Scroll through social media today and you will find doctors dancing, joking, following viral trends and posting snippets of their everyday lives. Even major health organisations have realised that if they want to reach the public, they sometimes have to speak the language of social media. The World Health Organization, for example, has embraced digital communication and social media as important tools for reaching people with credible health information.
And perhaps that is not such a bad thing.
Medicine has traditionally had a rather serious public face. Doctors were historically expected to speak formally, appear authoritative and remain slightly unapproachable behind the consulting-room door.
Social media has changed all of that. We now see doctors sharing educational videos, debunking myths, discussing health topics and, occasionally, joining the latest TikTok or Instagram trend.
The latest example is the “kinda chic” trend, where people playfully describe something unexpected or unconventional as being stylish, admirable or somehow desirable. It has been used for everything from getting enough sleep to setting boundaries, going to therapy or simply enjoying ordinary life. On the surface, it is harmless fun and can often deliver some real truths.
But what happens when doctors join in? This is where things become a little more complicated.
Doctors are, of course, human beings. We have personalities, senses of humour (hopefully) and lives outside medicine. I do not necessarily believe that becoming a doctor means surrendering the right to laugh, dance or participate in popular culture. In fact, sometimes a little personality can help in making health professionals more relatable and approachable.
The difficulty is that when a doctor speaks publicly about a medical issue, their words carry weight.
A statement made by an ordinary social media user may simply be a personal opinion. The same statement made by a doctor can be interpreted as medical advice, reassurance or evidence-based information—even when it was intended as nothing more than a casual caption. And this is not simply about a photograph or a social-media trend. Women’s health misinformation is everywhere online, and occasionally even medically qualified people contribute to the confusion.
We have seen dramatic claims that hormonal contraception causes infertility or permanently damages a woman’s natural hormones, or misleading suggestions that cycle tracking is an equally reliable substitute for contraception. Fertility is another area particularly vulnerable to oversimplification. A blood test marketed online as an “egg count” may sound reassuringly scientific, but a single test on its own cannot tell an otherwise fertile woman exactly how long she has to become pregnant.
I often see some health professionals talking about menopause hormone therapy as either completely dangerous or completely risk-free. Both extremes can be misleading; risk and benefit depend on the individual woman, her age, timing and medical history.
In addition, oversimplifying pregnancy advice, where a catchy social-media message may fail to mention important exceptions or individual risk factors. The problem is that it is not an outright lie, but sometimes it is a small piece of truth presented without the important context that makes it medically meaningful.
For instance, would I recommend being pregnant in your 40s as I see some doctors suggesting. Firstly, I understand the sentiment. Women are having children later for different reasons, including careers, relationships, financial circumstances and personal choice. And yes, many women in their forties go on to have healthy pregnancies and healthy babies.
But pregnancy later in life can also be associated with increased risks, and these are discussions that we have regularly with patients. That does not mean that women should be frightened of this, quite the opposite. But celebrating and encouraging later pregnancy as “kinda chic” should not become the same thing as suggesting that age does not matter biologically.
This is the challenge of being a doctor online.
A post does not have to be deliberately misleading to create misunderstanding, and an attempt to empower can unintentionally minimise risk. And a doctor may simply forget that followers do not see them as just another person posting online—they see the letters after their name – which is associated with knowledge and experience.
International medical societies specifically remind doctors that information shared on social media should be factual, understandable and professionally responsible.
Perhaps my own perspective is shaped by the particular area of medicine in which I work. As an oncologist, much of my day involves conversations about cancer, a life-changing diagnosis with difficult decisions and rigorous, demanding treatment. And fair enough, we as doctors do not have to be serious every minute of every day—we are human beings too—but I am conscious that my job is, in many ways, serious business.
For me personally, I would never want my attempts to be entertaining or to follow the latest social-media trend to cloud the picture of what I do or the responsibility that comes with it. My patients need to know that there is a real person behind the doctor, but they also need to feel confidence in the seriousness with which I approach their care. That is simply my own professional boundary, but it is one I feel increasingly important to consider in the age of the doctor-influencer.
Maybe the answer is not that doctors should stay away from social media. Social media is already influencing the health decisions people make, and accurate voices can help counter misinformation. Being relatable is good, being entertaining is fine, but being medically influential comes with responsibility.
