At 4pm on a weekday afternoon, Yan Jincheng, a 23-year-old business student at Curtin University’s Singapore campus, is at the gym. His tank top is soaked with perspiration as he remains focused on his workout. This was his sixth session of the week, each lasting an hour and a half and comprising a half-hour warm-up and an hour of strength training.
“At first, I just wanted to avoid looking too overweight because being overweight saps your confidence,” he said. “But after sticking with it for a few weeks, I gradually fell in love with this routine. Working out makes me feel better overall.”
Standing at 186cm tall, Mr Yan attends the gym five to six times weekly, adhering to a strict diet—no fried foods, no sugary drinks, only exercise and post-workout protein powder. Today, his story is far from an exception, as many college students share his exact health philosophy.
Behind Mr Yan’s persistence lies a complete restructuring of health concepts in the new era. Previously simply understood as avoiding diseases or maintaining physical health, it has now become a multi-dimensional concept covering mental health, personal aesthetics and life. Social media is a central driving force in this transformation. Platforms like Instagram, Xiaohongshu, and TikTok are flooded with hashtags like #fitnesscheckin, #intermittentfasting, and #wellness, transforming health into a visualisable, consumable trend.
However, the pursuit of health manifests in diverse forms—ranging from rigorous self-discipline to a more relaxed approach to maintaining one’s well-being. Though individuals occupy different positions within this spectrum, each person navigates their own unique set of challenges.
Mr Yan is a prime example of the self-disciplined type. During his fitness period, he attempted the popular intermittent fasting method—16 hours of fasting followed by an 8-hour eating window—but ultimately abandoned it because it affected his ability to concentrate on his studies. “I just love rice too much,” he said. In the end, he opted for a more balanced approach to eating.
The rewards of fitness have been substantial to him, better sleep, increased energy, improved physique, and immense confidence. “Working out gives me a sense of control over everything. Even when academic life is stressful, I can at least manage my training and diet—that’s reassuring.”
Yet discipline brought anxiety. He admits feeling guilty over extra meals or missed workouts. “Seeing people on social media with perfect physiques and flawless meal plans, you can’t help but compare. I know I shouldn’t, but it still affects me.” Through self-reflection and adjusting his expectations, he has now learned to embrace imperfection: “Fitness is a long-term journey. One unhealthy meal won’t undo all your progress.”
Other paths to healthiness
Unlike the sweat-drenched workouts at the gym, Wang Zijun, a 21-year-old marketing major, practices wellness in a gentler, more introspective way. Her signature accessory is a thermos she carries everywhere, filled with herbal blends tailored to her needs—goji berries and chrysanthemum, red dates and longan, or chamomile. These herbal concoctions bolster her immunity and enhance her sleep, among other benefits.
It all began during exam season, when extreme anxiety took hold. “My sleep was terrible, my skin broke out, and I was anxious all day,” she recalls. “Then my roommate gave me a cup of herbal tea, saying it could help calm me down. That’s when things started to change.” For her, wellness isn’t about intense struggle but daily soothing and self-care.
It has even become her identity marker. “Friends feel it’s just like me,” she says. Wellness serves as both stress relief and a personal identity, helping her find her own rhythm amid the fast pace of life.
Qing Yujing, a 22-year-old student majoring in online media marketing, speaks for most people. “Health is important, of course,” she says, “but honestly, I mostly just go with the flow.”
She’s had countless “I’m going to change my life” moments, inspired by social media, she gave up bubble tea and began waking up early. But “two days later, I’m back in line for brown sugar milk tea. It never lasts.” Resistance comes from stress and lack of motivation. “Habits are hard to build, especially when your schedule is always changing.”
She admires disciplined friends yet remains skeptical. “Sometimes it feels like they’re chasing an Instagram-worthy version of health, not what truly makes them happy.” Her struggle reveals the universal dilemma of staying true to oneself amid health trends.
For Xu Xinxin, a 22-year-old broadcasting student at Sichuan Communication University, health carries an additional dimension: professional demands. “As an arts student, especially during performances or auditions, there’s an unspoken pressure to maintain a certain appearance. Even if no one says it outright, you feel compelled to stay in shape.”
She experienced a kind of body anxiety inherent within her industry, having previously witnessed classmates agonising over appearing “too bulky in costumes.” At 168cm tall, she appears to weigh only 45 kilograms. “The pressure doesn’t just come from teachers, but from comparing yourself to others.” For her, maintaining health became a trifecta of duty, personal choice, and social performance. “Sometimes it feels like a trend, like drinking smoothies or doing yoga and posting it online—it’s not just about being healthy, but how your lifestyle appears.”
Pham Xuan Hoai Huynh, a 21-year-old Vietnamese student, offers a cultural comparative perspective. Coming from Vietnam, her initial understanding of health was simply “not getting sick.” “In high school, only the school team members regularly went to the gym or exercised, so I never actively thought about managing my health.”
Upon arriving in Singapore, the “fitness culture” struck her. “I was surprised to see classmates pulling out whole containers of chicken breast and broccoli for lunch.” He observed differing aesthetic standards: in Vietnam, the pressure is to be ’thin’; here, it’s to be “fit,” with defined muscles and an “aesthetic” physique.
The environment transformed him. He now hits the gym two or three times weekly, cut back on rice and fried foods, and even tried intermittent fasting, popular among his peers. “In this environment, I’ve become much more health-conscious.”
Performing for the platforms
Regardless of which camp they belong to, social media plays an indispensable role in shaping their health perceptions. It serves as both a source of inspiration and an amplifier of anxiety. Mr Yan learned training methods here while also experiencing unhealthy comparisons; Ms Wang found a sense of community belonging through it; Ms Xu believes it has altered the very essence of health, making it more performative.
According to a report by Costello et al. in the American Journal of Law & Medicine: “Algorithm-driven ‘perfect’ content easily creates unrealistic social comparisons, especially for young people, becoming a major source of anxiety. The key lies in cultivating media literacy to find sustainable lifestyles free from digital manipulation.” This echoes the struggles described by Mr Yan and Ms Qing. According to research by Faverio et al. published by the Pew Research Center in 2025, around 48% of young adults say that the content they see on social media makes them more anxious or depressed.
Regarding trends like intermittent fasting, Collier noted in the Canadian Medical Association Journal in 2013, “Intermittent fasting may work for some, but it’s not a panacea. Ensuring balanced nutrition and sustainable eating patterns matters far more than rigidly following eating rules.” This provides scientific backing for Mr Yan’s decision to abandon intermittent fasting based on personal experience.
This shift in health consciousness cannot be simply defined as right or wrong. It reflects the younger generation’s heightened self-awareness and proactive pursuit of physical and mental well-being, which is commendable. Yet, this transformation also carries inherent risks. When health becomes a new competitive arena and performance stage, has it strayed from its original purpose of promoting comfort and balance? Are we creating new anxieties while addressing old problems?
This performance of wellness, as sociologists have pointed out, can be seen as a form of “healthism”, where individual health becomes a moral obligation, and the failure to achieve an idealised healthy lifestyle is framed as a personal failing. The pressure to optimise every aspect of one’s life, from diet to sleep to mindfulness, can itself become a source of chronic stress, ironically undermining the very goal it seeks to achieve. The challenge, then, is not to choose between discipline and indulgence, but to navigate the overwhelming flow of information and trends without losing sight of one’s own authentic needs and well-being.
Ultimately, true health may not lie in drenched workouts at the gym, nor in seeking sole answers from wellness kettles, nor in blindly chasing trends. Just as fitness enthusiast Mr Yan is learning to let go of his obsession with physique, wellness advocate Ms Wang is discovering her own rhythm of self-care, and free-spirited Ms Qing is honestly confronting her struggles—true health may lie in finding that unique rhythm where mind and body achieve genuine harmony amidst this era of competing voices.
Back in the gym, Mr Yan completes his final set. He now embraces his weight and physique with greater equanimity, recognising that imperfection doesn’t equate to total failure. His story, along with those of all interviewees, paints a complex picture. Health is an eternal dynamic equilibrium, not an all-or-nothing ultimate answer.
