under the influence

One of humanity's more beautiful aspects is that we can influence each other. Without the catalyst and efficiency of influence, we wouldn’t be where we are today. But is there a threshold?

Modern society has put a new spin on the concept of influence. With credit to digital connection, influence has been plugged into an amp. The pros are obvious, the cons are complex.

We’re well into an era where being an “influencer” is a legitimate career. This is exciting for the influencer. But what about for the influenced? To be in the business of sharing and creating content is one thing. To be on the receiving end is entirely another.

It can quickly feel like drinking out of a firehose. We can only be influenced so far before we’re stunned in a paradox of choice or caught in a web of conflicting advice. The advice fatigue is real. 

Influence has become transactional, but at its heart is quite intimate. It’s an exchange where another person’s advice or idea shifts the particles of our own life—physically, mentally, and/or emotionally—often changing our heading. And yet, every time we’re successfully “influenced,” someone down the line is likely getting paid. Influence is a currency, after all.

If these transactions inspire positive life change, great. But what about when influence takes something from us? What about when influence ends in a loss of autonomy, self-worth, motivation, or inner peace? It does happen: the industry of influence turns a profit while we drift from our sense of self. 

But that requires us to be susceptible. Not only can we politely decline a bid for influence, we can simply close the doors from time to time. 

When we’re not under contract with influence, we have space to tend to the garden of our own thoughts. To unearth our own glimmers of insights. To discover our own practices. To cultivate our own wisdom. I’d say that’s even more beautiful than influence at its best.

in question

What is it about a smoothie that has $20 bills so eager to jump out of our wallet?

I’ll be the first to admit. The longer the ingredient list, the more excited I get. For every unidentifiable word, I will happily shell out another dollar. I don’t think I’d question my own values unless the smoothie costs more than $25 which, in itself, is a question of my values.

It’s hard to find a more fitting symbol of wellness culture than smoothies. Culturally appropriated ingredients, an overpromised list of benefits, aesthetics that make us weak in the knees—all blended up with an exclusive price tag and sipped through the straw of privilege.

Critique aside, let’s spend our dollars how we want. But where there’s a wellness trend, there tends to be something left behind. Or in this case, blended into Hailey Bieber’s Strawberry Glaze Skin Smoothie at Erewhon.

Have you heard of sea moss? On Erewhon’s site, this is the product description: “Infused with reverse osmosis water and lime, this superfood tonic can be seamlessly incorporated into your wellness routine, offering a natural boost to health and well-being." And a jar of it costs $88.

What’s unfortunate is that nowhere on the page are we learning about where the use of sea moss actually comes from. You’d never know that sea moss has been harvested and used for thousands of years, originating in Celtic culture. It was actually used during famines to help thicken scarce meals. It was later introduced to Jamaicans, likely in the 1800’s. Sea moss has since acquired deep significance in Jamaican culture where it is used as a health tonic, as a form of folk medicine, and for celebrations.

Here’s where the appropriation comes in. Both Irish and Caribbean Americans have been on the receiving end of discrimination and racism in America without reparation, and yet—we will not hesitate to turn a profit on their culture. In the eyes of the average consumer, Erewhon gets the esteem (and profit) for bringing this superfood to market, and all cultural significance is lost in a brightly-colored blend of fruits and coconut cream.

This isn’t about striking Erewhon smoothies or products. It’s the same old conversation that, maybe things aren’t quite what they seem.

We’re already diligently reading ingredient labels for the sake of our health. What if we started reading them through the lens of social responsibility? What if we saw them as an invitation to learn more about cultures that aren’t our own? The ingredient list is always a moment of truth… And the truth will set us (all) free.

moving toward / moving away

Right now I’m moving away from the story that we should like our own art. Sometimes I create art and love it it; I feel proud of it. But a part of me is more afraid of the standards that this art might have met in order to achieve my own acceptance… I can only imagine where those standards came from. Besides, I have a nagging feeling that the art that doesn’t meet my expectations is the art that’s advancing my craft in mysterious albeit frustrating ways. I’m learning to trust the art that feels weird, random, off-the-mark. Even better if I don’t “like it.”

I’m moving toward putting that art out there. It’s hard to think of something more vulnerable than sharing creations you don’t approve of. But it’s harder to sit in the box of one’s own criteria, watching the world go by (learned that the hard way). Some art, no matter how long I sit with it, never stops feeling mediocre. And yet, there’s heart in it. There are beams of total truth and gems I don’t want to abandon. I’m moving toward the idea that not only does the world appreciate imperfect art, it needs it.

creative health