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Some nights, I think about a woman on the other side of the world.
As I finish dinner, I picture her starting her own workday in the United States.
Every morning, she dresses in clothes that are the perfect combination of cosy-chic before dedicating 30 minutes to making a matcha latte or coffee.
She pads into her tidy, stylish home office and lowers herself into an ergonomic chair. After sitting for too long, she stands up to work at her height-adjustable desk.
Every now and then, she chooses a different keyboard from the vast collection displayed on pegboards lining her wall.
I know all this because I’ve seen it — thanks to the many “day in my life” videos she posts on TikTok, in which she gushes to the camera about how blessed she is to have a job she loves.
I thought: I work from home too. I love my job (most days). Why don’t I feel as fulfilled and happy as she looks?
The “day in my life” video isn’t new, having been widely popularised on YouTube in the 2010s. However, such content has seen a resurgence in recent years on the current “it” app TikTok, where users have been filming and posting their daily routines in droves, from payroll assistants to Gen Z mums.
These videos are hardly exciting. Most people’s daily routines revolve around 5.30am visits to the gym, not base-jumping in the Himalayas.
Yet they often amass millions of views and thousands of comments from people: “I wish my life was like yours”, or “Where did you get this or that product from?”
It’s no secret that humans are naturally curious and enjoy seeing what other humans are up to. But why are we drawn to it even when it’s something mundane and predictable?
Ms Priscilla Shin, principal psychotherapist at Range Counselling Services, says people feel a sense of understanding and connection from seeing someone else going through similar daily tasks, one that can reduce feelings of isolation.
Mr James Chong, clinical director at The Lion Mind, calls these videos “dopamine boosters” for the way they offer cognitive respite and reduce stress and anxiety for viewers.
True enough, I found myself repeatedly drawn to these videos the way a child reaches for sweets — for instant, gratifying comfort in seeing that “Hey, people all over the world are doing this too”.
But unlike this content creator, I’m a night owl. In the mornings, I always end up snoozing through my alarms and my best-laid plans to make breakfast and a nice cup of coffee, all before rushing madly to my desk minutes before my first work task of the day.
After some months of consuming her videos with near-obsessive admiration, I wondered:
Would “fixing” my work-from-home (WFH) aesthetic help me get my act together? Would it make me better not just at working, but also at adulting?
So began my self-improvement shopping spree. I looked up product after product introduced by the content creator, feverishly calculating whether I could splurge on them.
Fancy mechanical keyboards that cost at least S$100 each? Tick.
A unique Japanese-format diary for S$60, and a chic leather cover for S$45? Tick.
Ceremonial matcha priced at S$30, instead of S$8 packets at Don Don Donki? Tick.
After all, these things made her WFH life look great. Naturally, I needed them to make mine great, too. The end result would be worth the exorbitant price tags.
It wasn’t just work things: I found myself mulling over a picnic bag the content creator used in one video, even though I haven’t even been on a picnic since 2019.
Conveniently, all these items were easily found in the content creator’s account bio, well-populated with Amazon links through which she earns a commission from each purchase.
I also watched as hordes of friends and colleagues picked up “emotional support water bottles” — a trend that recently took the world by storm, led by brands such as Owala and Stanley.
How strange that a pastel-coloured, insulated flask could make drinking water trendy.
Perhaps it’s even stranger that drinking water could be thought of as “trendy” at all, given that it’s a basic necessity for, well, being alive.
The fancy keyboards and Japanese diary were supposed to be my keys to unlocking the Brand New Me, but after just two months, I was back to waking up five minutes before work started.
Was it a case of old habits dying hard, or had the novelty of these shiny new accessories simply worn off?
I’d wanted to believe that I was elevating my life with these purchases — one of the common downsides of this social media trend, said both counsellors I spoke to.
I didn’t entirely lose myself in this wormhole — my husband still thinks I’m sane, I promise — but I acknowledge that I did fall into the trap of endless comparison and impulsive consumerism prevalent on so many social media platforms today.
But the truth is that between social media influencers and everyday consumers like me, the playing field isn’t even remotely level.
I fork out hard-earned savings for these purchases, while such content creators typically receive them free of charge due to brand sponsorships.
TikTok has certainly emerged as the influencer marketing channel of choice for most companies, with the State of Influencer Marketing 2024: Benchmark Report stating that 69 per cent of brands worldwide use the platform for marketing efforts.
Technology company Curalate further found that 76 per cent of TikTok users intend to purchase or have purchased a product based on a social media post.
Waking up extra early to look fresh and organised, spending 20 minutes preparing and eating an Instagram-worthy breakfast before sitting down to my first meeting of the day — that’s just not me, and no amount of trinkets and gadgets will ever change that.
Rather than feeling bad or guilty about who I am, I’ve since learnt to accept my own unique brand of morning chaos. I’ve come to terms with the fact that nothing will ever bring me the homely comfort that instant two-in-one coffee does.
I still indulge in fresh lattes from my expensive ceremonial matcha, but only twice a week.
I’m still on TikTok, but instead of seeking to emulate a fantasy lifestyle, I now take care to watch videos on this platform — or any social media outlet, for that matter — with a discerning eye.
For example, I always make it a point to look at the comments section more closely. If responses to a content creator’s video largely centre on featured products and where to get them, put your guard up and close your wallet.
When that fails, I try to scroll past such videos as soon as they appear. Sometimes, the best way to deal with temptation is not to fight it, but to avoid it altogether.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Amanda Yeap is a senior journalist at TODAY.
CORRECTION: An earlier version of this article incorrectly referred to Ms Priscilla Shin and Mr James Chong as psychologists. They are counsellors. We are sorry for the error.
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