Psychology Today or Marketing Weekly? How Native Ads are Masquerading as Journalism
Psychology Today, once a respected resource for mental health and psychology, has undergone a significant transformation over the years. Established in 1967 with ties to the field of psychology, the platform originally carried the weight of professional authority. However, since its acquisition by Sussex Publishers in the 80’s (a privately held company with almost no web presence of it’s own), it has drifted far from its roots. No longer affiliated with the American Psychological Association (APA), it has shifted from being a scholarly, journal-style publication into a commercial enterprise catering to a broader, less critical audience. Under Sussex’s ownership, the site has prioritised monetisation over substance, raising serious questions about its credibility.
Central to its revenue model is its therapist directory, a paid placement system that positions the site as a marketing platform rather than a purely educational resource. Contributors are not required to adhere to rigorous academic standards, and articles are rarely, if ever, peer-reviewed (the editorial staff seem to have no ties to psychiatry or psychology). Instead, the site features a mix of blog posts, opinion pieces, and pop-psychology aimed at maximising user engagement. Whilst these changes may make the content more accessible, they come at the expense of reliability and depth. Critics argue that this shift reflects a profit-driven approach that blurs the line between legitimate mental health resources and outright advertising.
Nowhere is this more evident than in the growing prevalence of native advertisements on the site. These ads, designed to resemble genuine articles, allow companies to promote their products under the guise of providing helpful, unbiased information. The boundaries between education and marketing are increasingly obscured, leaving readers to wade through content that often prioritises the interests of advertisers over the needs of those seeking support. Such practices exploit the trust that readers place in Psychology Today, turning vulnerable individuals into easy targets for commercial interests.
This erosion of trust in what was once a reputable platform is emblematic of a broader trend: the commodification of mental health resources. Psychology Today, once a beacon of psychological insight, has become a cautionary tale about how corporate interests can corrupt even the most trusted spaces. For those navigating its pages, a healthy dose of scepticism is now essential.
The Problem with Native Ads in Trusted Spaces
Native advertisements are among the most pernicious features of capitalism, particularly in fields like mental health and education, where readers often turn to trusted sources in times of vulnerability. Designed to mimic independent, expert-driven content, native ads use the veneer of authority and the guise of helpful advice to steer readers toward commercial products. This blend of propaganda and deception exploits the trust placed in platforms like Psychology Today, which many still view as a reliable resource despite its increasingly commercial orientation.
The trouble with native ads in mental health and education lies in their ability to blur the line between impartial information and marketing. A reader seeking guidance on dyslexia, for example, may encounter an article that appears to offer expert advice on managing the condition. However, upon closer examination, the article is revealed to have been written by the CEO of a company selling an expensive software solution, with no mention of their vested interest. This sleight of hand is designed to deceive, presenting a paid product as the logical and only answer to a problem, whilst conveniently omitting other, often more affordable or proven options.
Such trickery capitalises on the emotional states of those seeking help. Mental health struggles and learning disabilities are deeply personal, often accompanied by a sense of urgency to find solutions. Native ads exploit this urgency by presenting themselves as authoritative advice, creating a false sense of trust. In reality, they are carefully constructed sales pitches designed to monetise the reader’s distress. This manipulation is particularly troubling because it targets those least equipped to critically evaluate the information, further entrenching barriers to access and understanding.
This practice is not merely unethical; it exemplifies how capitalism uses propaganda to commodify basic needs. By co-opting trusted platforms and cloaking advertisements in the guise of expertise, native ads turn the pursuit of help into a minefield of commercial traps. Readers are not just being sold products—they are being sold a false sense of security, at a cost that many cannot afford. In this way, native ads reflect a deeply exploitative system, one that prioritises profit over genuine care, perpetuating inequality and eroding the trust that once defined platforms like Psychology Today.
The Dysolve Article: A Case Study in Disguised Advertising
The Psychology Today article, “The High Cost of Learning Disabilities for College Students,” is a masterclass in disguised advertising, carefully constructed to lure readers with what appears to be well-intentioned, expert-backed advice. The article’s presentation, however, gives the game away for those willing to scratch the surface. Its title hooks readers with the promise of addressing an urgent issue—how learning disabilities affect college success—whilst subtly positioning artificial intelligence (AI) advancements as a transformative solution. What’s concealed here is that the author has a financial stake in the very solution being pushed, a detail glaringly absent from any disclosures.
The article header is particularly egregious. It prominently features a “Reviewed by” button—an attempt to project authority and credibility—but this is no peer review in the traditional sense. Clicking through reveals that the so-called reviewer has no expertise in the subject matter, undermining the legitimacy of any claims presented. Instead of expert validation, readers encounter a content-sharing toolkit encouraging them to propagate this piece of thinly veiled marketing across social media. By design, the article masquerades as trusted advice whilst priming readers to amplify what is, at its core, an advertisement.
The author, Coral PS Hoh, holds a Ph.D. and presents herself as an expert unlocking the mysteries of dyslexia, yet nowhere in the piece is her commercial interest disclosed. As CEO the company offering costly LLM-driven software to address the very issues described in the article, she stands to profit directly from readers who are persuaded to seek solutions. This glaring omission transforms what might appear to be a compassionate exploration of the “cost” of dyslexia into a cynical marketing ploy. The true “cost” is not borne by her company’s profits, but by the financially and emotionally vulnerable readers who may feel pressured into paying $389 per month for a plan that might help, or lobbying their schools to sign up for an even more lucrative institutional option.
The emotional manipulation is as calculated as the design. The problem-solution framing primes readers to believe that Dysolve is not just an option but the answer to overcoming learning disabilities in higher education. It offers no context for proven, low-cost, evidence-based methods like multi-sensory instruction or Orton-Gillingham approaches—methods that have supported dyslexic learners for decades. The omission of alternatives is not an oversight; it is a deliberate choice to make Dysolve seem indispensable.
This article represents the worst of native advertising: deceptive framing, undisclosed conflicts of interest, and a façade of authority designed to push a product. Psychology Today has long-since handed over its credibility to corporate interests, undermining the trust of readers who turn to its pages for support and guidance. The irony is glaring—an article about the high “cost” of dyslexia ignores its own steep price: eroded trust and the exploitation of those seeking help.
What the Article Doesn’t Tell You
The Psychology Today article’s most egregious omission is its failure to mention the well-established, accessible, and often low-cost methods that have helped individuals with dyslexia for decades. Instead, the piece carefully constructs a narrative that positions Dysolve—an LLM-driven, exorbitantly priced service—as the singular, innovative solution to an age-old challenge. This isn’t just misleading; it’s exploitative. It capitalises on the lack of awareness among readers, creating the false impression that without Dysolve, students with dyslexia are destined to fail.
The truth is that proven methods for teaching dyslexics to read have existed for decades, and they don’t come with a $389 per month price tag. The Orton-Gillingham approach, for instance, is one of the most widely recognised and effective methodologies. It is a structured, multi-sensory approach to teaching reading that combines visual, auditory, and tactile learning. I’ve been trained in Orton-Gillingham through my district, and I’ve seen first-hand how it supports dyslexic learners to build reading fluency and confidence without placing financial strain on families. Similarly, multi-sensory instruction, which I expand upon in my book Holistic Language Instruction, integrates sensory pathways to help dyslexic students connect sounds to letters and words. This method is accessible, adaptable to individual learners, and vastly more affordable than the Dysolve software being marketed as a necessity.
Beyond these time-tested methods, research continues to produce free or open-source tools that make reading support more accessible than ever. For example, speech synthesis tools like Festival and MBROLA have been successfully implemented in multilingual contexts, offering tailored support for dyslexic students without cost barriers. Game-based learning platforms, such as interactive 2D digital games, have been shown to enhance reading skills through engaging, adaptive design. Tools like DYSLEX_RE leverage Google’s Mobile Vision API to provide real-time reading assistance, integrating features like OpenDyslexic fonts to reduce errors and improve accessibility. Open-source learning tools like AiRO offer interactive, auditory, and visual learning support to children at risk of dyslexia, providing personalised intervention at no cost. Even universal accessibility tools, which customise generic reading tools with specialised fonts and layouts, have demonstrated measurable success in improving readability for dyslexic individuals.
These resources, supported by research and validated in classrooms and real-world contexts, offer a clear counterpoint to the article’s misleading claims. The deliberate omission of such solutions allows Dysolve to be framed as both unique and indispensable, perpetuating a narrative that excludes those who cannot afford its steep price. It also erases the contributions of educators, researchers, and developers who have spent years creating accessible alternatives—alternatives that have been quietly and effectively supporting dyslexic learners for generations.
What the article does, in essence, is exploit ignorance. By failing to mention these established methods, it traps readers in a false dilemma: pay for Dysolve or resign themselves to failure. This kind of framing is not just unethical; it’s deeply harmful. It reinforces the idea that quality support comes only at a premium, ignoring the very real, very effective tools that are already out there—tools grounded in evidence, accessibility, and equity. For anyone working with dyslexic students, or for families seeking help, it’s important to know that solutions do exist, and they don’t have to come at the cost of financial hardship.
The Ethics of Native Advertising
The rise of native advertising on platforms like Psychology Today represents a significant erosion of trust, where the pursuit of ad revenue takes precedence over ethical journalism. This shift is particularly troubling because readers turn to such platforms for credible advice during vulnerable moments. However, instead of prioritising accurate, evidence-based information, Psychology Today has become a vehicle for undisclosed marketing, exploiting its audience under the guise of professional expertise. Its true purpose—generating revenue—is carefully obscured, leaving readers unaware that the platform functions as an advertising hub rather than an impartial resource.
Nowhere is this clearer than in the case of articles like “The High Cost of Learning Disabilities for College Students.” Written by the CEO of Dysolve, a company selling a $389-per-month “beta price” dyslexia “solution,” the piece offers no disclosure of the author’s financial interest. It reads like a compassionate, research-driven article but functions as a calculated sales pitch. This lack of transparency is not just an oversight; it is a deliberate attempt to manipulate readers into mistaking marketing for journalism. The ethics of publishing such a piece are further undermined by the dubious “reviewed by” feature, which projects an illusion of credibility. Clicking through reveals that the reviewer has no subject matter expertise, a fact that exposes the review process as little more than window dressing. It’s a thinly veiled attempt to create legitimacy where none exists.
Compounding the issue is the absence of any meaningful editorial oversight. Articles of this nature are not peer-reviewed, nor are they written or vetted by experts in the relevant fields. Instead, contributors are free to present opinion as fact, often with commercial motives that go unchecked. This editorial negligence is particularly unethical in the mental health and education space, where readers are often parents, caregivers, or individuals seeking solutions to urgent challenges. Their vulnerability makes them prime targets for this kind of deceit.
The broader implications of this practice are alarming. Vulnerable individuals, desperate for answers, may feel pressured into spending money they don’t have on expensive, unnecessary solutions. In the case of Dysolve, the steep $389-per-month price tag could force families into financial hardship, particularly when lower-cost or free evidence-based alternatives already exist. By allowing such content to flourish, Psychology Today not only misleads readers but also reinforces a harmful belief: that quality support must come at a premium. This creates a false and deeply inequitable system where only those with disposable income can access solutions, while others are left behind.
The erosion of ethical standards on platforms like Psychology Today should concern anyone who values reliable, trustworthy information. When advertising is disguised as journalism, the cost is not just financial; it is the loss of trust, equity, and the ability to make informed decisions. Vulnerable readers deserve better, and platforms profiting from their struggles must be held accountable for the harm they perpetuate.
Broader Implications: When Profit Masquerades as Help
The Dysolve article and others like it reflect a growing trend: the commodification of mental health and education, where essential tools and services are paywalled and human struggles are transformed into opportunities for profit. This pattern is becoming increasingly visible in the way neurodivergence is exploited, with individuals facing challenges related to their experiences of dyslexia, ADHD, and autism in an unsupportive world targeted as lucrative markets. Companies frame their products and services as indispensable solutions, while masking the fact that they are profiting directly from unmet needs.
It is no accident that dyslexia, autism, and ADHD have become fertile ground for monetisation. The capitalist strategy is simple: identify an underserved group, amplify their struggles through a narrative of urgency, and sell access to solutions at a steep price. We already see this in the rise of autism and ADHD “coaches”, services that promise to unlock potential or provide life-changing tools but often come with no regulatory oversight or evidence of efficacy. It is only a matter of time before “dyslexia coaches” emerge, offering personalised plans and expensive programmes, all whilst claiming to fill a gap that public education and accessible resources supposedly cannot. The individuals and families seeking these services are not being served; they are being exploited.
This commodification is particularly insidious because it preys on vulnerability. For neurodivergent individuals, or parents desperate to help their children, the promise of progress—better reading skills, improved focus, a brighter future—can be impossible to resist. Yet access to these promises is locked behind paywalls. Tools like Dysolve, priced at $389 per month (for now), position themselves as saviours whilst ignoring the systemic barriers that make such tools seem necessary in the first place: underfunded education systems, lack of free resources, and widespread inequities in access to diagnosis and support.
The broader implication is clear: capitalism thrives on monetising human struggle. Instead of addressing the root causes of educational and mental health challenges, it exploits them, turning unmet needs into profit streams. In doing so, it shifts the burden to individuals and families, framing success as something that can be purchased—if you can afford it. This strategy not only deepens inequities but also erases the very real, evidence-based solutions that exist outside of this profit-driven model. Dyslexia, ADHD, and autism do not require expensive subscriptions or commercial coaching. What they require is equity: accessible, affordable, and proven support systems that prioritise people over profit.
Final thoughts …
The erosion of trust in platforms like Psychology Today is not inevitable; it is a choice—a choice to prioritise profit over integrity, ad revenue over accuracy, and corporate interests over readers’ well-being. For platforms claiming to offer guidance on mental health and education, this is an unconscionable failure. If Psychology Today wishes to maintain any shred of credibility, it must commit to transparency and ethical responsibility. At a minimum, this means requiring clear disclosures about financial interests, particularly when contributors stand to profit directly from the products or services they promote. Readers deserve to know when advice comes with a price tag.
It is equally essential for platforms to ensure that content is balanced, evidence-based, and free of hidden agendas. Articles addressing critical issues like dyslexia must provide readers with the full picture, including proven, affordable alternatives to commercial solutions. The research I’ve referenced here—spanning open-source tools, interactive technologies, and decades of multi-sensory instruction—offers far more practical value than the narrow, self-serving narrative pushed in the Dysolve article. This kind of research, widely accessible and rigorously tested, is what platforms like Psychology Today should be championing, not burying beneath glossy marketing disguised as journalism.
The consequences of inaction are too great to ignore. When trusted spaces allow themselves to become profit centres, the people who need help most are the ones who lose. Readers, often vulnerable and searching for solutions, are left to navigate a minefield of misleading claims and unaffordable promises. Their struggles become opportunities for exploitation, and their trust becomes just another commodity to be sold.
We must demand better. Platforms that profit from public trust have a responsibility to honour it, not exploit it. Clear disclosures, balanced reporting, and a commitment to integrity are not optional—they are essential. If Psychology Today continues down its current path, it will cease to be a trusted resource and will instead serve as a cautionary tale.
“When trusted spaces turn into profit centres, we all lose. It’s time to demand better.”