Is sunscreen toxic? The UV truthers on the Internet sure think so.

'They told us the sun was the threat,' another said. 'Not the corporations funding both the warning and the cure. I stopped burning when I stopped believing them.'
'People burn because of the seed oils in these processed foods,' read a third reply. 'If you eat clean, you'll be fine.'
Wait — what? Wasn't it just yesterday that we were supposed to feel guilty for
not
using sunscreen? Yes, but forget all that nonsense from your dermatologist. Now it's burn, baby burn.
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The social media doctors have weighed in, and now a serious portion of the public believes any or all of the following: Sunscreen doesn't prevent cancer, it causes it. Sunscreen is a ploy by big pharma to increase profits by making people sick. Use it, and you'll end up deficient in Vitamin D (most people reportedly don't put on enough for this to be a problem).
A 2024
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Brigham and Women's Hospital dermatologist
She learned that firsthand, in 2023, when she posted a TikTok video with what seemed like basic, if perhaps even dull, advice: wear sunscreen on exposed skin and reapply it regularly.
The vitriolic responses, and there were hundreds, had a theme: She was a shill for big pharma. She was propagating the lie that sunscreen protects against skin cancer. She was saying this to … somehow … get more patients.
'I had no idea that this was a public sentiment,' she said. 'It had never been discussed in medical school or any of my training.'
But the misconception that it's harmful is so common that even educated people believe it, she said. 'I went to play tennis yesterday, and my coach was like, 'I'm not putting chemicals on my body.' He's an engineer.'
The skepticism has its roots in reality, if only very tangentially, said Timothy Rebbeck, a professor of cancer prevention at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, whose research focuses in part on false claims connected to cancer.
'This is a phenomenon we see in a lot of cancer misinformation,' he said. 'There is a kernel of truth to a story.'
For example, he said: a study is done in a test tube or an animal that shows a compound found in microscopic levels in sunscreen, when exposed to ultraviolet light, could cause DNA damage.
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That result, taken out of context, makes its way to social media, where it's sensationalized and amplified. 'By the time it gets to your social media feed, it doesn't resemble the original piece of information,' he said. 'No one goes back to the original paper and sees that it was in mice.'
Even if sunscreen raised your risk for skin cancer — which it doesn't, he emphasized — its well-established cancer-fighting benefits would outweigh any risk. 'If you're trying to make a choice, the choice is pretty clear.'
There are two types of sunscreens: physical blockers, which have zinc oxide or titanium dioxide and reflect ultraviolet rays from the sun; and chemical blockers, which contain chemicals that absorb the sun's ultraviolet rays.
Fernanda Duarte put sunscreen on Luisa Vilela, 10, of Watertown at the Artesani Playground in Brighton in 2021.
Christiana Botic for The Boston Globe
Rebbeck said that people who are concerned about the content of sunscreens should choose one that contains zinc oxide or titanium oxide, which are well established as safe and effective without any indication of carcinogenicity or other adverse health effects.
As Harvard Health Publishing explained in
'However, there has been no conclusive evidence that oxybenzone is harmful to humans,' it wrote. 'Organizations that have raised concerns about oxybenzone typically cite studies done in rats, where the rats were actually fed oxybenzone. It would take an individual 277 years of sunscreen use to achieve the equivalent systemic dose that produced effects in these rat studies…'
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But what's Harvard Health Publishing compared to the wisdom, or at least the reach, of social media star and
'Anytime I do an interview, I get a lot of s*** when I admit that I don't [wear sunscreen],' she said in a viral 2024 episode of her 'Let's Be Honest' podcast, before prompting her guest to talk 'about the health benefits of the sun and why we maybe don't need sunscreen.'
'We've literally spent our whole existence as humans under the sun all day, until the last, like, 100 years or so, and now we're like shut-ins … and that's really bad for a lot of reasons,' her guest replied.
At Castle Island on a recent weekday, the weather app was showing a UV rating of 5, high enough for the website of the National Weather Service to recommend use of a sunscreen of at least SPF-30.
But Catherine Civitella, who was hanging out with a friend from college, wasn't wearing any, as she considers it 'toxic.'
She formed that opinion from 'the internet,' she said, and also by observing people in Florida, where she used to live. There, she noticed that the better people ate, and the more time they spent in the sun, sans sunscreen, the better their skin looked.
'What you put in your body is more important than what you put on your body,' she said.
Over on the beach, Maria Turolska, a Dorchester grandmother watching her 18-month-old grandson, both fair-skinned, said she wouldn't use sunscreen on herself or the little boy, even though his parents wanted her to.
Asked if she thought sunscreen could cause cancer, she reflected the widespread skepticism about basically everything these days: 'The companies who sell the products want you to think this, but it's hard to know if it is good or not good.'
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Alas, as is too often the case, you may be doomed no matter what you do. Studies have found that people who use sunscreen tend to stay out in the sun longer, according to Harvard Health Publishing, 'and thus may actually increase their risk of skin cancer.'
Beth Teitell can be reached at

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Amory Sivertson: This is all prerecorded, so you may hear us stumble over things, questions that we wanna ask you, in which case we'll just do them again. Feel free to do the same if you start an answer and you want to say it differently. Johnson: And you're allowed to swear because it's a podcast. Brooke Eby: Noted. Sivertson: If that's your jam. Eby: It's actually like my New Year's resolution to do it less. So I'm trying not to. But like, I feel like that's such a cliche New Year's resolution that never really sticks, you know? Sivertson: No, I don't know anyone who's trying to swear less. I think in these times people are swearing more. Eby: Yeah, it's the inverse, perhaps. I'm Brooke Eby. I'm currently in Florida. I'm here for the winter, so right now it's like 80 degrees, which sorry if you guys are in the Northeast. I'm in Maryland for the summer, so I used to be in Maryland year round, and now that I live with my parents, I get to just mooch off of their snowbird lifestyle. Sivertson: Brooke Eby is 36 years old. Until recently she was living alone with her dog, Dr. Draymond Green, named for the basketball player Johnson: Last fall, Brooke and Dray moved in with Brooke's parents who mostly live in Maryland, but make like geese in the winter and head south. Brooke did not take the decision, to use her word 'mooch off' her parents, lightly. First, she consulted her over 200,000 followers on TikTok. Eby (clip from TikTok video): I need advice, people. Johnson: In this TikTok video from last summer. Brooke is outside. She's talking into her phone, which is positioned below her face. It has that look of an impromptu FaceTime call from a friend. Eby: I just need reassurance. Maybe I just need someone cheering me on that this is the right thing to do. Or like stories and pep talks of moving back in with your parents at the age of 35 is okay. This is a big regression feeling, so I don't know. I need reinforcement. Help me. 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Doctors outside of the family were just as flummoxed. Eby: We were all sort of delusional that I was perfectly healthy at 29, but that kind of kicked off like the whirlwind of the four year diagnosis process. Johnson: In 2022, Brooke started losing her balance more often, so she went back to the doctor. The weakness that had started in her left leg had moved to her, right. That was enough to confirm a diagnosis: ALS, neurodegenerative disease, commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease After the Yankee's first baseman who was diagnosed with ALS at the peak of his sports career in 1939. (Lou Gehrig baseball clip): A fatal disease attacked baseball's iron man. 'I might have been given a bad break, but I've got an awful lot to live for.' Johnson: As ALS progresses, you lose the ability to make most voluntary movements like walking, chewing, swallowing, food, and eventually breathing. Patients are usually given a life expectancy of two to five years, although younger patients often live for longer. Sivertson: What was your knowledge of ALS before this, or what was your exposure to it? What did you know about it? Eby: I clearly knew nothing about it because I thought in my mind it was a genetic, mostly genetic, disease that affected older men and was super rare. Like those were the three things that I was pretty sure of going into it. And then I also was told it moved so fast that you know, in a matter of months you're like paralyzed, if not dead. And I'm like, 'Well, I've been dealing with this for four years, so I just don't get it.' I'm like a young woman with no genetic markers, like they even tested my genes and they came back clear. So I just was so wrong about everything. It turns out like 90 percent of cases are not genetic, so it didn't rule anything out there. It's not nearly as rare as I thought it was, and it affects anyone at any age, like it truly does not discriminate. So everything I thought I knew about it, was wrong. I remember the ice bucket challenge, but mostly because I didn't get nominated and I felt really unpopular. Sivertson: Remember the ice bucket challenge of 2014, Ben? Johnson: I remember the viral dump-a-bucket-of-ice-water-on-yourself-after-someone-nominates-you part, but I completely forgot that this was about raising money to cure ALS maybe because nobody tagged me. Sivertson: Well, nobody tagged Brooke either. Eby: I'm like, 'Man, I'm in no one's top three.' Gimme a break. Johnson: The initial few months after the diagnosis were rough. Eby: All I had been doing was like lying in bed and eating M&M's every day. It was a dark time, reading a lot of books. I think I was reading like a book a day to escape. I know my Goodreads was fire that year. It will never be that high again. Johnson: In between tearing through books, Brooke had to tell everyone she knew that she was dying, which made people uncomfortable Eby: Because no one knows what to say. Like I remember we were at the doctor, at the neurologist, and they were like, 'Well, with ALS you really need to focus on gaining weight. So like, eat whatever you want, eat as much as you want.' And my sister goes, 'You're so lucky.' I just remember immediately pulling out my phone and being like, 'We're gonna remember that one.' My poor sister, I use it all the time. She's the kindest one of our family, and I'm always throwing her under the bus with that story. Sivertson: Brooke started keeping a little note on her phone with some of the funny moments related to her diagnosis. Johnson: But she wasn't sure anyone else would see the humor in a situation that was also pretty bleak. So she kept the note private until a wedding where she was supposed to be a bridesmaid. Eby: I was like, 'You've got to be kidding me.' The bridesmaid dress barely fit me, because, again, the M&M's. Then I showed up with a walker. And as soon as I walked in, the bride's grandma showed up with the exact same walker. I looked down and I was like, 'Oh, she has tennis balls, too.' So we were kind of like, 'Heyyyy.' I turned to my friend and I was like, 'We're out of here. There's no way I'm going to walk down the aisle with this walker as a bridesmaid, no chance.' My friend, not the bride, I told her that in secret and she was like, 'It could be really embarrassing or we could just try to make it really fun, like you're gonna get a good story out of it. Just go for it.' We made it through the ceremony and then by the reception, I don't know if my embarrassment had worn off or if I just kind of forgot about it, but we had the best time on the dance floor. The bride was doing the limbo under my walker. People were hopping on for walker rides and I was like, 'Okay, everyone's laughing.' I'm way more comfortable because the prior two months I had just been having like tearful conversations telling people about my diagnosis and being like, 'All right, go. I ruined your day. Like, go enjoy.' And so this was the first time I'm like, 'All right, people aren't even asking me what's going on. They're just trying to have fun.' Johnson: When Brooke got home, she started going through the note on her phone, detailing all the funny moments since her diagnosis. The next day she had brunch with the same friend who cheered her up at the wedding, Jackie. Brooke showed Jackie the note on her phone. Eby: She was like, 'Brooke, you need to do something with this. This can't just live here.' I forced her to be in my first video because I'm like, 'If we are gonna be embarrassed, you're going down with me.' Johnson: The very first video is of Brooke and Jackie on a couch, pantomiming the conversation where Brooke discloses that she has a rare terminal illness. Brooke's head is in her hands. She's pretending to cry, but Jackie is smiling wide with deep dimples. The videos that follow are very vintage 2022 TikToks. Heavy on popular sounds like this one with the footage from the wedding that started it all. (TikTok clip from Eby's account): Don't be suspicious. Don't be suspicious. Don't be suspicious. Don't be suspicious. Johnson: That's played after a caption of Brooke saying she 'doesn't want to draw attention to her diagnosis,' while you see Brooke and her walker absolutely being the main characters on the dance floor. Sivertson: Brooke's terminal illness and her willingness to laugh about it were immediately the cornerstone of her shtick. She uploaded the videos under the handle @limpbroozkit. Johnson: Fred Durst, anyone? Limp Bizkit? No. Amory? No? Sivertson: I get it. Brooke had no idea if anyone would find her videos funny. Maybe they would just find them sad. Eby: That's why in my first couple of videos, I was always kind of nervous because I'm like, 'Should I be joking at a time like this? I don't know.' Johnson: That all makes total sense to me. And I also think humor has always been this way of dealing with darkness. Right? Eby: I agree. I think especially with COVID. During and post COVID life, the whole concept of meme culture, like we can make a joke out of absolutely anything. Like we're quick now. People just need humor, I think to process things. Johnson: Can you talk a little bit about when you started to realize that you were really gaining traction with the stuff that you were putting on the internet? Eby: When I first started seeing my follower count go up and all of that. It was probably my dating videos, early days when I was using a cane. Johnson: These videos feature screenshots of the texts she got from potential suitors. Sivertson: Things like, 'Can I borrow your cane? I feel myself falling.' Johnson: Or 'Okay, I see you Abraham Limping.' Sivertson: Next, Brooke started making videos about this medicine she was taking as part of a trial Johnson: Medicine that tasted really bad. Eby: So I did a taste testing series so people could suggest how to chase it or how to deal with it. Eby (clip from TikTok video): Pickle juice, shot glass. Oh, stench. Let's just do it. Let's just do it. It's no big deal. Eby: I think after those two, that was when I started seeing, 'Okay, people are remembering that they've seen me before and they were saying like, Brooke, blah, blah blah.' They remembered who I was, as opposed to it just being another swipe away video. But it is hard, I think, to still understand any sort of impact you make if it's just on the internet, because, I don't know, sometimes it feels like I'm playing The Sims. I see the number of people watching and I see all the comments, but it's strange because ultimately I'm talking to my phone and then I'm clicking a button and then I'm seeing little internet sims pop up as comments. I'm like, 'How is any of this real?' It's strange because everyone's like, 'You're so brave.' I'm actually just talking to myself in my room. Sivertson: Do you identify as an influencer? Do you think of yourself as an influencer? What's your relationship to that term? Eby: No. I don't really have one. The stuff that I influence on is much more niche. If you need adaptive clothing, I've got a recommendation, but it's not like everyone's going to go out and sell that out because it's not a need for most people. Johnson: That's what I was gonna ask, what are the products that you would influence on? Eby: Yeah, you should see the partnerships that reach out to me. I always crack up picturing my manager versus a normal person's manager, because she gets calls from the National Funeral Directors Association and I'm like, 'Sure, sure, sure. That's a perfect fit.' It's a very weird space to be in. Sivertson: So Brooke is definitely not a full-time influencer. She still works a nine to five job in tech with only the occasional funeral sponsored content. Eby (clip from TikTok video): Funeral directors help with every step of the end of life plan. They can document your wishes and understand the logistics. So if I wanna play Kesha's 'Die Young,' noted. Johnson: Unlike other viral creators, Brooke doesn't get a lot of hate online, but she does get comments that are pretty weird. Eby: Someone wrote me a message. This poor person because I don't even know who it was. It was some stranger, but she was like, 'Sometimes I feel like I have a death sentence because I've been single for so long.' Sivertson: Oh. Johnson: Wow. Eby: It's just like, in her heart, she's not trying to be mean to me. Johnson: Mm-hmm, right. There's also this layer of pity or sort of people being like, 'Oh, you make me feel thankful for every day because your life is so terrible, right?' Eby: Yeah. Johnson: What does that feel like for you to receive? Because you seem very open and non-judgmental in some ways, but also you can see the humor and ridiculousness of the way people act towards you. That's what I was trying to ask about, if that makes sense. Eby: Yeah, I actually had not even thought about that. Then someone messaged me once and they're like, 'Do you ever get sick of being the reason people want to be a better person?' And I'd never really thought about it, but once she said it, now I'm like, I do. It kind of is in the back of my head sometimes when I get comments like that, but they have to be phrased in a very specific way for it to be a little obnoxious. Most of the time, if someone's like, 'I wanna appreciate every day.' To me, that's a great comment. I'm like, good. If someone were to say, 'I should feel lucky because my life isn't as shitty as yours,' I don't think I would like that phrasing. But I don't know that people phrase it like that. I don't remember seeing that. At least I would say feedback is a gift. The feedback that I got, especially at the beginning was, 'You're making light of this' or 'You seem too happy.' And I think honestly, most of the people who are making those comments are probably ones who had a first row seat to someone living with this and are still feeling angry at the disease. At least that's the backstory I've given them because otherwise, what do they care? I think in my mind, I'm not reframing it. I just wasn't that progressed. It wasn't that hard at that point. And now that it's gotten worse, there's not going to be as many videos of me being like, 'Hey, this is no big deal.' It's just the nature of progression. So I'm just like 'Stay along for the ride and if you wanna see things get worse, you will with this disease. So stick around.' Johnson: Watching all of Brooke's videos in one day is kind of like reading a flip book of how ALS progresses. In the early videos, Brooke doesn't look that far off from, say, one of the famous beauty influencers like Alix Earle. She does her makeup and get-ready-with-me videos. Her shampoo-commercial hair always looks like she's just had a blowout. She lives alone in a cool apartment. Now she needs around the clock care, thus the difficult decision to move home. Sivertson: How would you describe your mobility right now? Eby: Like a ragdoll? Nothing really works. I can raise my hands, but they're claws now. I'm really not into the way they look. I can still type, especially on my phone. I can still type on the keyboard, a lot more typos these days. I can move my head and talk, but below the screen, it's a mess. Johnson: Before the TikTok band briefly went into effect in January, Brooke made a video about how it felt to go back and watch her own content from the beginning. Eby (clip from TikTok video): It's so surreal the amount that we've had to adapt. Three years ago, I was walking and now I can't do anything. I don't even feel emotions because it doesn't feel real. It feels like I'm playing a role in a movie and then someone's gonna finally yell, 'cut,' and I'm gonna just pop up outta my chair and go be normal again.' Eby: Day to day, I think it's easy for me to just rely on humor and staying busy to cope. But then in that video, I just looked back at all these videos from a year before, two years before, five years before. And I was like, 'Oh my God.' I did not realize, I knew how much it changed, but I don't know, seeing myself just a year ago versus today was startling. I don't think our brains are meant to compute the speed of change that comes with this disease. I made that video and I was thinking, 'This is not a relatable feeling at all.' I just feel like I'm an actress playing a role right now. This doesn't feel real. And people are like, 'No, that's called dissociation. That's very much a psychological term that most people go through.' And I was like, oh, okay. You can tell I'm not actively in therapy all the time. Sivertson: In your videos, you've been documenting all along the way, the progression of the disease and how it's changing your life day by day, implement by implementation that you're adding into your routine. But there will come a time when you can't verbalize anymore, when you can't use your voice and use your humor in the way that you use it now. Do you think you'll still be making videos? Have you thought about what the content creation process might be then? Eby: Yeah, there are some people who go the full progression while still having a voice, and I'm still delusional enough to think I'm gonna be one of them. Even though my voice is clearly getting weaker, I'm still not slurring, which makes me happy because I'm like, people can still understand me. But that said, I have voice banked. I do have my voice saved so I can use it in some sort of text-to-talk thing. That's a big thing in the ALS community. As soon as you get diagnosed, they start saving your voice. But, I think my intention is to keep going really as far as I can. I think the way it looks might be a little different. Rather than me talking a ton, it might be like my parents helping to talk or filming stuff. Or maybe it's just, not talking and I'm just putting music over something I'm doing. I think there's options. My goal is really to show everything, just because that's what I wish someone had done. I would love to see someone who's more progressed than I am, get into bed or stay asleep. Like how the hell do you stay asleep when you can't move and you get uncomfortable or something falls asleep? Those are the things that I don't want to watch a whole sad documentary just to glean insights of how to do things when I could just make a two minute video. It might not work next week, but it's working right now, so that's the goal. Man plans, God laughs. I think people say, but that's the plan for now. Sivertson: Brooke doesn't know exactly how much time she has. Maybe she has five years, maybe she has 10 years. Johnson: What she does know is that curing ALS, it's going to take more resources. Sivertson: Social media, whether it's the Ice Bucket Challenge or a TikTok or raising awareness, can build community around ALS, but it's not going to cure the disease. That takes research, which has a price tag. Eby (clip from TikTok video): Thank you for all of the thoughts and prayers. Now, have you considered money? Sivertson: Right now ALS researchers are facing proposed funding cuts by the Trump administration that could drastically slow down their efforts. So if you're a billionaire, says Brooke, maybe forget about rockets and Mars and take up funding ALS research as your cause. Eby: I feel like the other planets have already made it here, and we just haven't been told about it. So I'm like, why don't we just ask them what it's like before we go waste all our money going there. Johnson: On TikTok, Brooke is a one woman ice bucket challenge, raising awareness of ALS and what it's like to live with it. But going viral prompted her to start another online community, one that's more specific. Eby: So if you think about my last two and a half years after being diagnosed, I put myself in front of an audience, and because of that, I have access to so many more resources because I have 200,000 people willing to answer a question I have. If I were to post, 'I really need advice on the best toothbrush for weekends.' I could get a thousand messages back. Whereas someone who's not a psycho putting her life online, like a normal person living with this disease, they could go to their support group, and I don't know how fast they'll get a response. There's just not as immediate of answers as I've been able to get. So I kept thinking about that: How do I make it so everyone has this level of access and this level of immediacy? And then I flashed back to when I first got diagnosed, they give you this godforsaken packet, it's like an encyclopedia size, and it's just pamphlet after pamphlet of resources. You've just gotten diagnosed, they tell you you have two to five years, it could be less than that and you're gonna lose every ability until that point. You go home and your brain is just scrambled and you're also like, am I gonna be paralyzed tomorrow? Like you just start thinking in terms of speed, everything moves so fast, and yet the resources they give you are in a folder with paper that none of us has used since elementary school. I'm like, if this disease moves fast, like why are we still treating it like we're in the nineties? We gotta do better than this. Johnson: Brooke's day job is at the tech company, Salesforce. She worked with some of her colleagues there to create a channel on the professional group messaging app Slack. It is specifically for ALS patients and their caregivers, and it's called Brooke says it's really special to her because it's a rare space where people are going through similar challenges. Eby: Even when I'm talking to my best friends in the world, who I've known since we were four years old, I could tell her anything, but right now, she's about to have her second baby at the same time where I'm learning how to use a ceiling lift to get me into the shower. Like we lead two very different lives. I think it's probably the same way that moms feel after they have a baby, where they're like, 'I could complain to my friends, but unless they have a newborn too, they don't get it.' That's probably how everyone feels about something in their life. It's just good to see other people, whether they live near you or look like you going through the same thing. Because you're like, 'Okay, I'm normal in this group.' Johnson: If you have an untold history, an unsolved mystery, or other wild story from the internet that you want us to tell, hit us up at endlessthread@ Leung: Thanks for listening to this episode of 'Endless Thread.' If you want to hear more, follow 'Endless Thread' on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen. And make sure you're following 'Say More' while you're at it. Kara Mihm of the Globe staff contributed to this report. Shirley Leung is a Business columnist. She can be reached at

USA Today

6 hours ago

• USA Today

Woman ‘holds death in her hand,' lives to tell about it

A woman in Japan unknowingly put her life at risk when she bent over and picked up a shell while exploring tide pools. Beckylee Rawls, 29, who lives with her husband in Okinawa, collects shells, and on this day she was videotaping the various creatures in the pools for a TikTok video when she came across a 'beautiful shell.' 'Honestly, the only thing going through my head was, 'That's a pretty shell, let me take a closer look,'' Rawls told People. She held it for about 30 seconds before noticing something inside: a live cone snail. Taken aback, Rawls replaced the shell in the water. She posted a few TikTok videos showing her misstep. As she was leaving, Rawls did an online search for that shell. 'That's when I learned I might have just made the biggest mistake of my life,' she told People. The cone snail is among the most venomous creatures on Earth. The shell isn't dangerous, it's what's inside the shell. Cone snail venom can cause paralysis, respiratory failure and cardiovascular collapse. A sting can be fatal. Also on FTW Outdoors: 'Ghost elephant' seen for first time in years; is it a lone survivor? FOX8 reported that Rawls 'went to the beach and held death in her hand.' Fortunately, she wasn't stung, but the thought that she might have been stung persisted and 'terrified' her. 'My brain kept convincing me that I had been stung and just didn't realize it,' she told People. 'By the fourth day of panic, my husband was sick of reassuring me I was indeed going to live. There is no anti-venom—that's the craziest part. It's a hope-and-pray situation.' It should be noted that humans have survived stings from cone snails, but prompt medical care is crucial. "It's even nicknamed the 'Cigarette Snail' because, according to urban legend, if it stings you, you won't live long enough to finish a final cigarette," Rawls told People. "That chilling reputation really put things into perspective." Photo courtesy of Beckylee Rawls.