Over the last few decades, the number of people going online for their healthcare needs has skyrocketed. Google receives hundreds of millions of health related search queries daily. Half of U.S. adults under 50 now get health and wellness information from podcasts or social media influencers.
In her book “Bad Influence: How the Internet Hijacked Our Health” (Oneworld Publications, 2026), author and journalist Dr. Deborah Cohen explores the impact social media, influencers, trends and tech are having on our health. She investigates how algorithms are pushing content that heightens concerns and potentially drives people away from traditional healthcare systems.
In this excerpt, Cohen looks at the portrayal of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) on platforms like TikTok, where self diagnosis and the proliferation of “lesser known symptoms” as entertainment runs rife — but the reality of the condition is far more bleak.
“Despite it All” has been short-listed for the 2026 Royal Society Trivedi Science Book Prize.
Many ADHD symptoms exist on a spectrum throughout the general population and identifying impairment and frequency of symptoms as defined in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) is a judgement call. These symptoms often overlap with anxiety, depression and learning disabilities. Responsible clinicians should rule out alternative explanations before diagnosing ADHD and prescribing medication.
This nuance sometimes goes out of the window when you go online. Viral videos on Instagram and TikTok list “common signs” of ADHD describing their impact on daily life. Megan McHugh, a UK DJ and radio host, is one content creator who has gone viral on TikTok after listing “lesser known” tell-tale signs of the condition with a video captioned: “Six ADHD behaviour traits you might not have known about.” She cites overpromising and wondering: “Why the fuck can I not just say no?” “Your long-term memory is fucking shocking… You have some sort of subconscious tic, usually, whether it’s pressing your lips or scrunching your nose,” McHugh told her followers.
She’s far from alone in sharing her experiences in this way. Others point to indicators of ADHD that include trouble getting up in the morning, problems choosing what to eat in a restaurant, missing deadlines, and being unable to finish a book.
A study by Vasileia Karasavva from the University of British Columbia and a team of researchers question the way symptoms are described on social media. When researchers examined the top 100 ADHD TikTok videos on a single day, 10 January 2023, clinical psychologists found only 48.7% of claims accurately reflected DSM-5 symptoms.
This social value can make diagnoses seem desirable, particularly on social media platforms.
Of those inaccurate claims, nearly 70% depicted experiences that many people without ADHD would have; about 50% showed symptoms common across multiple disorders as being specifically ADHD; and almost 20% better matched different conditions entirely. Videos often portrayed behaviours like bumping into furniture, repeatedly playing the same songs or craving sweets as ADHD symptoms. Content typically lacked nuance — only 4% acknowledged their claims might not apply universally, and less than 2% mentioned that these experiences could occur in people without ADHD.
Of creators sharing credentials, 84% claimed “lived experience” while 13% identified as life coaches. Not one top video came from a clinical psychologist or psychiatrist. When researchers showed these videos to 843 psychology students — which may limit the applicability of the study to the general population — they generally rated scientifically inaccurate videos much more positively than experts did, while slightly downgrading expert-approved content.
The students either did not have ADHD, had a formal diagnosis or had self-diagnosed ADHD. Overall, self-diagnosed students rated all videos the highest, giving even expert rejected content higher marks than those with formal diagnoses. This, the researchers say, suggests that young people prioritise relatability over clinical accuracy.
For self-diagnosed people especially, previous painful and frustrating experiences of being dismissed may make TikTok’s validating content particularly appealing: people like Alyssa Brown, who found that these ADHD descriptions matched many symptoms she had documented. She speaks warmly about discovering an ADHD community on social media after her experiences were disregarded by conventional healthcare. “I always assumed everyone experienced the world like I did. Finding out that’s not true was eye-opening. It’s deeply reassuring to connect with people who share similar experiences,” she explains.
One of Alyssa’s favourite accounts features quirky conversations between a husband and his wife who has ADHD. She and her fiancé bond over these videos. Some of these creators also have merchandise to sell, including t-shirts with slogans such as “What if you’re not a lazy useless loser” and “Caution: mid hyperfocus.” “We both just laugh about it because it’s super-relatable,” she says.
Mental health specialists are divided on viral ADHD content. Some value its destigmatising effect, while others worry it trivialises a serious condition or blurs diagnostic boundaries. Celebrity advocates like Steven Bartlett have shaped public perception further. For instance, the most decorated gymnast in history, Simone Biles, announced her diagnosis on X in 2016. “Having ADHD, and taking medicine for it is nothing to be ashamed of nothing that I’m afraid to let people know,” the U.S. athlete said.
Jessie J has spoken openly about her ADHD diagnosis.
(Image credit: Joseph Okpako via Getty Images)
Similarly, UK singer Jessie J shared in a July 2024 Instagram post what her ADHD diagnosis evoked: it both “empowered” and “overwhelmed” her. Like Bartlett, she described her condition as “a superpower,” given proper support. “If there is one thing social media has given me,” she wrote, “it’s the chance to relate, connect and heal with strangers that have kind hearts and are going through a similar thing.”
But this celebrity endorsement sits uncomfortably with some researchers. Oxford University psychologists Drs Lucy Foulkes and Jack Andrews caution that, despite good intentions, celebrity disclosures might inadvertently elevate certain conditions into “prestige items.” This social value can make diagnoses seem desirable, particularly on social media platforms. The resulting glamorisation focuses attention on high-profile cases while overlooking those suffering in less privileged circumstances.
This chimes with Professor Susan Young, a clinical psychologist who set up the first national adult ADHD service at London’s Maudsley Hospital in 1994 and co-authored the 2008 National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (NICE) guidelines. She objects to the “glib” tone of some content online. “If you look at TikTok in particular, it’s all about entertainment. I feel uncomfortable with having a condition that people can really struggle with being used for entertainment purposes,” she tells me.
Having worked extensively in the penal system, Young knows that the reality of ADHD for many does not involve Olympic gold medals, multi-million-dollar record deals or TV stardom. Her 2015 study found that ADHD prevalence in prison populations significantly exceeds that of the general population; in youth prison populations five times as many young people (30.1%) and in adult prison populations ten times as many people (26.2%) have ADHD than in the population as a whole globally. The outlook is bleak for prisoners with ADHD: they are more likely to be involved in violent incidents, engage in self-harm and have substance abuse disorders.
Yet in this environment, far removed from TikTok’s portrayal, the condition remains under-diagnosed, with sufferers unlikely to receive support, making rehabilitation substantially more difficult. “People talk about, ‘ADHD is my superpower! I love having ADHD! I’m zany and I’m fun.’ It can undermine the condition,” Young adds. This glosses over all those, predominantly from marginalised backgrounds, for whom the condition has wreaked havoc on their already fragile lives.
US research — also replicated in other countries — shows children from low-income backgrounds are more likely to meet the criteria for ADHD but are less likely to receive treatment. David agrees. The “ADHD is a superpower” idea really bothers him too. “I honestly can’t see any true advantages to having ADHD itself. For someone to be diagnosed as having ADHD, it has to actually cause problems or impairment in your life — that’s a medical requirement — but we rarely talk about what ‘causing problems’ really means,” he says.
That isn’t to say people can’t adapt to their challenges or develop strengths in spite of their difficulties. But it doesn’t mean the condition itself is beneficial, he explains. Social media awareness campaigns about mental health walk a fine line between reducing stigma and trivialising conditions to the point where they lose credibility. This can lead people with diagnoses and difficulties brought on by ADHD to question their own experiences.
Excerpted from “Bad Influence: How the Internet Hijacked Our Health,” Oneworld Publications, 2026
Oneworld Publications
Bad Influence: How the Internet Hijacked Our Health
“Bad Influence” is an eye-opening look at the way online platforms have changed — and in many cases, exploited — our perception of healthcare, with little overview or regulation to prevent harm. Cohen reveals the insidious ways our anxieties are being amplified and manipulated by algorithms and influencers, highlighting the need for us to discern where online information crosses the line from helpful support to dangerous misinformation.
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