Demi Lovato’s Case Study And Why Women Are More Prone To Mimetic Desire

Demi Lovato once went viral for an Instagram tirade against a family-owned frozen yogurt shop in LA. Her fury was directed at the presence of sugar-free items, which she claimed were triggering for people with eating disorders. Just a couple of years prior, in 2019, she was baptized in the Jordan River during a trip to Israel. By 2021, she was singing to ghosts in a haunted house. Then came the very feminist, anti-abortion music video in 2023. She began identifying as non-binary, adopted they/them pronouns, and…you get the point. Lovato went through a lot of phases. In most of them, she seemed angry, exhausted, and very online.

Today, the woman who once asked a dessert shop to consider the implications of diet culture is posting toned gym selfies and glamorous wedding photos. She is slim with long, dark hair and happily married to songwriter Jordan “Jutes” Lutes. Oh, and she dropped the they/them pronouns. She said it was too exhausting.

On the surface, this seems like a human going through different phases in life. I’d argue it’s more than that, because when you really zoom out, Lovato’s transformation is less an isolated story and more a reflection of society. The way she appears to jump from different identities to ideologies offers a perfect case study in what, as our writer Ella Carroll-Smith has pointed out previously, French philosopher René Girard called mimetic desire: our tendency to want what others want, and to model our desires on people we perceive as “high-status” or even “aspirational.”

What Is Mimetic Desire?

Girard believed that humans don't originate their desires in a vacuum. Instead, we observe the world around us and, consciously or not, begin to covet what others seem to desire. This is particularly true in the digital world we can’t escape, where influencers, celebrities, and even friends become our guru on what’s beautiful, healthy, moral, or desirable.

Mimetic desire explains why trends often appear out of nowhere and suddenly become inescapable. While Girard didn’t study fashion or femininity directly, his theory plays out clearly in today’s culture. Last year, we had the Stanley Cup craze. Which, in hindsight, all seems so ridiculous – why did we line up outside Target, elbowing our way through the doors just to grab a large metal tumbler during the holidays? Don't get me wrong, the special edition ones are really cute! But honestly, what possessed us? 

This year, however, it’s butter yellow showing up on nails, cardigans, and dresses. It’s filler that everyone insists is “just good lip liner” and Botox for prevention. Or it’s Hailey Bieber’s $38 Rhode lip cases in soft pinks and milky finishes, don't forget the $18 Peptide Lip Tint! Beyond physical products, mimetic desire extends to identity itself: constructed personalities that mimic other personalities, such as the NYC influencer, the wellness girl, the online activist, etc. These desires don’t necessarily arise from practicality or personal preference, and they gain traction because we see other women model them. As a result, we suddenly internalize their desirability through sheer exposure.

Why Are We Like This?

Anyone can be swayed by the internet and their friend group, but I’d argue that women are on another level of getting “easily influenced.” Why? Studies have shown that women tend to be more empathetic and attuned to social cues. This is not inherently negative. It is, in fact, a trait that has helped women form tight-knit communities and navigate complex social environments. However, the media has been designed to exploit these instincts. They have learned to monetize our desires, redirect our aspirations, and flood our feeds with idealized versions of life and beauty. We change faster now. We mold ourselves more easily, and, unfortunately, we do it without conviction, believing each new algorithmic iteration is our truest self.

Many of us have also been socialized to pay close attention to the preferences and behaviors of others. In my view, this doesn’t make women weak or shallow; this innate, relational nature of women is a gift. After all, it is through one another that we learn how to survive, connect, and belong.

But that same desire to belong can, at times, take us too far. The longing to be like someone else, to feel in the know, in step, or accepted, can begin to overpower our own internal compass. Slowly, our sense of self is replaced by a curated composite of other people’s preferences. Fashion doesn't feel unique anymore since it's no longer about self-expression or personal tastes. We’re all wearing flared leggings from Aerie now (and I say that with full self-awareness because I’m wearing mine as I write this). Indie music has faded from our Spotify playlists, making room for whatever sound is trending on TikTok that week. Even our hobbies seem curated for content.

All of this begs me to ask: who would we be without the internet, without the media, or even without the influence of our closest friends? What would we like? What would we wear? What hobbies would we pursue? Would we feel calmer, more resilient, and ultimately more fulfilled if our identities were built from within, rather than swung back and forth by the pendulum of mimetic desire?

A Public Case Study in Mimetic Desire

Let’s go back to Demi Lovato. Her arc can be read as an especially vivid portrait of mimetic shifts in real time. There was the emo phase during her Disney years, then the body-confident pop star era that condemned the diet culture, followed by the nonbinary buzzcut. She’s back to the thin, feminine rockstar aesthetic that reminds me of Kat Von D (who, ironically, rebranded in her own way), reviving her looks from nearly a decade ago. When we look back at each stage of her life, it's clear to me that they coincided with trends. 

Her they/them era arrived when identity politics dominated the cultural conversation and queerness, fluidity, and political outrage were not just tolerated but algorithmically rewarded. She was apparently surrounded by figures like Alok Vaid-Menon, a controversial poet and performer whose ideas on gender were considered radical even among progressives. At the time, Lovato seemed to align herself with the dominant ideology of the cultural spaces she likely moved through, particularly among her circle of Hollywood friends. The media played a role in pushing this ideology as well. 

But as we’ve seen time and time again, ideology is not static, and neither is desire. Today, a different set of values appears to be in vogue. It’s as if we’re back in the '90s and early 2000s, when being fit and thin was the standard of hot. Ozempic sales are at an all-time high. Even Lizzo – the fat positivity queen herself – admitted to using it, and has lost weight in recent years. There is a subtle yet growing return to traditional and elegant aesthetics (see “quiet luxury” or “mob wife” trends), a hunger for discipline and beauty.  

To put it simply, the pendulum has swung again to the "normal" and "beautiful" ideal, and celebrities like Lovato have followed its rhythm. 

None of this is to say that Lovato is faking it. That would be both unfair and reductive. What Girard reminds us, though, is that even the most sincere feelings can be shaped by a mimetic loop. If everyone around you is desiring something different, a different body, a different identity, a different way of being, you begin to desire that, too. None of us is perfect, but some of us are more aware of this than others. 

There is, of course, a difference between individual mimicry and cultural survival. Lovato grew up in a traumatic spotlight, performing for millions before she had the space to understand who she truly was outside of it. This kind of early fame creates a high-stakes feedback loop, where praise, criticism, and identity are all tied to perception. When a young girl becomes a household name before she even turns eighteen, how does she learn to distinguish her own voice from the applause or backlash of the crowd?

She is not the only one. We’ve seen other stars undergo similarly visible shifts. Take, for example, Miley Cyrus moving from Hannah Montana to her rebellious Bangerz phase, only to return years later with stripped-down country-pop and a calmer image. Lindsay Lohan, once the darling of teen cinema, struggled through years of instability and press scrutiny before quietly building a life of relative peace abroad. She’s now back in the mainstream, looking healthier than ever. Even Selena Gomez has spoken openly about identity confusion, mental health, and the toll of being dissected by millions. Fame, especially for young women, accelerates everything while pausing nothing. You’re expected to evolve constantly, but judged the moment you do.

That said, it would be a huge mistake to pathologize Demi Lovato for doing what millions of women are doing every day. What makes her story so interesting is its visibility to us and what we can learn from it. She is mirroring back to us a process we are all going through, even if we pretend otherwise. Yet, her transformation this time feels so real. She looks like someone who is content, happy, and in love. Lovato has, somehow, become a model of how to return – from crisis, from confusion, from the exhausting need to be everything at once – and land in a place where she no longer seems desperate to be understood, because, for once, she finally understands herself.