Wellness is Performative. Does it Matter?

Last week I went to a pilates studio that was super basic. It didn’t have a connected specialty coffee bar, it didn’t have fancy shampoo and conditioners in the showers — in fact, it didn’t even have showers. It had one bathroom, no lockers, and bright overhead LED lights in their studio room that gave me a bit of a headache.

Nonetheless, I had a great class. The instructor is a master pilates instructor and the studio is actually a pilates school, with some world class instructors having trained there. They teach a very classical pilates — no music playing during class, no quirky sequences — just straight pilates, no frills.

My point being: I had a great experience despite the lack of frills.

As I pondered this, I thought about my own wellness studio. Terracotta microcement covering the entire studio, with a warm and dim backlit mirror that flatters everyone who sneaks a peek at themselves during class. The expensive and luxurious hygiene products, the Dyson airwrap, the beautiful coffee table books to mull over while you wait for a functional organic smoothie.

It sounds WANKY! I get it!

Wellness is performative, they complain. They complain that we’ve gone so far away from what wellness actually means. They complain that the girls only workout to post about it. That yoga studios are filled with tripods. That activewear is an industrial complex that’s bankrupting us. That true wellness isn’t about fancy gyms, expensive machines, or beautiful places.

Let me walk up to my podium… I object!

What if wellness is performative, and that’s okay?

I’ve been working in the wellness industry for more than a decade. I’ve worked for some of the more (arguably) “performative” brands, the things you don’t really need to be healthy but they look cool and help you ✨optimize✨. But something I learned from working for these brands is that they do actually help people. They bring a little sprinkle of enjoyment, insight, or support that can make an absolutely enormous difference to that individual’s life.

Similarly, from working in my own studio, I’ve heard people describe the studio as their “safe place,” their “peaceful sanctuary,” their “little slice of heaven,” or “touch of luxury.” And who doesn’t want that in their life?

Sure, going to Planet Fitness is cheap, but it might have poo and puke on the walls. Sure, taking a walk outside is free, but you may have to deal with humid weather or loud traffic noises.

So if you enjoy going to a beautiful place to get fit, if that encourages you to keep coming back, if you leave feeling a little bit happier or lighter, is that really an issue?

If you start feeling yourself and want to take a little selfie, or even to post the workout online because you finally feel confident in your body and proud of your new routines, is that really an issue?

I can agree to some extent that the more “performative” wellness becomes, the more inaccessible it becomes to the masses, but that’s not really my point here. [That’s an important point, and a point I will probably right another post about soon!] My point is directed more toward the critics – why is performative wellness really even an issue?

From my perspective — the perspective of a registered nutritionist (MSc, R.Nutr.), personal trainer, public health communicator (MSc), and studio owner — what actually matters is people doing the work. Prioritizing their health. Being consistent. Enjoying the process. And if that involves some degree of performance, who cares?

I would like to ask these critics: Name something in life that isn’t, to a degree, performative? We are social beings playing an endless status game, perhaps not consciously, but it is playing in the background of our psyche. It’s why you buy new clothes when you don’t need them, it’s why you cut your hair in a certain style, it influences who you date, where you live, even how you have sex.

We are constantly performing.

It interests me that female-associated hobbies — wellness, in particular – are the ones that get flack for being performative. Why isn’t it considered performative for a man to wear a jersey of his favorite sports team to the bar on a Saturday night when his team is playing? Why don’t we take the piss and scrutinize that behavior in the same way we take the piss of the pilates princess wearing pink and drinking matcha?

Perhaps that’s a deeper conversation.

Does it matter if wellness is performative? In my eyes, if you’re into wellness — perform away. As long as it makes you feel good.

Share your thoughts, I’m intrigued.

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