You’ve seen the face. It’s usually red, tear-streaked, and shoved uncomfortably close to a camera lens while a mountain of spicy noodles sits in the foreground. For years, the internet has been obsessed with Perry Nicholas Ormick—better known as Nikocado Avocado. But lately, the vibe has shifted. It’s not just about watching a guy eat too much anymore. People are genuinely unsettled. If you’ve ever caught yourself thinking, "Wait, why am I scared of Nikocado Avocado meme content?" you aren't alone. It’s a specific kind of digital dread that taps into our deepest fears about health, sanity, and the terrifying power of the "performative" lifestyle.
He started as a vegan violinist. Seriously.
Back in 2016, Nick was a skinny, soft-spoken musician living in New York. Then the mukbang happened. He didn't just join the trend; he devoured it. Over the next decade, we watched a slow-motion car crash in 4K resolution. He gained hundreds of pounds, started using an electric wheelchair in grocery stores, and began filming explosive, seemingly manic breakdowns that felt less like "entertainment" and more like a cry for help.
The Uncanny Valley of Internet Meltdowns
The reason the why I am scared of Nikocado Avocado meme phenomenon is so pervasive is that it plays with the "Uncanny Valley" effect. Usually, we use that term for robots that look almost—but not quite—human. With Nick, the "uncanny" part is his emotional state. Is he actually angry? Is he crying for real? Or is he a brilliant, albeit twisted, actor who knows exactly how to manipulate the YouTube algorithm for maximum engagement?
It’s the uncertainty that creates the fear.
📖 Related: Why American Beauty by the Grateful Dead is Still the Gold Standard of Americana
When you see a meme of him screaming "It's your fault!" while wearing a CPAP mask, your brain doesn't know whether to laugh or call an ambulance. This cognitive dissonance creates a lingering sense of anxiety. We are watching a human being physically and mentally deteriorate for profit, and the fact that it's "just a meme" makes the viewer feel like a silent accomplice to the tragedy.
Two Steps Ahead: The Psychological Horror of the Great Reveal
In late 2024, everything changed. For months, or rather years, the memes were about his decline. Then, he posted a video titled "Two Steps Ahead."
He appeared on screen—thin. He had lost 250 pounds in secret while using pre-recorded footage to trick the world into thinking he was still gaining weight. He called it the "greatest social experiment" of his life. This is where the fear moves from "I’m worried about his health" to "This person is a master manipulator."
The why I am scared of Nikocado Avocado meme isn't just about the physical body anymore. It’s about the realization that we were being watched while we thought we were the ones watching him. He leaned into a "villain" persona, wearing a giant panda head and speaking in a calm, almost chilling monotone. It felt like a plot twist from a psychological thriller. If he could fake his entire life for two years, what else is he capable of?
👉 See also: Why October London Make Me Wanna Is the Soul Revival We Actually Needed
The "Gluttony" Archetype as a Modern Monster
Humans have a primal fear of excess. Historically, stories of gluttony were used as moral warnings. Nikocado became the living embodiment of that warning.
- The Physical Transformation: The sheer speed of his weight gain was jarring.
- The Waste: Seeing thousands of dollars of food destroyed or thrown around is viscerally upsetting to our survival instincts.
- The Rage: His screams aren't just loud; they are guttural. They sound like someone losing their grip on reality.
When these moments are turned into memes, they lose their context but keep their intensity. You’re scrolling through TikTok at 2 AM and suddenly his distorted, screaming face pops up. It’s a jump scare for the soul.
Why the Internet Can't Look Away
Psychologists often talk about "benign masochism." It’s why we watch horror movies or eat spicy peppers. We like to feel "threatened" in a safe environment. Nikocado Avocado provides that in a digital format. We watch the chaos because it’s a relief that it isn't our chaos.
But there’s a darker side to the why I am scared of Nikocado Avocado meme obsession. It mirrors the fear of our own consumption habits. Are we all just one click away from losing ourselves to the "algorithm"? We see ourselves in him—maybe not the 40,000 calories a day part, but the part that craves attention, the part that stays online too long, and the part that performs for an invisible audience.
✨ Don't miss: How to Watch The Wolf and the Lion Without Getting Lost in the Wild
The Reality of Content Creator Burnout and Body Horror
Let’s be real for a second. The mukbang community has a body count. Several creators in this niche have faced severe health crises or passed away due to the physical toll of extreme eating. Watching Nick wasn't just watching a meme; it was watching someone flirt with death for views.
The horror comes from the realization that the "audience" (that’s us) is the monster. We clicked. We shared the memes. We made him famous for his self-destruction. The fear is a byproduct of our collective guilt.
How to De-escalate the "Nikocado Fear"
If the memes are actually getting to you, it helps to break the fourth wall.
- Recognize the Character: Treat "Nikocado" as a fictional character played by Perry Ormick. He is a performer. The screaming is a bit. The crying is a bit.
- Understand the Algorithm: YouTube rewards "high arousal" emotions—anger, shock, and disgust. He isn't necessarily crazy; he’s just very good at his job.
- Digital Hygiene: If the memes are triggering genuine anxiety, use the "Not Interested" button. Your feed is your environment. Don't let a "villain" live in it rent-free.
The saga of Nikocado Avocado is a landmark in internet history. It’s the first time we’ve seen a creator use their own body as a canvas for a decade-long performance art piece that bordered on body horror. Whether he’s the "villain" he claims to be or just a man who found a very lucrative, very dangerous way to stay relevant, the fear he inspires is a testament to how much power creators have over our emotions.
Next time you see a meme of him, remember: you’re looking at a mirror of the internet’s most extreme tendencies. It’s scary because it’s real, and yet, it’s the most calculated "fake" thing we’ve ever seen. That contradiction is exactly why we can't stop talking about it.
To move forward, focus on consuming content that emphasizes longevity and mental clarity. Diversify your feed with creators who prioritize transparency over "shock value" to reset your brain's baseline for what constitutes normal digital interaction.