Soft, sweet, and suspicious. The kind of life where everything’s trauma-free, and comes in pastel packaging with fonts that whisper, you’re doing great, sweetie. It’s a dopamine diet for the spiritually constipated — curated bliss, optimized routines, and moral smoothies sipped through bamboo straws. But scratch the surface and you’ll find the panic — teeth clenched in yoga class, existential dread disguised as “self-care.” Because under all that oat milk and affirmation lies the truth: no one’s chill, we’re just medicated and well-lit.