Can I Still Fall Asleep Without a YouTube Video?
Written by Jess Huang
The answer is yes, but sometimes watching YouTube makes it more fun.
I still remember the first ASMR video I ever watched. It was seventh grade, on a school night, and I was lying in my parents’ bed while they were out at dinner. Their bed was huge, a blob of pillows and comforter that smelled like Mom and Dad.
This was also around when I discovered a super-indie, super-underground TV show called Riverdale and devoured episode after episode. While I was watching a Bughead edit on YouTube (lol, ik, throwback), a recommended video popped up on the sidebar:“ ASMR Betty Talking to Jughead (Roleplay)” by GwenGwiz ASMR. A blonde woman against a greenscreened background smiled at me through the tiny thumbnail, wearing a pastel pink blouse that vaguely echoed Lili Reinhart’s character in the show. I didn’t really know what the letters at the front of the title meant, but I clicked on it anyway. I was hooked.
I love watching ASMR videos, which stand for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. Aside from a couple of my most trusted confidants, I've never told anyone this secret that I’m now professing online. I honestly felt embarrassed and thought I had no one to talk to about this niche corner of the Internet.
Although the phrase was coined and popularized on the Internet in the early 2010s, the relaxing, tingling sensation has existed for much, much longer. Videos either focus on ASMR triggers or aim to recreate how they would be found in a real-life scenario. I was drawn to the latter category. In these“ role-plays”, ASMRtists weave visual and binaural cues for haircutting, makeovers, and even eye exams throughout the video. Common triggers involve the soft snip of scissors against a lock of hair, gentle hands applying a hint of blush, or a flashlight emitting a bright beam. These videos temporarily transported me back to girlhood, to these quiet, intimate moments of human connection that I’d always found relaxing.
I watched ASMR casually while studying or in the background for the first couple of years. Back then, what was it about these videos - featuring simple lo-fi microphone setups, creators filming from their bedrooms, casual piles of laundry in the background - that captured my attention?
It wasn’t until the pandemic that I really understood why I devoted so much of my computer time to ASMR. One night, watching the now-infamous and deleted LifeWithMak video “Rude Flight Attendant Is Mean to You”, I felt a sensation travel across the top of my head. A numbing, prickling feeling enveloped my scalp, the back of my neck, and then my shoulders. I was experiencing the calming, euphoric sensation the ASMR community refers to as“ tingles.” It felt like a head massager, a warm head rush, and your mother playing with your hair all at once.
Image courtesy of LifeWithMak on YT
People unfamiliar with the ASMR community online tend to negatively associate it with noodle-slurping mukbangs where every chew is audible. This kind of ASMR definitely isn’t for everyone, but if that floats your boat, who am I to judge?
I also gravitate towards female-identifying creators. Videos that feature nostalgic games like“ X Marks the Spot” take me back to summer nights with my cabinmates, after a long day of canoeing and backpacking. Videos recreating weekend sleepovers remind me of sitting criss-cross applesauce on my best friend’s bedroom floor, while she painted my nails with peel-off polish. And I adore when the ASMRtist builds an ephemeral world with elaborate sets and costumes that pull me into a mystical greenhouse or outer space. There’s so much care and thought put into conjuring a nostalgia, and it’s all achieved online. The comments are filled with weary and sleepy viewers, seeking a few moments of relaxation and escapism, people I’ve never met yet resonate with.
There are a lot of interesting conversations about the effects of the Internet, of technology, on how social media hinders our generation’s ability to connect in the real world. I’ve dined at restaurants without exchanging more than a“ thank you” to my waitress, as I ordered and paid for my meal through a QR code. I’ve avoided initiating plans, and I'm anxious that I would be keeping others from more IG-worthy functions I see on their feed. And if I really wanted to, I could vent to ChatGPT, receive consolation and advice in return, and do so without bearing the great risk of human connection through vulnerability.
So yes…I need to touch grass more and be a better friend by getting offline! I’m still trying to navigate my love-hate relationship with my phone and with my bedrotting tendencies. But in some strange way, ASMR recreates the fondness of human connection and care from one screen to another. Without slipping into the trap of parasocial relationships with internet creators, the videos still feel comforting and familiar to me.
In no way am I suggesting that ASMR or any online community should replace IRL interaction. It’s more important now than ever to show up physically and emotionally for your people. But as I grow older, fantasy and play become less frequent. And that’s what ASMR feels like for me right now, a temporary, simple pause and rewind that recharges me to face the complicated realities of the present.
