For Ella, 26, a writer from Manchester, when something goes wrong in her life, the reflex is to scroll Reddit. When she broke up with her partner of seven years, she found solace in the diversity of opinions and experiences shared on the platform. ‘The problem is,’ Ella tells me, ‘I then have a reaction to too much choice. I never know where to focus and struggle to sit with “not knowing”, so I’ll turn to another platform for more opinions, and then another.’ Instagram Reels and TikTok have also become crutches. When social media isn’t delivering an answer? ‘Sometimes I’ll forward the same voicenote to several friends seeking their input,’ she admits. After all this digital soul searching, Ella feels she has lost her intuition.
Ella is far from the only person using the internet in this way. With 24/7 access to a swathe of opinions and our concerns protected by the cloak of digital anonymity, social media is a free-for-all of self-proclaimed experts promising to cure us of our every ailment if we just listen to them. Everywhere we turn (and however long we scroll), there’s somebody proffering their ‘expertise’: how to find love, to ask for a pay rise, train a puppy, deal with being ghosted, even how to cook a steak. The world’s two cents is the algorithm’s currency, and the advice provided traverses relationships, romance, money and health – all universal but deeply personal issues. Consuming it can make us feel less isolated in our struggles, which is why advice remains such a buoyant genre.
Reddit’s ‘Am I The Asshole?’ page has 22m frustrated philosophers arguing the ethics and increasingly bizarre behaviours of strangers. Meanwhile, TikTok is Gen Z’s search engine of choice, with nearly 40% of you preferring the app over Google, according to Google’s own data, with ‘how is’ and ‘what is’, the well-trodden keywords. Got a problem? TikTok has the answer – and the rest. There’s an ever-increasing reliance on online advice, but are we actually learning more, or are we simply presenting ourselves with a wider roster of potential solutions and causing overwhelm in the process? And in a world in which advice is ten a penny everywhere you scroll, what impact is this having on our own ability to trust our guts and make a decision?
Sitting in uncertainty
Pooja’s internet searches took a turn when she was pregnant with her first child, as she found herself anxiously downloading multiple apps to seek a range of advice and posting anonymously to check her symptoms. The London-based American lawyer found space for her own concerns where gaps in medical advice meant she was left scratching her head for answers, such as ‘What exercise is really okay during pregnancy?’ and ‘How to know when the baby blues have veered into postpartum depression’. ‘I had spoken to friends, but it was strangers from all corners of the world being open about it that really helped me,’ she says, describing online spaces as opportunities to cultivate solidarity and community and keep her company in the newborn trenches at 2am. ‘I did everything TikTok said to increase your supply [of breastmilk], and what supplements to take,’ she says. Despite this, ‘I didn’t see much change in my own situation after following the advice.’
Pooja, 33, soon realised she was comparing herself ‘to strangers whose medical background I don’t know’, and discovered the layers of politicising when it came to topics such as breastfeeding and vaccinations. ‘It added pressure to an already stressful situation,’ she says. To add insult to injury, her social media algorithms shifted overnight as her flusters and worries were deemed instantly monetisable by Big Tech. ‘My sponsored ads were all prams and bottle warmers. The apps reflected more issues for me to consume.’
Seeking external advice or validation of our decisions is, of course, nothing new. The world’s first advice column, in 17th century British periodical The Athenian Mercury, saw readers write in and enquire: ‘Which is most noble, to love or to be beloved?’ ‘Is it proper that women should be learned?’ While we can hope that, in 2025, the second question plays on our minds less (ahem), we are no closer to finding the answer to our romantic dilemmas despite hundreds of years of advice. Since then, advice giving has gone through several transformations, from agony aunt columns in magazines like, um, hello, Cosmo, to new formats such as The Girls Bathroom podcast, which has more than a million monthly listeners and two sell-out nationwide tours for young women’s dilemmas.
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This constant counselling din has drowned out the need to reckon with ourselves and, as a result, could be doing us more harm than good, says clinical psychologist Abigael San. She puts our age of advice overload down to an age of… everything overload. ‘An increase in everything that is about information, whether it’s having an answer or getting a milkshake,’ she says. ‘We’ve lost our ability to wait for things and to be uncertain. People are reacting to that – those who are asking the questions and those who are giving the answers.’ However long we search and however much advice we seek, she says, ‘We can’t remove uncertainty in life.’ The result? ‘When you have to wait or be uncertain, it’s difficult to cope with – people don’t have the sharpened skills.’
Beyond a simple silencing of our own gut instinct, though, lies a more troubling concern. Dr San warns of the proliferation of unqualified mental health practitioners. While social media can be a democratising, diversifying space, it’s also flattening. ‘There are highly trained professionals on the same playing field as the unqualified.’ Anyone who has spent time on a therapist’s sofa will know that, actually, advice is not given. ‘The worst thing you can do as a clinical psychologist is to provide answers. That’s exacerbating a failure to trust one’s own judgement,’ she says.
And yet while Dr San is right, life is punctuated and propelled by uncertainties: breakups, a burgeoning relationship; a baby. And hearing from people who have been through similar things can provide some light. When specialist advice costs a fortune and NHS waiting lists are at an all-time high, where else is there to turn? Courtney, 29, who works in non-profit communications, moved from Ireland to France, and struggled with friendships. For her, online advice was an enormous comfort. She listens to advice podcasts and biography audiobooks.
Reddit comes up again. ‘Reddit gets a lot of negative attention, but it’s packed with sincere, free advice.’ Though, she admits, ‘while the internet gives us access to the inner monologues of people, which can be incredibly helpful, it also corrupts the sense of peace you have with your own way of living.’ ‘I used to be very sure of myself, and, as I get older, I have become more aware of what I do not know, and worst of all, what may await me,’ she says. Courtney finds herself seeking answers online to problems she doesn’t yet (and may never) have, and is striking the balance to hear herself. Her friends, boyfriend and brother are patient, loving confidantes. ‘In real life, someone is holding space for me. It feels more vulnerable. If online advice is an attempt at independent problem solving, then IRL is admitting you need help. One is harder than the other.’
It takes a village
Alan Redman, a work and organisational psychologist, traces our continued desperation to seek external confirmation or insight to the historical, human practice to seek guidance: ‘You go to trusted sources in your village – elders, family, friends,’ he says. But he also warns of confirmation bias, further exacerbated by social media algorithms, where you exclude sources that don’t fit your world view, and instead gravitate to what validates your plan of action. Then there’s the risk of overloading yourself with information and triggering decision paralysis. ‘Because you don’t have a clear view, you’re not able to synthesise that information and find a clear course of action,’ he says, adding that the internet isn’t known for its nuance.
The realisation of this is what led Ella to try and break out on her own. A significant, solo move to London was done sans advice, and it felt empowering. ‘It was the right decision. I feel very validated,’ she says. She’s now trying to scroll less and avoid the forums and has just started dating someone new. While she worries about self-sabotage, she’s learning to discern how much advice helps and hinders. ‘I looked on Reddit for when to start discussing exclusivity, and decided it was much too early for me to consider,’ she says.
Meanwhile, Pooja has changed her tack when it comes to online spaces, seeking less advice these days and rather, opportunities to cultivate solidarity and community. This is how she’s found mum influencers and doulas who alleviate breastfeeding stigma, and the comfort of her WhatsApp group with women from her prenatal classes.
Chloe-Rose Crabtree, a historian of identity, explains how the internet’s most popular wellness influencer ‘experts’, tend to be thin, white women whose advice is usually coupled with brand collaborations: an advice-to-Amazon-link pipeline, gut instinct replaced by a spiel for gut balancing gummies. Meanwhile, intersectional, knowledgeable creators don’t get the same views or brand deals. ‘The language they use to draw viewers to their affiliate links draws on convincing viewers that a supplement or serum has made a drastic change to their life,’ she says.
‘My main issue with this advice is that there’s rarely a holistic understanding of health, and products are inaccurately touted as the “cure-all”’. As a result, she says, ‘This type of content is harmful, and yet remains popular because it primarily uses fear of an unhealthy body to convince people that they cannot be experts on their own wellness.’
Despite our increasing awareness of self-appointed gurus proffering their ‘expertise’ for profit, it seems we simply can’t resist. The enduring appeal remains – we want to know how others live, or live with their decisions, to help aid our own or to simply validate our choices. But when our FYPs are packed with conflicting advice, how do we parse our predilection for pointers?
When it comes to the dominating wellness influencers, historian Crabtree suggests considering how much of their content is geared toward selling products – ‘If the ratio is more than 50%, I’d be wary of their intentions.’ Dr San suggests approaching a dilemma as if you’re offering a friend advice – ‘Why would your own advice to yourself be any less good?’ Dr Redman says to reflect on a piece of advice, its source, and give it a quality score, ‘like a TripAdvisor review’. Ultimately, be most aware of where your gut’s taking you. ‘I think advice is helpful for clarifying the way we are already thinking and feeling,’ he says. So rather than seeking advice elsewhere, consider that nine times out of 10, we may already have the answer.
Anna Cafolla is Cosmopolitan UK’s acting site director – managing the day-to-day running of the website, as well as overseeing video, e-commerce and social for the brand. Anna has a background in culture, fashion, and social affairs journalism – profiling Saffron Hocking, Robyn, Shygirl, and Naomi Osaka; investigating fashion archives, the Irish abortion rights movement, Generation Alpha's developing tastes, women's shelter closures and social media conspiracies in turn. Find Anna on Instagram.
