce inflammation, and support detoxification processes in the body.
If you experience hormonal acne (especially around your period & ovulation), this is often due to the liver struggling to detoxify excess hormones & toxins, castor oil supports the liver, to improve this!! Castor oil packs are incredible at reducing period cramping too!!
There are even claims that castor oil packs will improve fertility with another Instagram user claiming:
Elevate your fertility journey naturally with castor oil packs! 🌺 Dive into these 5 game-changing benefits:
1. Bid farewell to cysts and fibroids, 2. Boost ovarian function, 3. Break through fallopian tubal blockages, 4. Tackle inflammation head-on 5. Regulate your menstrual cycle for smoother sailing towards conception!
Embrace the power of castor oil packs and unlock your path to parenthood!
Even if I weren’t already skeptical of these products, the sheer number of conditions they’re claimed to treat is enough to set my alarm bells ringing. As a general rule, the more conditions a product claims to treat, the less likely it can treat anything at all – especially if there are lots of unrelated health complaints, or very generic claims.
What actually are castor oil packs? Healthline explains that to make a homemade castor oil pack, you cut wool or cotton flannel into rectangular pieces of around 12 inches by 10 inches, soak one pieces in castor oil, lay it on a plastic sheet and soak further pieces, piling them onto each other. That’s essentially it. Although, from the videos that I’ve seen, people seem more likely to purchase pre-made packs, rather than making their own.
Once you have your oil-soaked cotton, you simply press it against the area to be treated. According to Healthline:
For example, for constipation or other digestive problems, you’ll likely place it over your stomach area.
Some people believe that the key is to apply castor oil to the belly button – hence the smaller, stick on belly button patches. This version is sometimes called navel pulling, or navel oiling, and traditionally involved massaging oil into the belly button to help with weight loss as well as detoxification, lymphatic draining and improved digestion.
The practice is derived from Ayurveda – traditional Indian holistic medicine – which promotes the belief that the belly button contains 72,000 veins and a non-existent gland called the Pechoti gland. None of this is true; the belly button is just a remnant of where we attach to the placenta in the womb. Once the umbilical cord is cut, the belly button is formed from the wound. There are some veins there, from the umbilical cord, but nowhere near 72,000 of them.
So why do people think castor oil has magical, near-panacea qualities? Some users simply say it’s because castor oil is great for all things – Google it, you’ll see plenty of claims. But some go further, and try to explain what’s so special about castor oil. According to some, it’s all about the ricinoleic acid present in castor oil. Castor oil is made from the castor plant’s seeds, and around 90% of the fatty acid content of these seeds is ricinoleic acid. As one paper explains:
Castor oil is unique among other vegetable extracts due to containing a hydroxylated fatty compound, namely ricinoleic acid
This compound is particularly sought after, by (according to the review) the “pharmaceutical, oleochemical, cosmetic, medicine, biodegradable polymers, lubricants, coatings, adhesives, and nanoparticle synthesis capping agent industries, respectively”. And that’s for good reason – it is useful because it is chemically quite flexible; it can be synthesised into lots of different compounds, many of which are useful for the manufacturing of a variety of products.
Castor oil is also used in the beauty industry as an emollient, and in the food industry as a mould inhibitor. It is even used in medicine, but typically its used as a vehicle for fat soluble medications such as hormone treatments.
To the lavatories… Photo by Hafidz Alifuddin, via Pexels
Castor oil is also an excellent laxative. This is something that has been known for thousands of years, with an early mention in a papyrus from 1550 BCE. It was used to treat pain in labour according to an 18th Century midwifery manual, but it’s fair to say it was probably the laudanum it was supplemented with that actually did all the work.
The laxative effect of castor oil might explain why people think it’s an effective treatment for digestion and weight loss. However, the laxative effect is obviously only present when the oil is taken orally, not when it’s slathered on the belly or massaged into the belly button. Also, there are now far better treatments for constipation than castor oil. The laxative effect of castor oil, particularly in high doses, can cause diarrhoea so explosive that castor oil has historically been used as a punishment or for torture and humiliation, including most famously under Mussolini in fascist Italy. And that’s before you take into account that the castor seed is the source of the deadly toxin, ricin.
While applying castor oil to your skin is unlikely to cause deadly levels of explosive diarrhoea, and is probably relatively safe for most people, that doesn’t mean it has no side effects when applied topically. Topical castor oil, especially when applied in a concentrated form, can cause skin irritation and allergic reactions.
Topical castor oil may improve the skin due to the emollient effect, for the most part there is no evidence applying castor oil packs will do anything at all. And of course, when we’re loading our skin with oil overnight, there is an increased risk of acne – especially if packs aren’t washed as frequently as they should be or are used too many times.
But are there any benefits to using castor oil packs?
Science supports the idea that reducing stress levels is important for whole health, due to stress hormones that can be released like cortisol and adrenaline which have downstream effects on parts of the body and hormone levels… Therefore I would not be surprised if a relaxing activity such as navel pulling helped to reduce stress levels as part of a holistic approach to wellness, and in turn have a positive effect on your overall wellbeing.
Notably, she’s talking specifically about navel pulling – laying back and massaging your belly button, which may well be quite relaxing. The same can’t quite be said for applying a oil-soaked cotton pack before bed, and then removing it in the morning.
Some ‘morning shed’ influencers may well talk about how relaxing and empowering it is to spend some time in the evening doing something for yourself – applying masks and treatments, hair curlers and castor oil packs, and then undoing those treatments step by step the next morning. And perhaps the ritual of that could allow for some quiet reflection, some time to yourself away from the doom scrolling.
But I can’t help but think that if you spend a significant portion of your evening and your morning preparing for ways to make yourself more attractive, to make yourself thinner than you are, to correct your imperfections and enhance yourself, rather than empowering yourself, you’re spending time, money, and mental effort just to be aesthetically acceptable to the world.
While some people might well think that these sorts of practices are just self-involved navel gazing, I actually think they’re a symptom of a societal insecurity, and this need to self-improve every single part of ourselves – perpetuating the toxicity that led us into this unhealthy mentality in the first place.
This article originally appeared in The Skeptic, Volume 5, Issue 4, from 1991.
The 110th anniversary of any journal is notable; particularly one which has espoused or pioneered causes while remaining free from advertising interests and organisations. Considering the large number of well-financed and long-established periodicals which have gone under in recent years, The Freethinker’s unbroken publication since 1881 (for most of its history as a weekly) is all the more remarkable. It has survived bans, boycotts, legal action, innumerable financial crises and two world wars (its offices were destroyed during an air raid in 1941).
Although The Freethinker dates from 1881, the origins of freethought publishing (‘the infidel press’) can be traced to the middle of the eighteenth century, when Peter Annet (1693-1769) started the The Free Inquirer. Regarded as the first freethought journal, rather than a pamphlet, it ran for nine issues, resulting in Annet being fined, pilloried and imprisoned for a year at the age of 68.
Throughout the nineteenth century the freethought press operated in defiance of the Church and State. Blasphemy was linked with sedition by prosecuting authorities who argued that an attack on Christianity was an attack on civil government. This did not worry freethinking editors and publishers who regarded religion as superstitious nonsense and a bulwark of rotten politics.
However, it was not only the representatives of law and order who threatened pioneers of freethought publishing. Many Christian organisations, like their present-day counterparts, endeavoured to impose their narrow standards on society and constantly pressured the authorities to take action against ‘the infidels’. There were many victims of these pious informers and self-appointed censors. One of them was Richard Carlisle (1790-1843), who spent nine years in jail for publishing and selling the works of Thomas Paine. During three decades that followed the collapse of Chartism at the end of the 1840s, freethought journals did much to keep the spirit of radicalism alive. They provided an outlet for the advocates of social and political reform and a forum to debate advanced ideas. By 1881, when The Freethinker was launched, scepticism and unbelief were no longer confined to an educated elite.
George William Foote (1850-1915), who founded The Freethinker, declared in his first editorial:
Our principles belong entirely to the regions known and becoming known to man. We have no occult or mysterious sources of information. no profound secrets… No Gods, angels, spirits or devils have ever spoken to us… Satan is as great a stranger as Pluto; Jehovah as empty a name as Jupiter. The separate existence of the ‘soul’ and the ‘future life’ are to us inconceivable… For us the ‘verities’ of Christianity are all fables.
This was strong stuff for Victorian England, and Foote soon discovered that his religious and political enemies were as vindictive as their predecessors who had persecuted Richard Carlisle. Newsagents refused or were afraid to stock The Freethinker. Its suppression was demanded in the House of Commons.
It was not long before The Freethinker was in trouble. Foote published a series of Comic Bible Sketches somewhat disrespectful, but which would not now cause Mary Whitehouse to bat an eyelid. He was tried for blasphemy and sentenced to twelve months’ imprisonment, most of which was spent in solitary confinement. On his release he resumed and continued his editorship until his death.
Readers of the first Freethinker were informed that it would ‘wage relentless war against superstition in general and against Christian superstition in particular’. But The Freethinker never confined itself to criticism of religious beliefs and practices. It championed personal freedom, most controversially people’s freedom to control their fertility and plan their families by recourse to effective methods of contraception. This infuriated religious opponents, fearful in case the supply of pew fodder became less plentiful and – horror of horrors – people might indulge in pleasurable sexual activity without fear of unwanted pregnancy.
The Freethinker has always been resolute in defending freedom of expression and in opposing censorship. It has argued the case of Church disestablishment, the right to affirm, and reform of laws relating to blasphemy, school religion, Sunday observance, divorce, abortion and homosexuality.
Spookies have often been in The Freethinker’s range of fire. In 1919, Foote’s successor, Chapman Cohen (1868-1954) wrote:
The present recrudescence of Spiritualism is largely caused by the heavy death-toll of the Great War. There is a quite natural desire among the bereaved to seek consolation through almost any channel…The money the ‘medium’ rakes in is the flow of tears from the sorrowful and distressed, and is one of the shadiest of shady businesses.
At one time The Freethinker was virtually a lone voice speaking out against religious charlatans, and also sects like the Moonies, Divine Light Mission, Children of God and the Jesus Army. The paper was accused of intolerance, but its warnings have been justified by subsequent investigations and court cases.
Is there a role for journals like The Freethinker today? The upsurge of religious fundamentalism, with attendant aberrations like creationism, moving statues, ‘anti-satanist’ witch-hunts and other manifestations of irrationalism, provide an answer to that question.
