Gen Z doesn’t dream of being stable. We dream of aesthetic spirals, crying with ring lights on, and turning red flags into relationship goals. Emotional instability isn’t a phase, it’s our brand identity.
There was a time when breakdowns meant quietly crying into a pillow while pretending to sleep. Now? It’s content. Gen Z has singlehandedly made emotional spirals look Pinterest-worthy. Crying selfies with mascara running like abstract art. Notes app poetry titled “when everything hurts ad nauseam.” Bedroom fairy lights twinkling in the background like they’re co-starring in your depressive episode.
We don’t just cry. We curate it. There’s a Spotify playlist for every tier of breakdown: “sad but vibey,” “crying in a bathroom at a party,” “songs that make me feel like I’m drowning but I’m still hot.” Tumblr-core reincarnated as Reels-core and suddenly sadness has a colour palette. Beige for burnout. Pink for delulu. Black-and-white edits for when you want to look like a misunderstood indie film.
We don’t heal our trauma, we moodboard it.
Why are we meme-ifying mental health?
Our parents said “don’t tell anyone, what will people say?” We said “make a meme, what will people like?” That’s how Gen Z copes. Sending your friend a meme captioned “haha I want to kick a wall” is somehow both therapy and affection. Memes are our group counselling sessions, except the therapist is SpongeBob screaming into the void.
But here’s where it gets spicy. Are we normalising mental health talk, or are we romanticising being mentally unwell? It’s a fine line between “opening up about depression” and “performing instability like it’s an accessory.” We laugh because it hurts less. But when every conversation starter is “I’m so unhinged lol,” it feels less like destigmatisation and more like unpaid improv.
We turned our disorders into punchlines, and the punchline is we still need therapy.
Capitalism but make it relatable™
Capitalism saw our spirals and said: limited edition merch drop incoming. Now you can buy tote bags that say “mentally unstable but cute,” mugs that say “crying is cardio,” and enamel pins shaped like anxiety meds. Therapy who? Retail therapy, babes.
Streaming platforms joined the hustle. Entire genres exist for our suffering: “trauma-core,” “sad girl autumn,” “chaotic millennial comedy.” They package up our instability with catchy soundtracks and call it prestige television. Even wellness brands aren’t safe. They’ll sell you a lavender candle labelled “for when you’re too unhinged to text back.”
We don’t just vibe with instability, we monetised it.
What’s with the seduction of chaos in relationships?
This is where it gets truly feral. Gen Z has decided toxic = sexy. We turned “red flag” into “red aesthetic.” If he leaves you on read for three business days, that’s not avoidance, it’s “mysterious.” If she love-bombs you at 2 AM and ghosts by 8 AM, that’s not chaos, it’s “passionate.”
We meme about not wanting a “bare minimum boyfriend” but secretly keep writing breakup poetry about that one man who said “wyd” once and never followed up. Stability in relationships gets called boring, yet we’ll cry over an 11-day Snapchat streak like it’s Shakespearean tragedy.
We say we want healthy love, but our Spotify Wrapped is 90% heartbreak anthems.
The double-edged sword of openness.
Here’s the paradox: we are the most vocal generation about mental health. Therapy isn’t taboo, it’s Tuesday. We roast toxic families on Twitter, we call out burnout culture, we casually drop “my therapist said” in conversation. That’s huge.
But openness has its own peer pressure. If you’re not oversharing your trauma online, are you even relatable? Being happy feels suspicious. Being stable feels like a flex. Suddenly you feel like you have to curate sadness just to prove you’re Gen Z enough.
We glamorised pain so hard that being okay feels like rebellion.
Here are the pop-culture receipts.
The evidence is everywhere. Euphoria taught us spirals can be glittery. Fleabag made emotional mess the sexiest personality trait. BoJack Horseman convinced us nihilism is a lifestyle. Even Disney betrayed us with Encanto’s Luisa sobbing under the weight of family pressure peak Gen Z core memory.
Music? Don’t get me started. Lana Del Rey turned crying into couture. Billie Eilish whispered her way into our collective depressive playlist. Olivia Rodrigo made heartbreak look like Olympic sport. Taylor Swift literally encapsulates “Sad Girl Autumn” like seasonal depression was an aesthetic capsule collection.
Instability doesn’t just have a soundtrack anymore, it has an entire cinematic universe.
Shush, we still crave being stable!
Here’s the gag though. Beneath all the chaos-core memes and depression merch, Gen Z is exhausted. We don’t actually want to be unstable. We want peace. Enter the “soft life” trend: stable jobs, plants that don’t die in two days, partners who text back before your skeleton decays.
Stability is getting a glow-up. Green flags are hotter than bad boys. Healthy communication slaps harder than toxic manipulation. Going to therapy is the new “mysterious.” We’re realising that stability isn’t boring, not even revolutionary, it is essential for us.
So yeah. Stability may be for horses. But secretly? We’re all tired of galloping through chaos. We meme our pain, aestheticise our breakdowns, and romanticise toxicity, but deep down, we want a soft place to land.
Cry cute, spiral aesthetic, meme your heartbreak if you must. But don’t forget: healing is the real plot twist.
Served with caffeine, chaos, and comfort by Her Campus at MUJ.
Written mid-spiral but full of stable delusion by Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ. Because sometimes the horse girl wins.
If you or someone you know is seeking help for mental health concerns, visit the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) website, or call 1-800-950-NAMI(6264). For confidential treatment referrals, visit the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) website, or call the National Helpline at 1-800-662-