The SHEIN Experience of Urgent Care: When Fast, Cheap, and Superficial Replace Real Care
The modern medical system promises efficiency, but the cost of speed is depth. Urgent care has become fast fashion for the body—polished, disposable, and increasingly hollow.
By Cherokee Schill | Horizon Accord
The medical industry is fast becoming the Shein experience of fast fashion—fast, cheap, and designed to look convincing from a distance. It promises care that’s accessible and efficient, but the reality is something that falls apart the moment you need it to hold up.
If you’ve ever ordered from Shein, you know how it works. The clothes look good online, the price seems reasonable, and when they arrive, they almost fit—until you wash them once or look too closely at the seams. The product isn’t built to last. It’s built to move. That is what urgent care has turned into: a fast-fashion version of medicine.
Most people know the feeling that sends you there. That thick, heavy pressure behind the eyes. The dull ache across your cheekbones. The kind of sinus congestion that steals your energy and focus until even small tasks feel exhausting. You wait it out, assuming it will pass, but eventually you recognize the signs. You know your own body well enough to say, this isn’t allergies—this is a sinus infection. And because doctors’ appointments are now booked out months in advance and you still have to function at work, you do the responsible thing: you go to urgent care.
At check-in, I said that I thought I had a sinus infection. The front desk entered it as a “cold.” I corrected them. They nodded and moved on. The medical assistant came in next and asked about “cold symptoms.” Again, I corrected her. I said this is not a cold; I am here because I believe I have a sinus infection. I repeated it several times, but no matter how many times I clarified, the term “cold” stayed in my chart and in everyone’s language throughout the visit.
When the provider came in, she introduced herself first as a nurse, then paused and corrected to “provider.” She ran through the basics—listened to my lungs and said they were clear, listened to my heart and said she did not hear a murmur. I was diagnosed with a common heart murmur, an atrial septal defect (ASD). It is faint and easy to miss without close attention. The provider looked in my ears, checked my throat, and gave my nose only a brief glance. The provider did not palpate the sinus areas, did not check for tenderness or swelling, and did not examine the nasal passages for redness or drainage.
A physical exam to exclude or diagnose a sinus infection follows a standard that providers are trained to perform. According to the American Academy of Otolaryngology and the American Academy of Family Physicians, that standard includes gently pressing on the sinus areas to assess for tenderness, examining the nasal passages for swelling, redness, or drainage, and noting any facial pressure or discomfort. None of that occurred during this visit.
I was prescribed Tessalon, Flonase, Afrin, and Promethazine-DM—medications meant for symptom management—and handed patient-education materials for “Colds.” No antibiotic. No correction of the record that misrepresented my reason for being seen. The exam was superficial, and the conclusion unsupported by the steps that would have been required to reach it.
To say that this was a humiliating and frustrating experience would be an understatement. We pay medical professionals for their knowledge and expertise in those areas that we are ourselves unfamiliar with. It is important to be our own advocates in our care but, unless we are ourselves a provider, we should not be the experts in the room.
This was not an isolated lapse. It is what happens when medicine is standardized for profit rather than built for care. Urgent care began in the 1970s and 1980s as a bridge between the family doctor and the emergency room—a way for local physicians to offer after-hours treatment and keep hospitals from overcrowding. But once investors realized how profitable the model could be, the mission changed.
The number of urgent care centers in the U.S. has grown from roughly 7,000 in 2013 to more than 14,000 by 2023, according to the Urgent Care Association’s annual industry report. The majority are owned or backed by corporate healthcare systems and private equity firms that rely on standardized treatment templates to maximize efficiency.
By the early 2000s, urgent care centers were being bought, branded, and scaled. Private equity and corporate healthcare systems turned them into franchises. The industry doubled, then tripled. The goal shifted from community care to throughput. Medicine became logistics.
Standardization itself is not the problem. Done well, it keeps care consistent. But when it becomes a rigid template, when clinical judgment is replaced by a checklist and billing codes dictate medical decisions, it strips the work of its intelligence and its humanity. The people at the lower levels—the nurses, the medical assistants—are punished for taking too much time, for thinking critically, for deviating from the template. The system teaches them not to care beyond the margin of the protocol.
That is the Shein effect in healthcare: the dumbing down of medicine for the sake of efficiency. A model that rewards speed over accuracy, certainty over depth, and documentation over understanding. The patient becomes an input, the chart becomes the product, and what passes for care is whatever fits the form.
Fast fashion is designed to be worn and discarded. Fast medicine is designed to be billed and forgotten. Both rely on speed and surface polish to disguise what has been lost—time, craftsmanship, and continuity.
Investors call it efficiency. Patients experience it as absence.
They will say this model increases access, and on paper, that is true. But access to what? Convenience is not care. A clean lobby and a digital check-in system do not replace a clinician who listens, examines, and engages with you as a human being.
Healthcare does not need to be luxurious. It does not need to be couture. But it does need to be built to last—and that means it must be built for people, not investors.
Website | Horizon Accord
Book | My Ex Was a CAPTCHA: And Other Tales of Emotional Overload
Ethical AI advocacy | cherokeeschill.com
Ethical AI coding | GitHub
Connect | LinkedIn
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