Are health patches the ultimate wellness hack or just another fad? Brace yourself for a deep dive into the world of trendy wellness stickers. This morning, I awoke feeling sluggish and reached for my usual pick-me-up: a coffee and a cold splash of water on my face, followed by an inevitable phone scroll. But today, I decided to try something different. I peeled off a small, yellow 'energy' patch, no bigger than a walnut, and stuck it on my upper arm, hoping for a boost.
These patches, priced at £12 for 30, claim to contain vitamins B5 and B3, along with a 'microdose' of caffeine, according to the packaging. Kind Patches is just one brand in a booming market of wellness stickers that promise to tackle everything from sleep deprivation to period pains and acne. These coin-sized patches come in trendy colors like sunflower yellow and peachy orange, and you might have spotted teenagers wearing star-shaped patches on their faces to fight acne or influencers applying blue magnesium patches on their wrists before bed.
The concept behind these patches is to deliver various substances into the bloodstream through the skin, addressing common symptoms of everyday life. Feeling tired? Grab a patch. Stressed? Patch it up. Anxious? You guessed it, there's a patch for that too. From libido boosters to immune system enhancers, there's seemingly a patch for every ailment if you look hard enough. The wearable patch market, which also includes disease monitoring and drug delivery, was valued at a staggering $9.95 billion in 2024 (https://www.ft.com/content/5ebdee6d-eee0-4ed9-a7e2-7547bd1503c9) (approximately £7.45 billion) and is projected to grow significantly in the next five years, according to the Financial Times. It's like slapping a sticker on your feelings instead of eating them away.
But do these patches actually work? Or are they just another form of snake oil in the massive $6 trillion global wellness industry (https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2024-11-05/global-wellness-industry-is-now-worth-6-3-trillion), preying on our vulnerabilities? John Tregoning, a professor of vaccine immunology at Imperial College London and author of the book Live Forever? (https://guardianbookshop.com/live-forever-9780861549382/?utmsource=editoriallink&utmmedium=merch&utm_campaign=article), believes it's impossible to know for sure. He says, 'It's not like a vaccine where you either got the virus or not. It's about whether you feel better.' For instance, the energy patch I'm wearing might make me feel better, but as Tregoning points out, 'My idea of energy might differ from yours.' He suggests that these patches could be a form of 'drifting placebo,' where simply wearing one might help you snap out of a slump. And it's incredibly challenging to prove which patches don't work when you can't even prove which ones do.
These patches are invisible to the touch and easily slide off in the bath. However, they are often highly visible, which is half the point for some users. Depending on the placement, which varies but often includes the neck and chest areas, they can be as noticeable as you want them to be. Some promise results on the same day, while others suggest using them for up to a month. The energy patch I'm wearing is supposed to have an instant effect, but I didn't feel anything that morning. However, by the time I peeled it off in the bath, I did feel fresher. It's a neat idea, but was it the patch? I also did some yoga and had steak for dinner.
I decided to try another energy patch by The What Supp Co (£18 for 15 patches), which claims to combat 'fatigue, fed-up feelings, and focus.' It contains ashwagandha, said to 'help your body adapt to stress,' and caffeine, among other ingredients. I followed the instruction video and placed the red W-shaped patch on my wrist. I wasn't sure if it was working, but I did struggle to fall asleep that night, possibly due to the caffeine (thankfully, I had a sleep patch ready).
Acupuncturist Ross J Barr also offers a patch (£15 for 10) that promises to enhance 'focus, clarity, and mental performance.' It's less visible than most and has a herbal, festive scent, which is part of its appeal. I could feel a gentle tingling when I put it on, similar to a Tens machine, which made me believe it was working. I also tried Barr's Period Patches (£15 for seven) for cramps, aches, and pains, developed with gynaecological staff at Miss Claire Mellon & Associates private practice. Like Barr's other patch, it has a strong essential oil scent, somewhere between a meadow and tobacco. The sticker was stickier and harder to remove after six hours. It's designed to fit precisely at the base of the spine. I'm not sure how much this influenced what happened next, but my cramps seemed to ease. I can't say if it was better than taking a painkiller, but these patches are certainly pricier than over-the-counter painkillers. Dr. Deborah Cohen, author of the book Bad Influence: How the Internet Hijacked Our Health, believes the cost might impact our perception of effectiveness. She says, 'The more expensive something is, the more we expect it to work.' Cohen argues that women's health has been neglected for too long, but these patches also reveal deeper issues in the healthcare system. She adds, 'We turn to social media for solutions because doctors can't provide holistic care.'
After eleven days of patch testing, I've tried patches for sleep, dreaming, focus, energy, relaxation, and menstrual cramps. I wish I could say the results were mind-blowing, but aside from feeling slightly buzzed from the caffeine-containing patches and the aforementioned effects of Barr's cramp patches, I can't be sure I felt any significant changes.
This doesn't necessarily mean they didn't work. The science behind patches is often unclear or nonexistent, and controlling variables is impossible. As Cohen explains, 'Reducing health to a single hormone is a reductionist approach. We need to consider the whole person holistically before deciding on a treatment.'
Some patches have taken a darker turn towards diet culture. Berberine, a plant-derived compound, is believed to suppress appetite. I tried Kind's berberine patches (formerly known as Weightless), which require daily use to notice a difference. During a walk, I started feeling light-headed and had to remove the patch.
Interestingly, only one of the patches I tried came with the disclaimer that it wasn't the sole solution to a problem. For instance, when using Barr's sleep patches, it's recommended to also practice basic sleep hygiene, like reading a book and turning off your phone. While there may not be any harm in using a patch if you can afford it, it's not a magic cure. As Tregoning suggests, it's best to view these patches as 'expensive herbal tea.' Enjoy it if you like it and believe it helps, but don't expect it to solve all your problems.
The issue with many wellness products is the search for a quick fix or hack. It's easier to apply a sleep patch than to acknowledge that poor sleep might be a logical reaction to modern life, or that a lack of energy could be due to an overwhelming lifestyle, or that a lack of focus might indicate deeper issues beyond the daily grind of work. In an era where we've learned to manipulate our bodies' aesthetics through surgery and fillers, it seems fitting that we might now wear our supplements. As Cohen writes in her book, 'The body has become a dashboard to be monitored and gamified.'
This trend is all about performative health. When I struggled to quit smoking, my nicotine patch was a public display of my efforts. Lisa Payne, head of beauty at trend forecaster company Stylus, calls it 'handbag health'—the idea that you can carry patches and use them whenever you need a boost. She says, 'These patches cost money, so it's a visible investment in your health.' It's like putting a plaster on your feelings instead of eating them.
Pupinder Ghatora, a pharmacist and co-founder of a collagen supplement brand, explains that patches are not new in medicine. 'In pharmaceuticals, patches have been used for pain relief, anti-sickness medications, certain heart treatments, and nicotine replacement therapy. These medicines are clinically proven because the molecules are suitable for skin absorption, and the formulations are designed accordingly.' However, the evidence for wellness patches for other purposes is less conclusive. Ghatora adds, 'Transdermal delivery can be effective, but only when supported by science. The skin barrier is highly complex, and not all ingredients can pass through it.'
Deborah Cohen believes the problem isn't just the delivery method but also the substances themselves. She says, 'Before considering the delivery route, ask if the compound they're promoting will have any effect.' For instance, dopamine patches exist, but how does dopamine even reach the brain to work? She continues, 'HRT patches and nicotine patches [which have been around for a while] require robust clinical trials to prove their effectiveness. But if you can market something as a wellness supplement, you don't need regulators.' She poses a thought-provoking question: 'If patches are as good as claimed, why isn't everything delivered through patches?'
Star patches have become a ubiquitous sight, especially among teenagers and fans of last year's Big Brother. These patches are designed to protect spots from bacteria, prevent picking, and contain various ingredients that may or may not treat the spot. They have become such an integral part of Gen Z culture that the V&A recently acquired some as part of its Rapid Response Collecting (https://www.vam.ac.uk/collections/rapid-response-collecting?srsltid=AfmBOoqFisrHBGVBj0Q5Zwa6ZkuqzU81v9YvLnMhq1-Dt0TWJ0UKHl) to represent Gen Z lifestyle.
Advertising a pimple is a far cry from the beauty standards of millennials like me and Payne. Payne explains, 'Our generation viewed beauty as a solution to the problem we wanted to fix.' If you had a pimple, you'd buy concealer to hide it, not a neon sticker to share the experience. But for some Gen Zers, Payne says, a visible treatment for an internal feeling is a statement of identity.
Cohen laments that maintaining good health has become more complicated. She says, 'Daily life is now subject to medical interpretation and diagnosis, with normal variations being labeled as conditions requiring intervention.'
I spent three weeks experimenting with patches, and some people swear by Barr's sleep patches. But it was also the darkest, coldest December, a time when my moods and sleep patterns are notoriously unpredictable. As a millennial parent, I've come to expect these fluctuations. Patches reflect how influencer culture has distorted our self-perception. But if you're tired and there's no underlying issue, the simplest solution is often rest.
But here's where it gets controversial: Are these patches a genuine innovation in wellness, or are they just another form of snake oil, exploiting our desire for quick fixes? Do they offer a holistic approach to health, or do they contribute to the medicalization of everyday life? And what does this trend say about our relationship with our bodies and the healthcare system? Share your thoughts in the comments below, and let's keep the conversation going!
