On social media, a series of “wellness” trends have gained popularity, and the latest is “bed rotting.” This trend involves retreating to bed, enjoying snacks and TV, neglecting responsibilities, and only getting up when you feel truly refreshed (or when muscle stiffness starts to set in). There are numerous TikTok videos dedicated to this concept, typically showcasing muted tones, cozy-looking bedding, and a deliberately messy bed, with captions or narrative suggesting it’s the best way to spend your time. The idea of the bedroom has long held multiple associations and meanings in culture and art. It has been a place for sleep and intimacy and, before modern hospitals, also a location for birth and death—the literal beginning and ending of life. Literature has captured this dramatically. Even before TikTok and Instagram, the Victorians had already elevated lounging in bed to an art form. This article is part of Quarter Life, a series tackling issues faced by those in their twenties and thirties. Covering challenges like career beginnings and mental health care, to family starting, pet adoption, or making adult friendships, these articles navigate this turbulent life stage.
You might also like: Goblin mode: a gothic expert explains the trend’s mythical roots and advises why we should embrace ‘vampire mode’ instead; Why is the Barbie DreamHouse unsettling? An expert in the uncanny explores; Lucky girl syndrome: unveiling the potential downsides of TikTok’s extreme positive thinking trend. Bed rotting aligns with other recent movements against the simultaneous popularity of hustle culture and productivity fixation. That mentality remains strong on social media, yet these new trends advocating slow living over constant utility have found their place. Similar to the popular “goblin mode,” the 2022 Oxford word of the year, bed rotting uses a grotesque phrase to highlight, particularly for women, the subversive nature of inactivity and withdrawal. It underscores just how rebellious it is for a woman to do nothing and stay put. Nonetheless, by framing these trends in grim terms, social media has romanticized the notion. There’s nothing distinctly goblin-like or genuinely off-putting and untidy in these videos. Instead, they appear clean, serene, and cozy. Thus, bed rotting isn’t about decay but bed flourishing.
This romantic view mirrors the perspective of 19th-century artists toward the so-called “bed rotting” women of their time. Depictions of sick women blending with their beds became common in novels, art, and nonfiction. Particularly, the popular deathbed memoir genre romanticized unwell women, portraying their final retreat to bed as a purification process where they confessed sins and forgave family and friends. In 1832, for instance, Reverend Henry Revell wrote “An Extraordinary But Authentic Narrative of The Penitence and Death of The Notorious Mrs. D***.” Before becoming bed-bound, Mrs. D was described as “depraved,” but surrendering to rest was seen as displaying “stupendous mercy.” Being in bed was equated to moral improvement. Victorian author Elizabeth Gaskell might have had thoughts on bed-rotting TikToks. Her 1855 novel “North and South” captures sentiments behind the trend. Beds in the novel symbolize not just the line between rest and death, but also privilege, class, and worker exploitation. Two women are showcased in states of bed rotting: mill worker Bessy and the middle-class mother of protagonist Margaret Hale. Only one is romanticized. Maria Hale luxuriates on a posh water bed, while poor Bessy, frail from work-related health hazards, curls up on (likely genuinely rotting) furniture. Bessy’s retreat, enforced by work damage, renders her nearly saintly. Maria appears merely dramatic. These TikToks reflect both Maria and Bessy. Some escape to bed due to work and school pressures impacting mental health, while others display their lovely bedrooms.
Across all these examples, modern and Victorian, the focus is a woman alone in bed, having rejected, either by choice or necessity, societal expectations: work, social interaction, even sharing a romantic bed. Yet they aren’t truly isolated. Bed rotting gains meaning through observation, documentation, envy, and romanticization by others. It is presented as a personal, private act of self-care, but actually serves as a public statement—much like Gaskell portrayed Bessy’s death as commentary against industrial exploitation. The TikToks seem performative. Are we genuinely withdrawing from work, duties, school, and social life if we still crave others’ notice and concern about our absence? Regardless of the trend’s motivation, one fact remains clear throughout history: rest is as valuable as any life moment. On that note, I’m returning to bed.