You ever get the feeling the people in charge are watching the whole thing burn and thinking, we’ll be fine?

Well. The U.S. government has officially entered its “influencer era.”

This week, the Secretary of Health and Human Services (who moonlights as an anti-vax conspiracy theorist) told the public—on the record— not to take medical advice from him. And in a bold, dystopia-meets-Goop crossover event, the administration announced its pick for Surgeon General of the United States: a nominee with no active medical license, no board certification, no clinical practice, and a portfolio built mostly on vibes and paleo hashtags.

In a country where you now need more credentials to cut hair than to run public health, it tracks.

And, no. This is not an Onion article. This is the actual country we live in. It would be funny if it weren’t so devastating.

“Good vibes only” might be the unofficial motto of this administration’s health strategy. Positivity as policy. Mindset as medicine. Just manifest your way to insulin affordability and breathwork your way through cancer care delays. And if you’re still sick? Well, maybe you just weren’t aligned enough. The collapse isn’t real if you ignore it with intention.

So, buckle up, Buttercups!

We are not witnessing a political misstep—it’s policy by content strategy. We are living inside a vibes-only regime where credentials are out, and kombucha-sponsored enlightenment is in. The Surgeon General role used to require experience. Now it just requires a ring light and a curated aesthetic.

They’re not even trying to fake it anymore. The costume of credibility is slipping, and what’s underneath? An algorithm and a strong central nervous system of pure bullsh*t.

So what does this mean for you?

It means that when your kid spikes a fever, you might have to weigh Tylenol against a TikTok recipe for elderberry bone broth. It means your prescription might cost more than your mortgage—and come with a sponsored ad for a breathwork app instead of coverage. It means that if you live with a chronic illness, you're not just navigating symptoms—you’re now navigating an active, high-stakes game of “Who Wants to Be Gaslit by Their Government?”

This isn’t dysfunction. It’s demolition.
But done with soft music, “holistic” language, and very attractive fonts.

They’re gutting public institutions and calling it “innovation.”
They’re replacing doctors with influencers and calling it “disruption.”
They’re normalizing collapse by marketing it as personal empowerment.

And still—still—we are here.
Still screaming. Still noticing. Still laughing, mostly because crying in public makes people nervous. 

So what now?

Get mad. Stay funny. Ask loud, inconvenient questions.
Name the absurdity out loud—even when it sounds too surreal to be true.
Because if we stop doing that, we’ve lost the plot entirely.

You are not too sensitive.
You are not overreacting.
You are, in fact, one of the few people still lucid in the group chat.

We are not okay.
And that’s exactly the point.

But if they think we’ll go down quietly?
They clearly haven’t met the comment section.