Gwyneth Paltrow’s capacity for luxury extremism knows no bounds. Just when we think she’s gone as deep-opulence as she can go—by using beauty products blessed by chants or approximating poverty by buying guacamole supplies—she out–Marie Antoinettes herself.
This time, the GOOP lifestyle doyenne’s daily breakfast smoothie is the channel for her abiding commitment to upmarket living. The beverage, which GOOP assures readers Paltrow drinks “every morning, whether or not she’s detoxing,” comprises several ingredients we intentional-living bumpkins have long enjoyed: almond milk, coconut oil, Himalayan sea salt. But a few of the items—ashwagandha, he shou wu, cordyceps, “Moon Dust of choice”—are bound to prompt a double-take. What are these essential components of a morning begun in peace with our bodies, our planet, and our personal assistant’s Vitamix? Can we buy them at a store, or are they only sold through the Illuminati mail-order catalog?
The good news is that any civilian can easily replicate Paltrow’s morning mix in a home kitchen with ingredients available, as luck would have it, on the website of GOOP partner Moon Juice. Now for the bad news: On Monday, the Daily Mail reported that stocking up on the necessary ingredients would run a would-be alkalyzing acolyte more than $200.
But wait, back up a sec. Moon Juice? That sounds like an excellent addition to Slate’s open-ended list of whimsical period euphemisms. Think about it: “I’m feeling under the weather today; I’ve been moon juicing all week.” Or: “You might want to change your skirt—I think you’ve got a moon juice spill.”
And that’s not all. The Moon Juice website is a treasure trove of phrases that could, with proper deployment, elevate the humble period to the stuff of Paltrow poetry. Its homepage straight-up lists some of the most sensuous period metaphors imaginable:
Divine juices. Magical milks. Miraculous tonics. Abundant cleanses. Lunar apothecary. Moon pantry. Stellular gifts.
Magical milks! Abundant cleanses! Stellular gifts! GOOP’s own e-commerce offerings are equally evocative of period-related goings-on. There’s the Blue Cocoon, an apt description of PMS-induced melancholy; Mugworth V-Steam, an actual ill-advised uterine cleanse; and Resurrection Bath, as in “I’m digging out my ugliest underwear—it’s time for my monthly resurrection bath.” Below, a few other menstrual-sounding products Paltrow has endorsed:
Makes a girl want to snap up a few boxes of Natracare tampons.
