What are sad girl dinners and careless coffees?

Originally framed as a solo, low-energy meal—something you eat when you can’t be bothered to cook, clean, or perform nutrition—sad girl dinner has since evolved. It’s not always lonely anymore; sometimes, it’s communal. A group of friends, each bringing one snack, no pressure to coordinate, no obligation to host. The charm lies in its refusal to be “complete.” It’s dinner without structure, without guilt, and without the performative wellness that dominates so much of food culture online. The point is simple: eat your way through a bad day and laugh it off together. You’re with your friends, eating exactly what you want, nothing cooked by you, low effort across the board, but somehow, every bite hits exactly where it needs to.

At its core, sad girl dinner rejects the idea that every meal needs to be optimised. It’s not about macros, balance, or even satisfaction in the traditional sense. It’s about permission to eat like a human having a (bad) day, not a lifestyle influencer with a brand deal. 

If sad girl dinner is about feeding yourself when you’re emotionally tired, careless coffee is about soothing yourself when the day feels slightly unbearable. It’s the overpriced iced latte you absolutely did not budget for. The one with the unnecessary oat milk upgrade, extra flavoured syrup, and even strawberry cold foam!

Careless coffee is what you get when your problems feel too big to articulate and too small to justify a breakdown. You don’t want advice, solutions, or even the occasional conversation. You just want to sit with a perfectly brown, overly iced, vanilla latte, alone or with a friend, and let the world slow down for ten minutes. In the same universe as girl therapy, careless coffee isn’t productivity or nourishment. It’s a pause, a small, irrational indulgence that makes the day feel survivable. 

Of course, the internet will continue to name and package these moments. That’s inevitable. But beneath the labels is something surprisingly sincere, a collective admission that not every coping mechanism needs to be profound. Sometimes comfort looks like mismatched snacks on a table. Sometimes it looks like an extravagant iced latte you didn’t plan to buy. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.