The price of wellness

How much is too much to pay for something that makes us feel good?

Feb 28, 2025

In episode two of the new series of The White Lotus, Piper (the constantly-uncomfortable little sister of Patrick Schwarzenegger’s creepy Saxon) dismisses the luxury wellness resort as “like Disneyland for rich bohemians from Malibu in lululemon yoga pants.”

She’s quoting a common stereotype. “Lululemon has become almost comedy shorthand for a certain type of woman,” said The Sunday Times last year. “A green-juice-sipping, big-car-driving, glossy, rich, thin lady of leisure who wears skin-tight hundred-quid yoga pants all day.”

But is this stereotype fair? Last week, I went to the launch of the new lululemon flagship store on Regent Street, and so listened to someone from the brand’s design team explaining the complicated process of creating athletic wear that is supportive, yet buttery soft, sweat-wicking and quick-drying, with minimal seams for comfort, and a laser-cut hem that won’t dig in.

So you could argue that the process justifies the price of a pair of £108 leggings?
(You could also argue that, at this price point, they ought to be doing better in terms of sustainability…)

Anyway, when it comes to the wellness ‘space’, lululemon’s leggings seem like a steal compared to what else is out there.

I also recently went to a press launch for House of Grey Wolfe, a luxury lifestyle brand from the people behind Grey Wolfe wellness club (I realise this sounds very much like I spend a lot of time swanning around press events in lovely locations, eating the canapés and pretending to be rich. Reader, I do). The products were displayed in a luxury hotel suite, and I realised that I could picture precisely how my life would be better if I owned them.

With that silk eye mask, I would get perfect sleep every night. With that hand-poured candle, my bathroom would be 100% more relaxing. And with that merino wool blanket, I’d be the kind of person who wraps themselves up to meditate.

Later, I saw the prices and realised their target market is probably burnt out investment bankers rather than freelance journalists.

Part of the event involved a ‘solitude journey’ during which a small group of us practised some breathing exercises and then put on noise cancelling headphones and a silk sleep mask (which felt so good, I can see why it costs £250), before being left to sit in silent contemplation for ten minutes. Which is quite a long time, actually.

My brain freewheeled through the following thoughts:
- What if this is a prank and everyone else is just watching to see how long I’ll sit here?
- Why did I come to a press launch when I’ve got so much work to do today?
- Why am I so bad at time management?
- Why am I so bad at meditation?
- Those matcha biscuits looked delicious, must remember to eat one before I leave.
- I wonder how much these silk eye masks are.
- Why don’t I have a proper job, and would be able to buy my own silk eye mask, instead of a job where I get to try one on but not keep it?
- I wonder how much time has passed now.
- Maybe the prank is that everyone else has left the room and I’m here on my own??

That covers about the first 30 seconds.

I spent a few more minutes thinking of every work and life-related admin task that I need to do, and then decided to focus on my breath as a way to try and calm my mind.

Miraculously, it kind of worked, and I was actually feeling pretty zen by the time a gentle tap on the shoulder informed me that it was over (everyone else was still there, and I was relieved to see they were taking off their eye masks too).

They took this picture of me afterwards, and I do look quite zen, although have realised I really need to clean my boots

I left (with a matcha biscuit in my hand) feeling determined to incorporate 10 minutes of silent solitude into my day as often as I can - and have obviously failed to do that literally every day since then.

Would I have been more successful if I had one of those silk sleep masks at home, or an £800 meditation cushion? Hmm… I’m going to say, probably not?

I do believe there is some benefit in having nice things that you enjoy using. You probably are more likely to relax if you love your £1,800 blanket. You might be more likely to exercise if you love your expensive leggings. And you might actually drink more water if you love your Back to Life water bottle. (Note: I got one of these at the lululemon press launch, and my 8-year-old daughter instantly coopted it, so now I take her leaky old bottle with a broken lid to my Pilates class while she takes a £35 water bottle to school.)

But the truth is that you don’t actually need much, in terms of physical stuff, to be healthy. In some ways, exercise and relaxation are a bit like writing. You might tell yourself that, in order to write something meaningful, you need the perfect software, or ergonomic desk or expensive chair. But, really, you just need to write.

Having said that, let’s take a moment to appreciate this £1,800 merino wool blanket…

houseofgreywolfe

A post shared by @houseofgreywolfe

This week I’m…

Watching the Brit Awards on ITV1 on Saturday night, mostly since I’m not sure who I fancy more out of Sam Fender and Sabrina Carpenter (both performing)

Cooking for my microbiome with The 20-Minute Gut Health Fix by Dr Saliha Mahmood Ahmed

Making better decisions with the insightful Decisions That Matter by Adrienne Adhami