Why dentists are the new social media stars

“We like to think of ourselves more like a private members’ club,” says the dentist Dr Tom Crawford-Clarke, whose charm, floppy hair and twinkling smile are reminiscent of a Disney prince. His practice, Luceo, on Wimpole Street, wouldn’t look out of place in an interiors magazine. Two Dodo Egg lights by Beata Heuman hang above a pink upholstered sofa, and sprawling artworks by Finn Johnson, the up-and-coming City & Guilds of London Art School graduate, adorn the walls. It’s the antique glass mirror that clients gravitate towards, however, for selfies that are then posted with swooning captions about the “stunning interiors” and the status of their smiles.
Crawford-Clarke is part of a new breed of super-dentist who have entered the beauty arena, marrying medical expertise with the experience of going to a top spa. Their needles, drills, probes and pliers are softened by curvilinear sofas and soothing colour schemes. Plastic cups are replaced by biodegradable cardboard versions, while expensive diffusers mask the scent of disinfectant that hangs in the air.
Their rise can in part be traced back to Invisalign, the orthodontic service that subtly straightens teeth. Once upon a time only teeth that were bad to the point of being crossed merited braces. Now a marginal overbite or one-degree slant on a single tooth can mean parting with thousands (roughly £3,000-£6,000) and committing to more than a year’s worth of retainers. With more than 18 million Invisalign users worldwide, it seems like every other millennial mouth is filled with the plastic moulds. They used to be inserted and removed in private but now, much to the horror of non-Invisaligners, this is often done in full view, the unmistakable clicking sound echoing across office canteens and restaurants countrywide.
“People have realised that cosmetic dentistry can change lives,” says the impossibly glamorous dentist Dr Rhona Eskander, founder of Chelsea Dental Clinic. Call it the “Invisalign effect”: it has coaxed dentists out of sterile and unsexy treatment rooms and into the social media spotlight.
The new cohort have Instagram accounts with follower numbers to rival fashion influencers. Their TikToks about diet and decay blow up to the same extent as choreographed routines performed by celebrities. “Omg I need them all,” reads one comment about multicoloured interdental brushes (snazzy flossing sticks). They host, and are guests on, podcasts. These are dentists who people flock to rather than have phobias of. “I’ve always believed dentists and healthcare professionals should be influencers. We should be encouraging healthy decisions,” says Eskander, who just so happens to do it while wearing a full set of lashes and a cream shorts suit.
“Ninety-five per cent of our clients come from Instagram,” says Crawford-Clarke, who did about 500 video consultations (“they swelled our business”), all free, during that breeding ground of self-improvement otherwise known as lockdown. His feed is filled with videos of himself, chatting breezily on a swivel stool (“People need to get to know me and realise dentists are normal, nice people who aren’t scary”), and candid videos of micro-influencer clients with freshly minted smiles.
“We want people to get a sense of us as a clinic from the off,” he continues. His website — all brown, lavender and beige — looks like a colour-scheme suggestion from Farrow & Ball; you can even buy Johnson’s aforementioned art on it. “It’s all about the patient experience,” Crawford-Clarke says, something that his wife, Eliza, the clinic’s genial business director, helps to create, liaising with clients on WhatsApp and greeting them at the door. “We make sure patients get a good 45 minutes to an hour in the chair so they feel fully informed, understand the benefits and any negatives associated with various treatments. When patients are with you for 12 to 18 months you get to know them as friends and renewing the confidence in their smile is such a good feeling.”
Dr Mahsa Nejati’s Belgravia practice, the Nejati Clinic, which has just shy of 100,000 followers on Instagram, feels more like an A-list medi spa than somewhere you’d have a root canal, although of course she does those too. It’s vast and luminous, all white and wood. You can have skin-refining LED therapy during your appointment and pick up some of its Mahsa Rosemary & Thyme Probiotic Oral Breath Drops on your way out. TV shows are projected on to the ceiling above Nejati’s dental chair to occupy patients while plaque is buffed and enamel polished.
“There can be a depressing undertone when it comes to medicine in the UK,” says Eskander, whose appetite to practice was fuelled by visiting her aunt in America and seeing how glossy and considered dentistry could be. She enlisted her architect sister to redesign her clinic, which, sheathed in textured clay and with a natural stone front desk, is inspired by the structure of bone.
The 37-year-old has 122,000 followers on Instagram and 100,000 on TikTok, where she posts about “veneer breath” (a thing, apparently), Margot Robbie’s mouth (the most requested smile) and, of course, satisfying teeth transformations. “People don’t just want to see ‘before and afters’ any more. My followers see me as more than a medical professional.” Indeed, many have her in their ears too, via her podcast Mind Movers, where episodes run the gamut from imposter syndrome and addiction to anxiety and egg freezing.
“People, especially Gen Z, recognise the holistic impact of dentistry,” Eskander says. Her client base ranges from twenty to seventysomethings, although “it’s usually children who send [her] videos and results to their parents”.
And the only way is up. As the appetite to interfere with our faces — Botox to freeze, fillers to shape — wanes, “the best thing you can do to look youthful is to sort out your smile”. Just don’t forget to post about it on Instagram.