For 21-year-old Aisha, mental health was not just a buzzword casually tossed into conversation. It was a raw, lived experience, etched deeply into her family’s story. Her father had battled severe obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), mania, and bipolar disorder for over 40 years.

Back when he first showed symptoms, mental health facilities were non-existent in the village, and those suffering from such illnesses were treated like outcasts. She had listened to instances from her grandmother about her father being chained to their home by the villagers.

So when Aisha sat in her college classroom and heard her peers casually say things like, “I’m so OCD about my room,” or “This assignment is making me depressed,” she was angry.

For her, those weren’t just any casual words—they were the very terms that had defined her father’s battle for survival. “It felt like my father’s years of suffering were being invalidated,” she says. “People don’t understand that these terms are tied to real trauma. It’s not something you throw around for everyday inconveniences.”

Aisha adds, “Nowadays, I see many Instagram and TikTok posts where mental health illnesses are portrayed in a very aesthetic way. While I understand that, those actions may also be a cry for help for many, aestheticising mental illness or just using those terms as synonymous to basic human feelings doesn’t sit well with me.”

As September bows out, leaving behind important conversations on suicide prevention, it also exposes a troubling shift online—mental illness is becoming just another trend to follow.

Mental health issues are no longer just a condition; they are a hashtag, a filter, and a trend.

As Aisha puts it, on platforms like Instagram and TikTok, mental health issues are not just discussed—they are aestheticised. Depression, anxiety, and OCD are being reduced to casual phrases and visually appealing posts.

While the world grapples with mental health stigmas, platforms like Instagram and TikTok have created a subculture where suffering is portrayed as beautiful, depression as poetic, and phrases like “I’m so depressed” or “I’m a little OCD” are thrown around without a second thought.

Experts warn that this is not only trivialising mental illness but also creating a dangerously glamorised perception of serious conditions.

Research indicates a growing trend among Gen Z to casually label themselves as “depressed”, “OCD”, or “anxiety disorder” often without a clear understanding of their clinical implications.

Among these terms, anxiety (48 percent) and depression (37 percent) rank as the most frequently misused and self-diagnosed, according to the research.

“When I was in the US, many high school students would come to me distressed by how cutting or self-harm became trends among their peers—just for attention,” says psychologist Srijana Mukhiya, a mental health professional with 15 years of experience. “For those genuinely struggling with mental health, it invalidates their pain.”

Mukhiya adds that this trend discourages those who need help.

When everyone starts casually labelling themselves as depressed or starts romanticising mental illness, it dilutes the seriousness of those conditions, she says. “Those who are truly struggling might think, ‘Maybe I’m just sad like everyone else.’ This can prevent them from seeking the treatment they need.”

A study from the University of Balamand supports Mukhiya’s claim, finding that the romanticisation of conditions like depression and anxiety on social media platforms can encourage self-destructive behaviours, including self-harm, which are often portrayed as symbolic or artistic acts rather than cries for help.

The same happened with N, a 20-year-old student from Bhaktapur. For N, whom the Post is identifying only with her initials for privacy, the aestheticisation of mental illness on social media had far-reaching consequences.

Battling severe depression and anxiety for two years, she often found herself scrolling through Instagram, where profiles depicted melancholic images of fragile girls staring out windows, with poetic captions like, “Broken but beautiful,” and “My sadness is my art.”

These profiles glamorised sadness, making it seem like suffering was not just normal, but somehow admirable, N says. “At first, it felt comforting… It made me think that maybe my pain wasn’t something to be afraid of—that it was part of who I was.”

A 2022 qualitative analysis of TikTok videos revealed that young people often use aesthetic elements, such as music and imagery, to make mental illness seem more relatable or even attractive.

The study further found that content creators were rewarded with higher engagement rates for portraying their mental health struggles in a romanticised way.

N’s behaviour mirrors this, as she began embracing her depression as part of her identity, influenced by the images she consumed online. She started dressing in darker clothes, posting her melancholic pictures with captions like, “There’s beauty in the breakdown.”

“I should have sought help, but I thought that getting better would ruin the image I had built of myself,” she says.

Her case isn’t isolated. Studies indicate that glamourising mental health conditions can lead to what is known as “identity fusion,” where individuals internalise their struggles as a core part of who they are. This can make recovery more difficult as they fear losing a part of themselves.

“When suicides and self-harm tendencies are glorified on social media and in traditional media, it can create a ‘copycat’ syndrome among viewers,” says psychiatrist Kedar Marahatta, a mental health expert with WHO Nepal who has observed a rising trend of romanticisation of mental illness among youths.

Traditional media often adhere to guidelines when discussing mental health, while social media lacks such regulations. This results in a careless flow of information, where incidents like youth suicides following breakups or familial rejection are sensationalised.

“Linking reasons to suicide can lead vulnerable individuals to consider it as a viable option,” says Marahatta. “Discussions surrounding these topics must be approached with caution, especially with the rise of live-streamed suicides.”

Marahatta adds that while social media has the potential to raise awareness, its unregulated nature has allowed the rise of harmful narratives.

Experts point to the emergence of mental health influencers without professional training as a major factor contributing to the romanticisation and glorification of mental health issues.

“It’s essential for individuals to critically evaluate the qualifications of those giving mental health advice online,” says Mukhiya, the psychologist. “Given the difficulty of regulating content on these platforms, users should depend on credible sources from government and specialised institutions.”

It’s crucial for users to approach the content they engage with critically, and for media platforms to follow established guidelines when addressing mental health topics, Mukhiya adds.

For individuals like Aisha and N, the glamorisation of mental illness is more than just an aesthetic trend—it’s a harmful misrepresentation that overlooks the reality of their experiences.

Mental illness is not beautiful, poetic, or fashionable, experts say. It is a condition that demands understanding, respect, and above all, proper care.

“There’s a fine line between raising awareness and glorifying illness,” Marahatta says. “We need to emphasise that mental health problems are serious conditions that require proper care—not artistic expressions to be admired.”

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If you or someone you know is considering suicide, please contact the following helplines.

Nepal Mental Hospital suicide hotline: 1166

Tribhuvan University Teaching Hospital suicide prevention hotline: 9840021600

Patan Hospital crisis helpline for suicide prevention: 9813476123

The Transcultural Psychosocial Organisation: 16600102005