I became aware of something that for someone in my business* is like the Super Bowl, PBO’s inauguration day (COME BACK, BARACK!), and a wet sloppy kiss from Jason Momoa all rolled up into one: goop’s first ever wellness summit, called In Goop Health. Which makes no fucking sense to me. Is it supposed to be a riff off in good health? It vaguely reminds me of In God We Trust, but I don’t think that’s supposed to be it. I think it’s the former, but it’s still enough to make me go, ‘Huh?’ The summit was this past Saturday in Culver City, CA, and it would have been my dream to go all Samantha Bee at the Republican convention up in this bitch. One of my all-time favorite skits is when she tried to get Republicans to say the word ‘choice’ in reference to Bristol Palin’s decision to have her baby, and the lengths to which they refuse to do so until the very end is laughable. I love how Sam doesn’t give the word to them, she just makes them finally have to say it.
I think I’d take a slightly different tack, though. I’d go incognito as one of them! Granted, I’d have to buy a pair of Sweaty Betty Haven Yoga Pants, but they’re only available in black. While this is my favorite color, it’s not really acceptable for the goop crowd. I don’t want to be stereotypical, but I may have to turn to lululemon for my white yoga pants needs. This may surprise you, but I haven’t looked at yoga pants in–well, ever, really. What I’m discovering is that the traditional yoga pants, as it were, has been replaced by the semi-transparent leggings, and I am not having ANY of that. I did manage to find Dance Studio Pants III (Regular) in white that will work, and the name is almost as long as the pants are expensive. It would be worth it, though, if it meant I could flit amongst the goopies–goopites?–undetected. Add to that a Balenciaga Classic Hip Bag for the low, low price of $850, and I’m good to go!
The base fee for the day was $500. That was the no-frills ticket, and you had to pony up $1,500 if you wanted the privilege of supping and drinking with Gwyneth and her pals. I can’t imagine anything I’d want to do more than watch Gwyneth sprinkle Moon Juice Brain Dust in her morning smoothie which includes ingredients such as maca, ashwagandha, ho shou wu, and cordyceps. The recipe suggests different Dusts for different times, and this is straight text, “Sex Dust, for, you know”. Seriously? We’re (presumably) grown-ass adults. We can say we’re fucking, can’t we?
Anyhoo, most of the write-ups about the ‘summit’ were straightforward, taking what the speakers said at face value, or even gushing about them. The one publication that actually took time to dismantle all the bullshit is, incredibly, The New York Post. The first paragraph reads as if it’s from The Onion:
Gwyneth Paltrow’s inaugural health-and-wellness summit on Saturday kicked off just as you’d expect: well-groomed women wearing yoga pants and expensive handbags hooking themselves up to IVs and oxygen tubes in a parking lot, experiences otherwise associated with the glamour of getting triaged at a disaster site.
In fact, I was pretty sure I was being pranked, but, sadly or gladly, that was just the tip of the goopy icebearg! There was talk of ‘integral photosynthesis’ and of ‘the ontological experience called your life’. There was a presentation of a 10-minute face-lift that included local anesthesia and needles being poked in someone’s face. This procedure is apparently one of the simple things in life costing $3,500 and one of the side effects may be blindness. It’s better to look good than to be able to see, amirite ladies???
To be fair, there was a sex panel that seemed to be mostly sex-positive and advocating for asking what you want in bed. That’s solid advice, but is it worth $1,500? I would say no, but your mileage may vary. There was also Kyeritos, a healthy macro version of burritos (sounds tasty, actually) made with seared wild salmon and macro pressed(??) veggies, and matcha lattes, and more kale than you ever thought could possibly be in one place.
There was a panel on how mothers are the source of all evil. Just what women need! Another reason to feel bad about how they parent. Despite one panel member insisting ‘mother’ is pan-gender, that’s not how it’s used in the vernacular, so we’re back to the 1800 century and blaming wimminz for all the world’s problems!
Lena Dunham was slated to appear, but inexplicably didn’t, and there was no explanation or apology given for her absence. Arguably, that makes the event better, but women (and, of course it was mostly women) paid good money to see her, so they deserved an explanation. In addition, everyone was supposed to get drinks after the event was over, but only the ones who paid more than base price were allowed to toss back gelatin-free, kombucha-infused jello shots with Gwyneth and her besties.
The whole event sounds incredible in so many meanings of the word, and here’s the thing–they’re planning another one in New York City in January. Guys. Seriously. They are going to be in my favorite American city for another goopy summit. You know what that means, right? Crowdfunding my trip to New York City to attend In Goop Health, East Coast flavah! I unabashedly love New York City (for three or four days, anyway), and what better way to spend my time than to see Hamilton, er, go to the goop healthness (I’m combining health and wellness here) summit???
*frantically tries to think of a way to get a ticket to Hamilton covered in this crowdfunding project*
Can you imagine me in my lulus and Ray Bans, sipping my hemp smoothie sprinkled with Moon Juice Spirit Dust and chowing down on a Kyerito? Taking notes on my iPhone while munching on some vegan kale cookies. Learning how to express myself through yoni mime while joyfully embracing my inner kundalini. POOG Patrol! Are you feeling me on this? Imagine me bringing Auntie Cherry Blossom with me. I wonder how many Frappuccinos and Big Macs I’ll have to promise her to get her to accompany me to this seven-ring circus?**
I have to ask her, so I zip to Starbucks to get the goddamn Venti Green Tea Crème Frappuccino Blended Coffee she requested the last time we talked, and I added a Double Chocolate Chunk Brownie to literally and figuratively sweeten the deal. I get back to my house and go through the usual rigmarole of setting up my crystal ball, gagging over the jasmine incense burning the hairs off my nostrils, and putting on a song that I think Auntie Cherry Blossom would like. Tina Guo’s electric cello performance of Skyrim (Dragonborn)! She’ll love that. I put it on repeat on my computer and turn the laptop so she can see the video when she materializes out of the mist.
Then, I watch funny cat videos on my cell phone until she finally deigns to show up twenty minutes later. I make sure my translating app is good to go, and I turn to her. She’s transfixed by the video of Tina Guo playing, so I wait until it’s finished.
Auntie Cherry Blossom: This girl is fantastic, but I’m concerned she’ll catch cold in those outfits.
Me: She’s fine, Auntie Cherry Blossom. It’s a style thing and–
Auntie Cherry Blossom: You can practically see her nipples! She is so talented, though. You go, girl!
I stop the video and silently hand over the frappuccino and the brownie. Her eyes light up, and I have to avert my own eyes as she devours the brownie as quickly as she can. I have a hard time believing this is how she ate while she was alive, but I guess she’s done with manners now that she’s ethereal. She takes several long swallows from her frappuccino before sighing in satisfaction.
Auntie Cherry Blossom: Now that was worth missing mah jongg with the girls for! What do you want? No more vagina talk, I hope.
Me: Not exactly. See, there’s this ev–
Auntie Cherry Blossom: Does it have to do with Gwyneth? I bet it does. You only want to talk when she says or does something stupid.
Me: Yes, it has to do with Gwyneth. She’s having a Goop wellness summit in New York City. I’m going to crowdfund my expenses to going, and I want you to go with me.
Auntie Cherry Blossom: Me??? In New York City?? Will I have to talk about my vagina?
Me: No one else can hear you, Auntie Cherry Blossom, so, no–
Auntie Cherry Blossom: I’m in!
Me: Gwyneth will be there.
Auntie Cherry Blossom (narrowing her eyes): Then we better bring our A-game, right?
She shoots out her fist, and I bump it.
Auntie Cherry Blossom: I’m out. Tell that Tina girl to put a sweater on!
With that, she’s gone, and I thank the ancestors for their time and grace.
So there you have it, POOG Patrol! Auntie Cherry Blossom and me at the next goop summit, POOG’ing our little hearts out. Let’s make this happen! Meanwhile, I’ll be checking out the prices for Hamilton tix. That’s what would be the best for my well-being.
h/t @PaleRabbit on Twitter and Saumya Arya Haas on FB for the New York Post link.
*Making fun of goop and Gwyneth.
**More than twice the carnival attractions as a regular three-ring circus.