Self-help’s pull and its cost: a culture-and-entertainment look at Promise Land

Self-help remains a potent force in American culture, attracting readers, listeners, and viewers even as critics argue the industry pushes people toward isolation and unrealistic standards. In Promise Land: My Journey Through America’s Self-Help Culture, author Jessica Lamb-Shapiro把 her own skepticism to the test by trying guidance from several popular self-help guides, while also tracing the broader history and social reach of the genre. Her work intersects with Vox’s ongoing exploration of how self-help shapes everyday life, a topic discussed in depth on the Explain It to Me podcast.

"My dad was a child psychologist, and he wrote parenting books. And I later found out that he used me as an example," Lamb-Shapiro says, describing how her early exposure to self-help aspects of family life seeded her investigation. Her experience—rooted in personal memory as well as professional curiosity—became the lens through which she evaluated both the promises and limits of self-help culture. She admits she began the project deeply skeptical, yet she tempered that stance with a recognition that the urge to self-improve is not easily dismissed.

Her takeaway is nuanced: self-help in its many forms is deeply embedded in contemporary life, even for people who don’t pick up a book or follow an influencer. "That kind of stuff percolates, even if you’re not reading self-help books," she tells Vox. "It’s so woven into the fabric of our experience that I think everyone grew up with self-help, even if they didn’t grow up reading self-help books or having a self-help book writer for a dad." The conversation on Vox’s podcast spotlights this paradox—self-help feels ubiquitous, yet its most dramatic effects are often intangible and diffuse.

Why are we so drawn to the promise that life could be better? Lamb-Shapiro and others argue that the appeal is ancient and widely shared. The book situates self-help within a long arc that stretches back to the 19th century and beyond. The first modern wave is linked to Samuel Smiles and the Leeds Times, with the Mutual Improvement Society hosting lectures that culminated in the 1859 bestseller Self-Help. As Lamb-Shapiro notes, that impulse predates contemporary branding and marketing by more than a century. In addition to these 19th-century roots, Stoic philosophy from ancient Greece—figures like Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations remains widely sold today as a self-help text—appears as a kindred history of self-guided improvement.

Vox’s interview segment traces the lineage further, pointing out predecessors to today’s bestsellers. A familiar touchstone from the late 20th century, Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, is cited as a repackaged version of a timeless idea: that life is fragile and finite, and yet one can still steer toward personal peace. The takeaway is clear: there have always been guides promising better outcomes, and the modern self-help market is merely a more expansive, technologically enabled version of an older project.

How big is the self-help ecosystem today? Lamb-Shapiro and researchers describe the modern self-help economy as sizable and diverse. The field is valued at roughly $45 billion to $59 billion globally, and it isn’t confined to books. Personal growth platforms now span courses, social media, TikTok clips, calendars of daily affirmations, and a host of other formats. While some worry about scams or superficial gimmicks, Lamb-Shapiro stops short of a blanket condemnation. She argues that the landscape is not uniformly fraudulent; instead, it contains a spectrum of quality. Readers are urged to approach with discernment and to curate what is truly useful, discarding what does not help while recognizing the real benefits of certain insights.

The author also emphasizes the social dimension of self-help. The appeal of self-improvement can be seductive because it promises tangible gains—richer, hotter, smarter, more popular, faster—but the real value often lies in process rather than guarantee. The same drive that fuels individual ambition also drives loneliness when effort becomes solitary work. "We’re obsessed with betterment and productivity," Lamb-Shapiro observes, explaining that the appeal of a $20 book or a one-week course is compelling when contrasted with the perceived costs of long-term therapy or ongoing personal exploration. Yet she cautions that prioritizing solitary work can erode community ties. "We’re losing the community aspect. When you do that, you lose the opportunity to have a community and to strengthen your relationships with other people."