“I actually have ADHD. I’m emotionally anxious all the time, and my mood swings are huge.”
“Here’s the story of how I suddenly screamed at work after my stress from my boss exploded.”
Among members of Generation Z, public admissions that once might have been whispered to a close friend are now delivered to millions of strangers online. Revealing personal shortcomings—mental-health struggles, emotional volatility, social awkwardness—has become a cultural currency. Increasingly, marketers see it as one, too.
Cheil Worldwide’s trend-analysis unit, known as the Yozm Research Institute, said in a recent report that “vulnerability” is fast emerging as a defining theme in brand communication. For a cohort raised amid economic anxiety, pandemic disruption and geopolitical risk, imperfection is less a liability than a baseline condition, the group argues.
The shift is visible across social media feeds. So-called mental-health confessions, in which users openly discuss depression, anxiety or disorders such as ADHD, have amassed more than 25 billion views on TikTok, according to the report. Rather than carefully curated self-presentation, the appeal lies in broadcasting raw instability.
Another fast-spreading meme, dubbed “crashing out,” revolves around dramatizing the moment pent-up stress boils over. Short videos show creators exaggerating minor inconveniences before erupting into shouts or theatrical breakdowns. The hashtag has generated more than 600,000 tags on TikTok, cementing the format as a recognizable genre.
Researchers say the trend reflects a series of reactions: against technological progress that makes manufactured perfection cheap; against older generations’ emphasis on polish and achievement; and against the superficiality of online relationships. In an era when artificial intelligence can produce flawless images and texts on demand, conspicuous imperfection can feel more human—and therefore more trustworthy.
“Boldly exposing one’s flaws is a strategic choice to secure uniqueness and scarcity, and ultimately to win strong trust,” a Yozm Research official said. “For Gen Z, vulnerability is no longer a weakness but a differentiated survival method.”
What began as a youth code is spreading beyond it. Brands that once leaned heavily on the language of authenticity—aligning words and actions, signaling moral consistency—may now need to go further, the report contends. Tomorrow’s advantage could lie in revealing internal doubts, operational stumbles or structural limits, not merely polished purpose statements.
Some companies are experimenting with ways to recast disadvantages as core traits, or to document in transparent detail how acknowledged weaknesses are being addressed. The idea is not simply to admit fault but to invite consumers into the process of improvement, turning spectators into invested participants.
Park Mi-ri, who heads the institute, argues that in an unpredictable business climate, pre-emptively disclosing fragility can be a decisive differentiator. Doing so, she said, helps forge bonds with devoted fans willing to embrace even a brand’s scars, while potentially reshaping competitive hierarchies in the market.
For executives schooled in minimizing risk and controlling narratives, the approach can feel counterintuitive. Yet as younger consumers reward candor that borders on self-exposure, silence—or a veneer of perfection—may carry its own danger.
In a marketplace saturated with curated images, the most radical statement might be an admission that something isn’t working.
