By Scott Sullivan
Editor
Brain Dust
Moon Juice has released Brain Dust, “an enlightening blend of adaptogenic superherbs and supermushrooms that help combat the effects of stress to align you with the cosmic flow for great achievement.”
I could use that. Between trying to edit a newspaper, promote running on legs said events have hobbled, deal with personal and political tempests in teapots that distinguish our tri-communities and maintain a family life, I need my “neuron velocity and vision fine-tuned by toning (my) brain waves, in particular the alpha waves that connect to creativity.”
Those who have dust for brains add this mix of organic astragalus, shilajit, maca, lion’s mane, rhodiola, ginkgo and organic stevia to their drinks to relieve stress, increase energy, activate their minds, promote joy, etc. A 14-serving jar costs $30.
Moon Juice calls itself “a healing force, an etheric potion, a cosmic beacon for those seeking out beauty, wellness and longevity.” In short, it’s a chain of juice stores in Los Angeles, Molly Young of The New York Times says.
A news release touting a Moon Juice cookbook describes founder/author Amanda Chantal Bacon, 34, as “a powerful influencer in the wellness space” whose products have been featured on Gwyneth Paltrow’s lifestyle platform, Goop, and are revered by the other usual-suspect celebrity lifestyle gurus.
“To achieve moguldom,” Young advises, a Gwyneth-in-training must exemplify three personas — mother, healthful living expert and entrepreneur — “and turn the sum into a ‘brand,’ which is to say an art-directed social-media-fueled dream world balancing outrageous aspiration with a teaspoon of self-conscious realness.”
The idle rich are always with us. From “Let them eat cake” Marie Antoinette to Edith Wharton heroines to the Kardashians, there has long been a template.
What has changed, Young says, is the physical martyrdom of the working class — some of us need to turn coin to afford Arianna Huffington’s $100 miniature wooden bed with satin sheets to tuck my phone into nightly — is no longer viewed as a creditable human quality.
“In our wellness-obsessed era,” Young writes, “the idea of working yourself to the bone is no longer a commendable trait but a failure of self-care: recreation is now cast as a divine pursuit …
“What Goop (and acolytes like Moon Juice) sell is the notion that it’s not only excusable but worthy for a person to spend hours a day focused on her tiniest mood shifts, food choices, beauty rituals, exercise habits, bathing routines and sleep schedule. What they sell is self-absorption as the ultimate luxury product,” the Times writer says.
Not prepared yet for California? A $175 Full Moon Dust Collection lets you rotate Spirit, Beauty, Power, Brain, Dream and Sex dusts, or take all at once. It also comes with a Cosmic Cooklet.
Moon Dude Kits — You mean guys buy this stuff? — come with Power Dust (an ancient elite formula to support your peak performance, stamina and longevity while aiding in health recovery); Vanilla Mushroom or Deep Chocolate Protein (raw, whole grain brown rice sprouted for bio-activity and availability, producing 20g of easily-assimilated protein. Cordyceps, Reishi and Tocontrienols provide enduring benefits) and a complimentary thermal Moon tote for $65. Buy June 8 in time for Father’s Day,” Moon Dust’s website urges.
Guys need to block this before our wives see it. God — or my Guru — knows the last thing I need is no more excuses for feeling listless, stressed and stupid. If my body or brain waves appear untoned or untoned, my skin doesn’t glow and my cell phone suffers insomnia, I will have no one to blame but me.
Not to worry. A $48 jar of Reishi will energize my spirit, impart centeredness and strength. A $35 Chaga jar will support my body’s innate defense systems. A $495 Full Moon Pantry Collection will complete all my spending needs.
