Mel Robbins is Kind of Annoying, Relentlessly Marketed and Has a Message That's Paper-Thin

She's also right.

Along with my long list of flaws, weaknesses and mistakes, one of the most profound and shameful is this: I am a sucker for self-help books. I love them. The latest queen of this genre is Mel Robbins, and as a self-proclaimed expert in the subject, I have a few things to say about her. I tried to read her book, and I have returned. Listen to me.

I love self-help books because they’re kind of the ultimate cheat code. I have this nagging belief that I haven’t done an especially great job with this life I’ve been given, and I’m always on the hunt for ways to do it better. I have read or listened to them all: Jim Rohn. Tony Robbins. Marie Kondo. Pema Chodrom. You name it, I’ve read it, or at least tried to. I keep hoping, sometimes successfully, that an author is going to say, “Have you tried this?” And then I’ll try it, and it will work.¹

These books are typically not taken seriously because reading them demands an admission of vulnerability, and of need. If you see someone on the subway reading Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements, they’re broadcasting that they’re searching for something, that they don’t completely have their life handled. That’s something people, at least in this country, don’t like to admit, particularly if they’re men. However, a shelf full of self-help books is like having a group of very wise friends, who can teach you quite a bit, and at least in theory, help you understand how to live a better life.

Another thing about these books is that underneath all the rhetoric, they’re commercial ventures. Tony Robbins, who is the king of this stuff, is on a mission to make my life better, or so he says. I believe him. However, he also owns an island in Fiji. If someone isn’t willing to shell out money and buy, literally, into your ideas, as a self-help expert you’re going to go nowhere. You have to sell yourself, and your ideas, hard and effectively. Which means you have to present them in a manner people will pay for.

For example, let us consider perhaps the most successful human being in the history of the planet, Mr. Bill Gates. I read his autobiography. Admittedly, he’s not a self-help person, but if one wanted to learn how to succeed, he’d be a great place to start, no?

How did he succeed? By working insanely, relentlessly hard for decades at a mind-numbingly boring craft — writing computer code. Having Asperger’s, which was only diagnosed when he was an adult, doesn’t hurt. Oh, and being in exactly the right place at the right time, developing something that turned out to be fundamental to human existence, and not doing anything really stupid. As a person, in my opinion, this made him into kind of an asshole — demanding, occasionally cruel, endlessly competitive and often, profoundly unpleasant. There will never, ever be a self-help book by Bill Gates. Normal people cannot do what he did. Normal people would not want to spend fifteen minutes alone in a room with him. But boy, was he successful. The lessons one can learn from him, however, are not saleable.

Robbins is a whole different animal. Based on about ten minutes of research on my phone, I’ve gleaned that she is from New England, went to law school, worked for a while as a criminal defense attorney, and then decided, roughly fifteen years ago, to become a self-help author and speaker instead. Along the way, she got married, thus allowing her to change her name from the hard-to-market Melanie Lee Schneeberger. She and her husband also managed to rack up $800,000 in debt somehow, which I suspect may have powered her career change and ascent. She’s published three or so self-help books, which have sold like crazy, the latest one being The Let Them Theory. That’s the one that ensnared me.

As a brand, she started out as sort of a fetching girl-next-door type. Tousled blonde hair, eye makeup, looking out from under her eyebrows. Her look has evolved (one might say it’s hardened) into something more serious, perhaps, and with more edge and energy. Now, her pictures remind me of a profile from a dating app. Her speaking fees are in the $250,000 range per appearance. And her new book, which is about almost nothing, has sold 5 million copies in 56 languages. I managed to make it through about the first hour of the audiobook version, then had to quit. As an actual source of self-help knowledge, it’s pretty bad. Yet, it’s a massive success. How? Why?

Here is some of How She Did It, which I got from thinking about her book as I listened:

The Author Has to Be Relatable: Bill Gates is odd. He kind of reminds me of Miles Davis — a genius, but one who makes you a little uncomfortable to be around. Intense, brilliant, often humorless, sort of machinelike. Robbins, by contrast, is sort of an uber soccer mom. Little, with blonde hair, no makeup and those big clunky classes that are in fashion these days, she absolutely typifies the woman on the ski trip who makes sure everyone buys their lift passes in advance so they get a discount and don’t have to wait in line. She, like me, is a former lawyer — she’s a type. A little bossy, nasal voice, confident, slightly aggressive, talks fast —the person who makes you feel like she’s got everything handled. Everyone knows someone like her. You know what she’s like. Unlike Gates, she’s familiar.

She Pretends that She Knows You: The book is full of statements that sound like she knows you personally. She thanks you endlessly. She talks about what you’re going to do, what you’re going to feel, what you have experienced. Of course, she has no idea, but this version of the Assumptive Close relentlessly supports the illusion that she’s your friend.

One way she does this is with carefully scripted stories about everyday life. These are specifically written, I think, to make it seem like she is just like her audience. She’s not, of course — she’s intensely driven, focused and has turned herself into a Martha Stewart-like human brand. But she tells endless stories about, say, being on a flight with someone annoying sitting right behind her. Or not being asked along on a girls’ weekend with her friends. See — she’s just like you.

There’s Relentless, Very Professional Marketing: Along with writing books and delivering speeches (either in person or virtually, thanks) and delivering TED talks, Robbins also has a hit podcast, a big, very beautiful website, and a whole team of people producing content. She’s all over the media. Everything is beautifully, consistently designed, on brand and very, very professional. When it comes to communicating with her market, every “t” is crossed and every “i” is dotted.

Her Solution is Relentlessly Hyped: The solution in her book, with the incredibly simplistic name of “The Let Them Principle” is, right from the get-go, presented as something that is literally going to change your life. It’s going to change every part of it — work, family, personal relationships, all of it. And there’s absolutely no qualification provided for any of these assertions. You life isn’t going to be improved, or made marginally better. It’s going to be transformed.

The Solution is Simple: This is the most essential part of any really successful self-help book. The solution has to be childishly simply, painfully obvious, and then either metaphorically, spiritually or directly connected with a transformation. People will not pay to hear that enlightenment requires years of effort, for example, or that getting in shape means months of hard work in the gym. In the case of Ms. Robbins’ book, the entire thing can be accurately boiled down to exactly one sentence, which your mother probably told you in eighth grade: Don’t get worked up over things you can’t control. It’s a waste of time.

That’s it. That’s all of it. I just saved you $15.68. She spends a few hundred pages riffing on this, but truly, those two sentences are the whole enchilada.

Rereading this, it sounds sort of bitter, or perhaps jealous. I have been writing this Substack for over a year, published more than sixty essays I put endless work into, and trust me, nobody is going to pack an arena to hear my thoughts. Am I just envious? Do I just wish I was as successful as she is? Maybe — I mean, it would be nice to be writing this from a lovely renovated farmhouse in the Hudson Valley. On the other hand, I woke up this morning rested, at peace, comfortable, and thought “This is great. I’m doing pretty damn well.” So, I don’t think it’s that.

So what is it?

I have two theories. The first one is that she’s right. Common sense is not actually very common, and the idea behind the “Let Them Theory” is really quite good advice. The thing about self-help books is that they’re all right. They’re like business consultants — they’re right, too. Knowing what you should do is usually pretty easy. The challenge is in the execution, which is very hard. I know an awful lot of people who devote an awful lot of time, energy, tears and effort, to worrying about things they can do absolutely nothing about.

Shortly after moving to Corning, I went into Hand+Foot, my bar of choice, for a couple of beers and a sandwich. I took Koda with me, and given that he’s a Husky, left him tied up outside in 18-degree weather while I ate and drank. Huskies are built for that kind of weather. Koda is the product of 10,000 years of breeding dogs that will happily pull sleds in the Arctic, after all. He was totally comfortable and safe, although unhappy that he was outside while I was not. He wanted in on the fun.

Huskies really do this.

However, while I was eating, some dimwitted little waitress from Sorge’s, the restaurant across the street, came out, saw him, and decided that this was animal abuse. A little scene developed on the sidewalk, and I had to get up from my meal, go outside, and argue with a bully. She later congratulated herself for this on social media. She ruined my meal, she was dead wrong, she’s lucky that Koda didn’t attack her,² and it still bothers me nine months later. I actually wrote her a nasty letter which, of course, I never sent. Robbins is right — I should just let it go. It’s a simple concept, but letting go of things is hard.

But there’s a second factor at work here that I think is even more important. This is where, as a Russian boss of mine used to say, she earns her hamburger. Robbins makes her readers feel seen, and gives them hope.

Being a human being is not easy. There’s frustration, failure, loss and the constant sense that nobody actually notices you or cares about you. There’s also the fear that you’re kind of powerless, that things are beyond your ability to fix or change, and that you just have to accept your lot. It’s a terrible, hopeless, frightening feeling. Charles Revson, the founder of the Revlon cosmetic empire, used to say that he wasn’t selling makeup — he was selling hope. So is Mel Robbins.

Robbins works very, very hard at creating the impression that she knows and understands her audience, and that all the things that trouble them can be fixed. This is not true, of course — if your husband is cheating on you, the “Let Them” theory is powerless, and your life is in big trouble and there’s not much you can do about it. But Robbins’ energy, her blonde hair and big glasses³, and her relentless promises of change and success and possibility are like a gin and tonic on a hot summer day. Someone knows what you’re going through. It, and you, matter to them. And you can fix things.

Long ago I worked in advertising, in New York. One of the agency’s big clients was Donna Karan, for whom I wrote copy. I remember an ad we did featuring a photo of the model Rosemary McGrotha, all dressed up in full GirlBoss attire in the back of a limousine, wearing sunglasses — and holding a baby. The concept was ridiculous. High-powered lady executives do not tote infants around with them. But it was also brilliant, because the image spoke to the awful demand our culture makes on working women that they be both supermoms and professional successes. Emotionally, the concept was brilliant.

I thought about that ad, and my profession, for months. Advertising, and most marketing, is bullshit. We promote fantasies, basically, which are very unlikely to actually happen. This is especially true for fashion advertising, which was my specialty. That $5,000 Donna Karan couture dress is not going to make you any taller, or any more attractive, or happier, or cause you to be the hit of the party. It’s a complete fantasy.

But here was my insight: people need their fantasies. They just do. They need them the way they need food, water and oxygen. It’s a basic part of being human. We are the only species in the history of ever that can imagine themselves in a different life, and it’s a very potent force. Martha Stewart sold the fantasy of being the perfect homemaker. Andrew Tate sells the fantasy of being the Ultimate Alpha Male. Taylor Swift sells the fantasy of being — well, Taylor Swift.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about this in The Great Gatsby, in a passage that breaks my heart every time I read it: Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.... And one fine morning--

And despite the dopiness of her concept, the marketing, the manipulation, all of it, in the end, Mel Robbins is the latest in a long line of people who have made themselves rich and famous by convincing people that they’re seen, and that there’s hope. Like striking some sort of tuning fork in exactly the right way, this has resonated with millions of people all over the world.

Early in the book, she writes that hundreds of people have had “Let them” tattooed on their bodies. I’m going to repeat that — the very, very simple concept, which she is selling, that it’s a mistake to be emotionally invested in events and people you can’t influence, is so compelling that people are having the phrase permanently marked on their own skin.

Good for her.

1. Favorites: The Power of Now, by Echardt Tolle; The Slight Edge, by Jeff Olson; The Practicing Mind by Tom Sterner.

2. Huskies are very, very loyal dogs. If Koda thought she posed a threat to me, he would go for her throat. Fortunately, he didn’t.

3. The Big Glasses trend, I have to admit, irritates me. I have worn glasses since I was four years old, because I have to. They’re not fashion accessories, or statements about my intellectual nature. They’re plastic things I have to have on my damn face so I don’t walk into light poles.