In the end, it was spirulina that convinced me against taking alternative health culture too seriously. I’d been feeling ragged with exhaustion. As a vegetarian, I instantly blamed anaemia and started chugging down organic “gently iron-enriched” elixirs that tasted akin to licking a warm car. Feeling no better, I solemnly diagnosed myself with various zinc/magnesium/potassium deficiencies before moving on to protein bars that had the taste and consistency of sugared earwax.
Flirting briefly with chlorophyll – it turned out that I wasn’t photo-synthesising – I embarked on a course of vegan protein milkshakes that tasted like the kind of liquefied almond-scented pus that might be used in a hipster-themed waterboarding session. Then I tried spirulina, an “ancient sea-algae”, blah, blah, yak, yak (I was barely bothering to read the labels by this stage). The spirulina stank and after staining my mouth Shrek-green, was promptly dispatched into the bin, as finally my brain registered that perhaps some “wonder products” were only alternative because they weren’t good enough to be mainstream.
I remembered all this when I saw that coconut oil, the healthy gloop that has long been raved about as miraculous for everything from cooking to moisturising, has been denounced by the American Health Administration as being “as unhealthy as beef dripping”, because it’s high in the wrong kind of fats. This was instantly decried in some quarters – maybe deservedly so. I’m wary, as in the way of these things, that soon there may be new headlines, such as “coconut oil is great again”, “AHA apologises to coconut oil” or “coconut oil stops Brexit”.
Anyway, this isn’t really about coconut oil, spirulina, chlorophyll or any other single product that might aid certain people. This is about an ongoing, out of control, global Worried Well-Hell bore-a-thon, where those devoted to “clean living” drone worthily on about their needs, health, Zen and those very special indeed tummies. At the zenith of all this is the High Priestess of Hamptons-Wellness, Gwyneth Paltrow, who has now all but abandoned acting to concentrate on her company, Goop, her vehicle for her personal brand of high maintenance gullibility, which has so far memorably included inserting jade eggs into her vagina and deep-steaming that same somewhat beleaguered organ.
However, the rising cultural tyranny of Privileged-Chi goes far beyond the likes of Paltrow’s attempts to vanquish mortality by, say, sous-vide-ing their vulvas. The sense of hysteria, money wasting, time-squandering and clutching of straws is evident everywhere at all levels – it’s just a matter of how far you’re prepared to go and how much you’re willing to pay.
Individuals are entitled to make these choices (just as I’m entitled to be vegetarian) but I’ve come to wonder if, rather than being instructive, all this has the opposite effect, in that it inspires ordinary people basically to avoid the entire concept of looking after themselves – even the helpful bits. The tide of high-end health-solipsism maybe even be contributing to the obesity crisis, because, after one too many patronising lectures, what can decent, sane people do except rebel by going on Monster Munch and Pop-Tart binges?
Does it ever occur to Paltrow and any of the other self-styled Yoga-Mat Messiahs that they’re a self-selecting group of people (solvent, health-aware, maybe to a neurotic degree) who are always going to have a good chance of staying well and that much of the rest is just holistic window dressing – a series of lifestyle placebos?
Regarding my illness, it turned out that I was hypothyroid and, thankfully, I was helped by taking these things called “proper drugs” made by people known as “proper scientists”. For others, some less obvious wonder product may indeed work, but, maybe, just for once, in the spirit of experimentation, they could try keeping the exciting news to themselves.
