Despite being total bullshit, the idea that you can "cleanse" your body with days-long juice fasts persists. If a new story is to be believed, Cleanse Mania is affecting rich women and fameballs alike.
Joshua David Stein creeps into the filthy back alleys of the Blueprint Cleanse racket this week for the New York Press; there, he encounters an army of delusional spinach pulp fiends with $65-a-day habits. One of whom could be mistaken for somebody we know:
One 27-year-old social climber has had the juice monkey on her back since May. The brown-haired, big-chested, pouty-lipped blogger seems like she stepped out of July in a pin-up calendar. (Somewhere a cow is going unmilked and a stool unsat upon.) You wouldn't pin her as a "cleansehead." Although she looks like a square pom-pom girl, she's been geezering Blueprint juice for eight months.
Oh? Fameball intervention time, perchance?
"By the time I tried out Blueprint, I had tried every cleanse before," she confesses. "Blueprint was the only one that I didn't want to go off of. Now," she admits, "I'm obsessed." She doesn't count herself among the waking unless she's had her morning juice. Many days, the only solid meal she eats is dinner. Instead, she subsists-juice-to-juice-on liquid. "People says it's about anorexia, but it isn't," she says, "this is the fucking healthiest thing I've done in my life." By her own estimation, she does the full cleanse "at least two days a week."
"When I'm on the cleanse," she says, "I get so high by the end of the day, I'm super high on life." Without her juice, she becomes desperate, cranky, ill-humored. "When I don't have my green juice," she says, "it fucking sucks."
This anonymous addict has learned to score her juice for free in exchange for "hawking the product on her weblog and converting her friends," much like the poor heroin addict who finds her apartment converted to a stash house in order to score a few precious bags of smack for free. Sad, really. Why sell your soul for a juice fix when the path to healthy living is really so simple? [NYPress]