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"Self-care" is ensest konulu porno film izlemeka difficult term these days. Divorced from its original activist meaning and co-opted by capitalism, it's become a concept companies invoke to, uh, mostly sell expensive lifestyle products.

Unlike many of its contemporaries, the self-care app Aloe Bud -- which debuted in April of last year -- largely succeeds in avoiding these pitfalls. Its simple interface, pleasant design, and lack of gamification make it a good option for people who want reminders to practice helpful habits, but don't want a guilt-trippy "wellness" program.

Before downloading Aloe Bud, I'd been lightly interested in self-care apps but mostly skeptical of them. Bogged down by anxiousness and an overpacked schedule, I struggled to remember the small moments of perspective that can turn a bad day tolerable: refilling my water bottle, taking a walk, allowing myself a break. But I didn't want to replace that issue with a program at which I could fail. I didn't want to feel like a fuck-up if I didn't drink enough water one day, or only meditated sporadically. Fortunately, Aloe Bud pretty much removes that pressure from the equation.

One of the app's strengths is that it doesn't pretend one method of self-care is universally beneficial. (Many apps focus strictly on meditation, exercise, or healthy eating.) Instead, it allows users to choose the activities -- hydration, taking breaks, fuel, reaching out to friends -- they want to prioritize.

Like many people, I wish I drank more water and took more breaks (shoutout to burnout culture and late-stage capitalism), so I chose those two elements as my areas of focus.

Somehow, push notifications aren't that annoying

Next, I set push notifications for those activities, either for a check-in ("I did this") or a moment of reflection ("Here's how I'm feeling about this activity"). For example, the app reminds me to hydrate at noon every workday. At 3 p.m., it reminds me to reflect on the time I've spent fully divorced from work that day. (Again, shoutout to toxic millennial work culture.) I write my reflection in a little text box. If I want to look at it later, it'll be on my Activity Log.

The push notifications are gentle and unobtrusive. They function more as suggestions than instructions. Still, I'd advise users not to set too many. Even a gentle push notification is still a push notification, and if you're getting too many from the same app, their power lessens. If you're ever feeling bombarded, you can also mute as many notifications as you want.

Fine, the design is really cute

Aloe Bud is, frankly, adorable to look at. It fills the screen with cute pixelated icons in not-too-bright teals and pinks, like a pastel take on the original Pokémon games. And it's designed simply, which makes it easy to use. In fact, there's pretty much zero learning curve for the user -- largely because the app doesn't have a lot of features. This is to its benefit. Yes, you can only set reminders, check in on activities, and view your own timeline, but anything else runs the risk of being distracting.

This simplicity is my favorite thing about Aloe Bud. The app is refreshingly non-competitive; in fact, there is no way to add friends, see other people's activity, or keep track of how "well" you're doing numerically. It affords you infinite chances, doesn't chastise you, and keeps things unapologetically light. (As creator Amber Discko has explained before, the app's language was intended to be as positive as possible. The app uses the word "fuel," for example, to consider the well-being of people who have complicated relationships with food.)

Should you pay for the extras?

Aloe Bud does offer several in-app purchases, but they aren't necessary to get the full experience. For $1.99, you can buy an expansion pack of reminders and reactions. For $3.99, you'll be permitted to write personalized reminders for any activity on your dashboard. These features, while nice, are absolutely not necessary to enjoy the app. Frankly, it's also a little weird to pay for self-care. When I tried out the $3.99 feature, I felt slightly more pressure to use the app than when I hadn't paid for it, which seems counter to my original approach. I also didn't find the personalized reminder feature necessary -- the default reminders are already pleasant, and their value is less rooted in their phrasing and more in their presence at all.

If you do want to support the app financially, there's a donation page on the Aloe Bud website.

The verdict

Let's be clear: A lot of the self-care sphere is questionable. The idea of marketing self-care at all makes me queasy. But that doesn't change the fact that a lot of people could use an extra boost in the self-preservation department -- and they're certainly not getting that boost from society itself.

So have I drunk more water and taken more breaks than when I first downloaded the app three months ago? Probably, but I don't know. I haven't kept track, nor do I want to. But what I appreciate about Aloe Bud is that it seems to endorse (as much as a consumer product can) the idea that taking care of oneself isn't rooted in "treating yourself." Instead, it celebrates the actual good stuff -- movement, water, friendship, gentleness -- unobtrusively. As it should be.