Fae from X

@faexxxfae

You know those TikTok creators who feel less like influencers and more like that friend who gets it? Fae’s feed is exactly that—a warm, unfiltered corner of the app where anxiety isn’t just acknowledged but dissected with humor and heart. She doesn’t preach perfection; instead, she films herself mid-panic attack over burnt toast or reenacting that awkward moment when you wave at someone who wasn’t waving at you. Her videos often open with her curled up in a chunky knit sweater, whispering, "Okay, real talk: today was *hard*," before diving into why it’s okay to cancel plans for a bubble bath. It’s this raw vulnerability, paired with her knack for turning therapy jargon into snackable wisdom (like explaining "emotional dysregulation" using a spilled coffee catastrophe), that makes her stand out in a sea of polished content.

What’s striking isn’t just *what* she shares but *how*. Fae avoids clinical lingo, opting instead for metaphors anyone can grasp—comparing anxiety to a clingy ex who won’t stop texting, or self-care to "charging your phone when it hits 1%." One viral clip showed her filming a "bad mental health day" timeline: 8 a.m. crying over cereal, 2 p.m. accidentally liking an old crush’s photo, 9 p.m. finally eating cold pizza in bed while whispering, "Progress." Her aesthetic leans cozy and low-fi—think fairy lights, messy buns, and the faint sound of rain in the background—which makes her 3.2 million followers feel like they’re in the room with her. No fancy edits, no forced positivity; just realness that resonates.

Beyond the laughs, Fae’s built a community where comments read like group therapy. Fans tag friends with "This is us," or share their own coping tricks under her posts about ADHD paralysis. She’s sparked trends like #SmallWinsChallenge, where users celebrate tiny victories (e.g., "I watered my plant today!"). Mental health advocates have praised her for destigmatizing therapy—she once shared her therapist’s note (with permission) about "validating your feelings," which racked up 1.4 million likes. But it’s the little things that stick: how she always captions videos with content warnings, or how she’ll reply to a fan’s vulnerable comment with a voice note saying, "You’re not alone—I’ve been there too."

Publicly, Fae keeps her personal life guarded but has mentioned growing up in a small Midwest town where mental health was rarely discussed. She started posting in 2021 during a burnout phase from her corporate job, initially just for herself. Now, she’s partnered with nonprofits like Active Minds to fund campus counseling services, yet still films most videos in her apartment’s walk-in closet for "better acoustics." Off-camera, she’s hinted at loving thrift-store finds and sourdough baking (though she jokes her latest loaf "could double as a doorstop").

In an era of performative wellness, Fae’s magic lies in her refusal to sell a solution. She’s not here to fix you—just to sit with you in the mess. Whether she’s demonstrating a breathing exercise while her cat walks across the keyboard or sharing a tearful reflection on imposter syndrome, it’s clear: her goal isn’t virality. It’s making sure someone scrolling at 2 a.m. feels a little less broken. And honestly? That’s the kind of content we need more of.