A new viral solution is capturing attention on social media and among those struggling with one of the most stigmatized mental health habits—compulsive skin-picking, or dermatillomania. Known as “picky pads,” these sensory toys promise relief from the urge to pick, offering both hope and questions about effectiveness for sufferers worldwide, including in Thailand where awareness of body-focused repetitive behaviors (BFRBs) is still nascent. The rise of picky pads is not just a TikTok trend but is increasingly a topic of discussion among mental health experts, patients, and advocates seeking practical tools to manage this persistent, often debilitating behavior.
Compulsive skin-picking, medically termed dermatillomania or excoriation disorder, falls within the spectrum of obsessive-compulsive and related disorders. Individuals are driven by powerful urges to pick at their skin, causing significant distress and sometimes severe wounds or scars. Global studies estimate that up to 1.4% of the population may be clinically affected, though under-diagnosis and social stigma likely mean the true figure is higher, with many suffering in silence (Wikipedia). In Thailand, concern about the disorder lags behind more visible psychiatric conditions, and popular discourse tends to frame visible BFRBs such as nail-biting as mere bad habits rather than mental health conditions that may require treatment.
The new wave of “picky pads”—rubbery, bead-studded disks designed for the sole purpose of being picked apart—reflects both the ingenuity and desperation of people seeking relief. The underlying principle is to redirect compulsive picking behaviors from one’s body to a benign, repeatable sensory activity. Sold online for a few hundred to several thousand baht, picky pads now come in a dizzying array of designs, inspired by everything from coffee cups to cartoon characters, and are tailored for both aesthetic appeal and tactile satisfaction (TikTok, Slate).
Advocates like the founder of the Picking Me Foundation—a US-based nonprofit focused on dermatillomania—suggest that part of the appeal is the “accomplishment-based moment” it creates. “A lot of us skin pickers are looking for that,” the foundation director told Slate, describing how some find deep satisfaction in “excavating” beads from their pads—an experience that replaces the damaging thrill of hurting one’s skin. Content creators on platforms such as TikTok have contributed to the product’s popularity, sharing videos of the pads being picked and praising them for providing a safer, creative outlet.
However, mental health professionals emphasize that, while picky pads may provide temporary distraction or comfort, they are only part of a broader management approach. “Picky pads are for some people. They’re not for everyone, and they certainly shouldn’t be the only thing that you’re doing,” a therapist at the OCD-specialized platform NOCD explained (Slate article). The therapist and others recommend combining sensory toys like picky pads with proven interventions such as cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), habit reversal training (HRT), and, when appropriate, medication. For instance, behavioral treatment seeks not just to block the behavior, but to address the anxiety, stress, or self-criticism that triggers BFRB episodes (Psychology Today).
In Thailand’s context, the cultural dimension of BFRBs is significant. While Buddhist traditions sometimes emphasize mindfulness—a powerful tool in interventions like mindful awareness training for dermatillomania—there is still considerable family and community stigma directed at visible self-inflicted wounds, often perceived as signs of weakness or a lack of self-control. Mental health practitioners in Thailand, working at both government hospitals and private clinics, increasingly recognize the need to educate the public about BFRBs. Yet even in progressive Bangkok schools, health education curricula rarely cover disorders like dermatillomania in depth, and national data on BFRBs are lacking.
The popularity of picky pads may, however, represent a valuable opportunity: the democratization of self-help tools through social media is sparking important discussions and reducing shame. “Every little bit counts,” said the director of the Picking Me Foundation. The ability to engage in a less-destructive version of a compulsive behavior may enable some to gradually gain control or reduce harm, even if complete remission is not immediately possible.
Scientific studies on the effectiveness of picky pads and similar sensory toys for dermatillomania remain scarce. Published research overwhelmingly supports behavioral therapy as the mainstay of treatment, with most evidence for adjunct tools—fidgets, stress balls, silicone putty—being anecdotal or derived from studies on related disorders (Wikipedia). Nevertheless, mental health experts see value in a multi-tool approach. “Having a variety of things, including things that are free and always available, is important,” advised a specialist from NOCD in the Slate article, noting that the urge to pick may arise in settings where sensory toys are impractical or unavailable.
In Thailand, access to specialized mental health care remains uneven, especially outside urban centers. Self-management strategies propagated on platforms like TikTok may serve as gateways for individuals who would otherwise conceal or ignore their symptoms. Thai mental health advocates contend that understanding dermatillomania as a neurobehavioral disorder, rather than a flaw in character, is crucial to reducing stigma, supporting early intervention, and improving outcomes.
From a historical perspective, “fidget” or sensory objects have roots in both traditional and modern healing practices in Thailand—think of worry beads, meditation stones, and small, handmade objects used for stress relief—but these rarely targeted BFRBs specifically. The arrival of commercially designed picky pads, fidget cubes, and related products signals a shift toward Western-influenced solutions, but also a growing recognition of the value of individualized coping tools for mental well-being.
Looking ahead, mental health experts anticipate further innovation in assistive tools, as well as more public and scientific discussion about BFRBs in Thailand. Schools may, in time, include skin-picking disorder among topics in health education, and Thai researchers could contribute nuance to global studies by exploring the prevalence, causes, and best interventions for local populations. Policymakers and employers, too, can play an important role—by building workplace and community environments that recognize mental health diversity, offering support without stigma.
For Thai individuals who struggle with dermatillomania or know someone who does, the key takeaways are clear: if you find that your skin-picking causes distress, embarrassment, or physical damage, you are not alone, and help is available. Sensory toys like picky pads could offer partial relief, but should be used alongside consulting with a licensed mental health provider, especially one familiar with obsessions, compulsions, and habit disorders. Teachers and parents are encouraged to educate themselves on the signs of BFRBs, and to promote open, shame-free conversations with children and teens. For anyone hesitant to seek professional help, online support communities and resources founded by those with lived experience—such as the Picking Me Foundation and Thai online mental health support groups—can be a valuable starting point.
In conclusion, while picky pads present an innovative and accessible self-help tool, they are just one piece in a much larger puzzle for supporting individuals with dermatillomania. Thai society, much like the global community, must continue to destigmatize mental illness, provide varied supports, and create a health system responsive to the evolving needs of those with BFRBs.
For further reading on this topic, see the original coverage by Slate, background on Wikipedia, the psychology of BFRBs in Psychology Today, and the growing body of mental health advocacy on TikTok.