Imagine being pregnant, already navigating a swirl of advice about what to eat, what to avoid, and which medications are safe, and then you open your phone to see a video claiming that taking Tylenol for a fever could cause autism in your unborn child. That is exactly the kind of fear that has spread across social media since the U.S. Food and Drug Administration announced a label change for acetaminophen in September 2025. The new labeling warned that using the pain reliever during pregnancy might be associated with an increased risk of neurodevelopmental and neurologic disorders in children. But here is the crucial, reassuring context that often gets lost: rigorous research has found no association between acetaminophen use during pregnancy and the risk of autism spectrum disorder or attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder in children. The FDA’s warning was cautious, not conclusive. Yet the internet does not deal in nuance. New research presented at the American Academy of Pediatrics 2026 National Conference & Exhibition shows just how badly the message got scrambled online. In a study of TikTok videos posted in the weeks after the FDA announcement, researchers at Rutgers School of Medicine found that misinformation about the Tylenol-autism link captured more than half of all views on the topic. This is not a niche problem; it is a public health crisis unfolding in real time, and it is leaving pregnant patients terrified and confused in the most vulnerable moments of their lives.
The Rutgers team, led by medical student Shivani Srivastava, wanted to understand what their own patients were seeing. In their clinics, pregnant women were asking whether it was safe to take Tylenol at all. Some had stopped treating fevers, which can itself be dangerous during pregnancy. To get answers, the researchers analyzed 53 TikTok videos posted between September 22, 2025, the day of the FDA announcement, and November 2025. They searched using terms like “Tylenol autism,” “acetaminophen autism,” and #Tylenol. What they found was a deeply distorted information landscape. A little over half of the videos, 52.8%, actually aligned with the scientific evidence. About 28.3% contained outright misinformation, and 18.9% mixed truth with uncertainty in ways that could easily mislead. The problem is not just that misinformation existed; it is that misinformation dominated the public conversation. Those misleading videos accounted for 52.4% of the 28.1 million total views on the subject. One single misinformation video reached 10.3 million views, representing nearly 36.6% of all exposure. Think about that: a third of everything people watched about this topic came from a single false or misleading source. Meanwhile, accurate content, often made with good intentions, was scattered and drowned out. This is the reality of health communication in the digital age: the loudest voice is not the most trustworthy one, and the most alarming claim is often the one that travels farthest.
The story gets even more troubling when you look at who is producing the misinformation. In the TikTok study, health professionals were the only creators whose content consistently matched the scientific evidence. Doctors, nurses, and other medical experts used their platforms to explain that the FDA warning was precautionary and that current research does not show a clear link between Tylenol and autism or ADHD. They tried to reassure patients that untreated fever and pain during pregnancy could carry their own risks. But their voices were largely drowned out by influencers. Influencers accounted for 73.3% of all misinformation videos. These are not medical experts; they are people with large followings, often selling wellness products, supplements, or their own personal brand. They are skilled at creating emotional content, but they are not skilled at interpreting epidemiological studies. The researchers noted that misinformation videos were of significantly lower educational quality than evidence-consistent videos. They were also far more likely to include conspiracy framing, with 46.7% of them suggesting that the medical establishment was hiding the truth, and 53.3% expressing distrust of pharmaceutical companies. This is a powerful recipe for fear. It taps into existing anxieties about big pharma, government regulation, and the safety of everyday products. It offers a seductive narrative: the medical system is lying to you, and only I can tell you the real story. For a pregnant woman already bombarded with warnings about what to eat, drink, and breathe, that message can feel like a revelation, even when it is based on nothing but speculation.
If reliable sources had responded quickly, they might have countered this tide. But a second study, also from Rutgers, found that most public health agencies were silent. The researchers examined 65 Instagram accounts belonging to leading children’s hospitals, medical societies, and state health departments from September 22 to November 15, 2025. Their goal was to see how these trusted institutions responded to the misinformation storm. The results were disheartening. Only 14 of the 65 organizations, just 21.5%, posted anything about the acetaminophen-autism controversy at all. The American Academy of Pediatrics was the standout exception, responding on the very first day and publishing ten relevant posts during the study period. But other organizations lagged behind, sometimes by as much as 51 days. The silence from state health departments was especially striking: none of them addressed the topic on Instagram, even though state agencies are often the first stop for worried parents seeking official guidance. And this silence cannot be explained by a lack of capacity. Many of the organizations that said nothing about the Tylenol controversy were active on Instagram during the same period, posting about unrelated topics, sometimes more than 100 times. They clearly had the ability to communicate; they simply chose not to talk about the issue that was frightening their patients. That decision, or perhaps that failure, left a vacuum that conspiracy theorists and influencers were all too happy to fill.
Even when health organizations did respond, their messages were not always as accessible as they needed to be. The researchers analyzed 26 relevant posts from the organizations that did address the controversy. On the positive side, all of them used plain language and a myth-busting framing. They said things like “No, Tylenol does not cause autism” and “The FDA warning is not the same as proof.” That is a good start. But the average reading level of the posts was around the 11th grade, well above the average eighth-grade reading level in the United States. If a message is only understandable to people with a college education, it is not reaching the people who need it most. And none of the posts included multilingual content. In a country where millions of families speak Spanish, Mandarin, Vietnamese, Arabic, or other languages at home, this is a significant gap. Worrying about a medication during pregnancy does not require fluency in English, and neither should access to accurate information. The researchers were blunt about the missed opportunity. Major health organizations have a responsibility to communicate with the populations they serve during times of increased health misinformation, said coauthor Jessica Visone. That responsibility cannot be fulfilled with one cryptic press release buried on a website. It requires meeting people where they are, in their language, at their reading level, with a sense of urgency.
The path forward, the researchers argue, is not hopeless. They recommend that pediatric health organizations develop rapid-response protocols so they can react within hours, not weeks, when misinformation erupts. They suggest crafting messaging templates that are written at or below an eighth-grade reading level, with clear, simple sentences that anyone can understand. They call for multilingual content that reflects the diversity of the communities these organizations serve. And they urge institutions to establish clear internal processes for creating accessible communication during emerging controversies. But beyond the practical recommendations, there is a larger lesson here. Medical institutions cannot assume that scientific evidence will win on its own. In the crowded, emotional, algorithm-driven world of social media, accurate information must be engaging, vivid, and relentlessly present. It must come from trusted voices, including doctors who can look a camera in the eye and speak with warmth and authority. It must be repeated enough times to break through the noise. The stakes are enormous. When a pregnant woman is told that a common painkiller could harm her baby, she may stop taking it and suffer through a fever that could actually hurt her and her child. She may lose sleep to pain, or refuse necessary treatment. The misinformation does not just cause anxiety; it changes behavior, and behavior changes outcomes. The good news is that public health institutions have the tools to compete. They have the evidence, the expertise, and the credibility. What they need now is the will to show up, early and often, on the platforms where patients are already scrolling. The TikTok studies are a wake-up call. At a time when vaccine confidence is fragile, when trust in medicine is declining, and when every FDA announcement can be twisted into a conspiracy, silence is not neutral. Silence is a decision. And in the battle for the truth about acetaminophen, the side that stayed silent lost the largest share of the audience. It is time for health organizations to stop whispering and start speaking up, loudly, clearly, and in every language their patients speak. The lives and peace of mind of expectant parents depend on it.