Social media has changed the way we understand, share and fear for our health. In this accelerated ecosystem, certain expressions born in science—or on its margins—propagate with astonishing rapidity. We have all heard words like microplastics, cortisol or, most recently, endocrine disruptors. Cold, technical terms, which nevertheless burn on TikTok and Instagram, turned into universal explanations for diffuse symptoms. Thus, they stop being a biomedical term and become something more: an identity label, a cause, a refuge from uncertainty.
From scientific word to hashtag viral. The phenomenon is not new. Every once in a while, a word of medical jargon slips into everyday discourse, amplified by short videos and emotional narratives. In fact, recently the Chinese government has begun to regulate influencers that talk about health, demanding credentials or blocking imprecise terminology. The move illustrates the power of these terms: They no longer remain in the laboratory, but permeate popular culture.
As explained the psychologist Alejandra de Pedro to Xatakaplatforms “not only amplify terms because they are new, but because they keep you inside.” On TikTok, he comments, if someone writes “endocrine disruptor” in the comments, the app highlights it in blue to invite a search. “And from there you enter a hole of videos on the subject. The platform wants you to spend more time, not learn more,” he points out. Furthermore, the logic of the algorithm is mixed with that of the human being: curiosity, fear, the desire for control. According to the psychologist Sergio Traver also consultedviralization is explained by two simultaneous factors: novelty (“attracts attention”) and simplification (“if this also solves a problem, it has a greater impact on us”).
Various investigations confirm that the dissemination of incorrect or simplified information about health on networks is high. A systematic review found that the most viral topics They were vaccines, chronic diseases and diets, and that the spread of misinformation reached up to 87% in some cases. The more “credible” a content appears—and the less harm it appears to cause—the greater its dissemination.
Viral words or authority? Viral words are not innocent labels, they function as symbols: they evoke authority (they sound scientific), they offer explanation (albeit simplified) and they generate community. Traver points out that the belief system is key: biomedical terms have greater impact because we “accept” the medical system as legitimate. De Pedro adds that there is a component of “borrowed authority”: if I say “endocrine disruptor”, it sounds technical, diffuse, the user does not usually question the source.
For this reason, a viralized health term can become a kind of linguistic refuge, a formula for name what worries us without needing to go into nuances. In times of uncertainty—pandemic, climate crisis, information saturation—these terms act like amulets: they give a name to fear, they make it shareable, create community: “I know it too”, “I take care of myself”. Traver comments that sharing these terms can provide validation (“I identify with this”), and De Pedro speaks of the search for identity/belonging that acts in the background.
The social function of the term. In a world where fear of the unknown is high (post-pandemic, mediatization of health, ecological crisis), these terms offer something that many demand: quick responses, labels that clear ambiguity, community. De Pedro describes it like this: “If a person is distressed and I tell him that it is all the fault of the ‘traumas’ (without explaining well what that is), I will be able to give him a pseudo-explanation… When using a fashionable term in health there is a feeling of control, of knowing something that others did not know.” Traver complements this by pointing out that “when someone names microplastics, we remember that news story that was related to cancer… These terms generate a network of associations that arouse fear and these emotions have been related to faster responses, seeking information.”
And therein lies the crux of the matter: emotion—fear, indignation, anxiety—is not the error, it is the fuel. Recent studies show that false health rumors they spread faster than true information when they convey strong emotions (for example, condemnation, indignation) that appeal to morality. Furthermore, it comes into play confirmation bias: we tend to believe first what fits with our previous ideas. In this way, the user searches and shares only what reinforces their vision of the world, closing the circle of viralization.
Viralization vs veracity. The problem comes when simplification becomes distortion. The World Health Organization (WHO) has warned of the danger of infodemics: the overabundance of information—correct or not—that confuses more than it guides. Scientific reviews, such as those published in Health Promotion International and PLOS ONEagree that social networks are fertile ground for the spread of health misinformation, especially when emotion is appealed to rather than evidence.
Traver summarizes it like this: “Technical concepts rarely explain the why of something, they only delimit probabilities. But in networks they become closed certainties.” And De Pedro adds: “A false illusion of knowledge is generated. People believe they understand what they do not understand and they begin to distrust professionals.” The result is a scenario where anxiety fuels the search for explanations, and networks offer answers that are as quick as they are inaccurate.
And the influencers arrive. The spread of these terms is not accidental. Platforms prioritize retention, engagement, and emotional hooks. The rise of influencers health has multiplied this phenomenon. Some do rigorous outreach work; others, not so much. “The problem is with those who put the share to scientific evidence,” warns Sergio Traver.
Studies confirm that false or viral content circulates more easily if it evokes moral emotions, if it seems credible and if it is not excessively harmful. a study published in Nature shows that viral posts can significantly modify user behavior in the short and long term. In short, the viralization of health works at the intersection of four elements: technical term, emotion, algorithm and vulnerable audience. A cocktail is very difficult to control.
What is at stake. The most worrying consequence is not only confusion, but distrust. From Peter warns that excess information simplified is eroding the credibility of professionals: “Some patients believe they know more than their doctors because they have seen a video that explained it ‘easy’. And that fuels information arrogance and disagreement.”
At a social level, the risk is twofold: on the one hand, “wildcard words” (trauma, anxiety, hormone, disruptor) are used as a total diagnosis; On the other hand, alternative treatments proliferate without evidence. “At best they are harmless; at worst, harmful,” he warns.
A shared responsibility. It is not simply about “what is worth” or “what is not”, but rather an opportunity to do better health communication. Content creators must take care of the language, avoid absolute simplifications and warn of limits: as Traver recommends, “consult reliable sources and verified information.” Consumers must develop a critical spirit: as Pedro says: “Not just consume passively, but ask who is speaking, how they are telling it and what evidence is behind it.”
Platforms and media have a responsibility to not only prioritize engagement, but also integrity, clarity and quality. And health communicators have to accept that we live in an ecosystem of rapid consumption, but without giving up precision. As Pedro points out, “if I am completely rigorous, I may lose my audience; if I am too simplistic, I lose credibility.” Between fear and curiosity, health needs something as non-viral as critical thinking.
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