Lorde and Nicole Kidman take on cult wellness industry

OOn Wednesday, Hulu released the first three episodes of its most star-studded script series yet, David E. Kelley’s adaptation of Liane Moriarty’s bestselling novel. Nine Perfect Strangers. Directed by Jonathan Levine and co-produced by Nicole Kidman, the limited series takes place in an exclusive wellness retreat where titular guests attempt to undergo a spiritual and physical transformation, guided by a sketchy Russian guru named Masha, played by Kidman in a another distracting wig.

As Kevin Fallon put it in his review, the series is a tonal mishmash. Despite some performances that would otherwise attract immediate awards buzz if placed in a better show, notably from Melissa McCarthy and Michael Shannon, none of them really come together to create a dynamic ensemble. Neither of these extensively written characters nor the blatantly fraudulent institution warrant so much intrigue. Marketing-wise, the series also faces the burden of competing with the hype of HBO’s smash hit that just ended. The white lotus, which also depicts wealthy people trading their privileged home life for another privileged experience in an exotic location, and Kelley’s previous Moriarty adaptation Big little lies, where its feather is much more robust.

Whether or not Nine Perfect Strangers attracts the fanfare it claims with its all-star cast, trendy presence, and whimsical, cult portrayal of the wellness industry, along with other new media, indicates burnout and cynicism growing areas surrounding the state of personal care and wellness, especially how this has manifested itself in American life over the past several years, from social media and QAnon plots to corporate advertising and , of course, the current pandemic.

Wellness, which encompasses holistic practices and questionable remedies, is not a new phenomenon in the United States, although it seems to have become ubiquitous over the past decade. Since colonialism, the Western world has imported and appropriated Eastern medicine methods and spiritual practices which are now associated with catch-all terms like “New Age”, “Alternative Medicine” and even “Goop”. Self-care as a rationalization to embed wellness and self-improvement into our lives also has a deeper history than what the average Instagram user inundated with #selfcare sponcon would be led to believe, promoted by former philosophers and repopularized in political environments like the women’s liberation movement of the 1970s and, in particular, queer black feminist spaces. (This is why writer and activist Audre Lorde’s definition of the term is often referenced in feminist sections of the internet.)

Today more than ever, these practices and their philosophies have been detached from their history, stripped of their nuances and monetized by corporations and upper-class whites, but more noticeably in pop culture, white-class women. superior. In one piece for The New Yorker, Jordan Kisner writes about the “# selfcare-as-politics movement of 2016” which was ironically “propelled by straight, wealthy white women” in response to Donald Trump’s presidential campaign and the elections that followed, a moment that has aroused much of this demographic politically. Likewise, the rich white woman who collects crystals, receives sound baths and is obsessed with tarot cards and, most importantly, considers herself an expert in these customs has caught our collective attention and skepticism, from Gwyneth Paltrow and from his Goop empire, Kourtney Kardashian tries herself Goop, show as above Nine Perfect Strangers and Fox Fantastic island (although the rich woman is Latina).

Lorde picked up this archetype in her new music, especially the music video for her latest single “Mood Ring”, which was released on Wednesday ahead of the new album’s release. Solar energy. He captures Lorde, ironically – but maybe not so ironically – donning a blonde wig like Kidman’s Masha, and a group of women in jade green performing sun salutations, browsing old spiritual texts and playing with crystals while the young one 24-year-old croons about “I’m trying to heal on the inside.” This lifestyle has been so easily embraced by fellow human beings, especially people in the entertainment industry, that the satirical tone of these lyrics might be lacking. In her newsletter, the musician explained that the song is a “satire” and that the narrator is fictional, although she admits that she sometimes succumbs to a “magical thought” when she “needs to.”[s] believe in something to feel good and clear.

While Lorde doesn’t have a solid rebuttal to Gwyneth Paltrow’s figure – perhaps because she’s too close to home – the singer’s analysis of the culture of wellness and its diversions seems sharper. when it targets men. On the Solar energy song “Dominos”, she castigates the specific type of man who embarks on gardening, grass and yoga to rename himself for his toxicity and his misogyny. “It must be nice to be Mr. Start Again,” she sings caustically. The song cleverly illustrates how kindness is often attributed to men who associate with activities considered feminine in our culture. But it also relates to how self-improvement can easily be used as a band-aid or a facade instead of getting the actual job done.

As culture becomes more and more desperate for a cure, whether it’s political divisions, as our president constantly suggests, or life-threatening illnesses like COVID-19, the space between community and cult , non-traditional medicine and pseudoscience, self-care and individualism seem to take hold of our artistic imaginations at an extremely vital time. How can the roots of well-being be reclaimed and reaffirmed when it is a $ 4.4 trillion cash grab and used for the most dangerous political agendas? by Lorde Solar energy and Nine Perfect Strangers They might not be the perfect joints of these dilemmas, but they show how much there is to exploit in this danger zone.