Wellness and Capitalism: A Paru Mix

By Cameron McCausland-Taylor

There are fundamentals in this life that we all deserve access to - nourishing kai, clean drinking water, a roof over our heads, healthcare, you know the know. These are examples of what I’d consider the foundations of wellness. However, I think it’s pretty apparent that wellness culture in the Western world has seriously skewed into something else entirely. If we really want people to live well, we need to go back to basics and address all the inequalities surrounding access to the basics, with capitalism being one of the biggest obstacles to equitable wellness in society.

Te Whare Tapa Whā is an excellent place to start. I’m sure many of us are familiar with Dr Mason Durie’s very popular Māori health model Te Whare Tapa Whā, but for those who aren’t, I’ll quickly give a rundown. Te Whare Tapa Whā is represented through the symbol of a wharenui that describes four cornerstones of wellbeing - taha tinana (physical health), taha wairua (spiritual health), taha whānau (family health), and taha hinengaro (mental health). If any of these cornerstones are missing or damaged, a person’s wellbeing is struck off balance. This model was designed with Māori in mind, with a wish to see Māori thriving and living their best lives. Unfortunately, there is a high portion of Māori in our society that lack access to the basics, throwing the entire Te Whare Tapa Whā out of whack and meaning we rank highly in healthcare statistics around cardiovascular disease, respiratory disease, and oral health, to name a few.

Now that we’ve painted that picture, let’s talk about what wellness culture looks like today. To be frank, it’s turned into a world full of meal replacement bars, cleanses, detoxes, ‘aesthetic’ skincare, supplements; all of which cost an arm and a leg but capture the hearts of many due to promises of a healthier, happier life (I’m looking at you, Gwyneth Paltrow). I don’t know about you, but I have definitely fallen into the ‘health kick’ trap, convincing myself that I’ll finally be my happiest, healthiest self if I start drinking $10 smoothies, spending all my savings on organic skincare, and attending ridiculously expensive hot yoga classes. This lifestyle is constantly promoted by influencers online, primarily rich white influencers, overloading us with information and products that will “change your life forever”. I don’t care what other people do with their bodies. If people want to do a cleanse or buy a bunch of supplements, they may do as they please. It’s just mind-boggling to me that we, as a society, are engaging in these capitalistic practices in the name of wellness without tackling the essentials first. A rebuttal to the whole wellness argument is often “what’s wrong with wanting to be healthy?” Nothing is wrong with wanting that or striving towards that. But promoters of this certain lifestyle often neglect to acknowledge their privilege in maintaining this way of life. In the same breath, they blame individuals for their poor health without recognising the social and environmental factors that may be contributing to someone’s health status. For example, look at the cost of living in Aotearoa when it comes to buying groceries! The prices for kai such as fruit and veggies are absolutely insane, yet people love to criticise whānau who buy a feed of KFC. For struggling whānau, the only thing on their mind is survival, not health. Promoting the likes of overpriced seed blends don’t even touch the essence of what a struggling whānau’s Te Whare Tapa Whā should include.

While I’ve been focusing mostly on physical health, it all intertwines in Te Whare Tapa Whā, leading me to my next point: how is the promotion of this lifestyle dangerous for our taha hinengaro? Like I said, social media influencers are constantly ignoring their privilege and contributing factors to poor health. One of the most popular trends right now is the “that girl” aesthetic, advertising an aspirational wellness that includes the likes of beauty rituals, workouts, productivity, and self-care, which includes… you guessed it, WILDLY expensive products and habits that are guaranteed to make you THAT girl who has her shit together (I’ll admit it, I have a “that girl” Pinterest board, and I’m embarrassed about it). The language used is also toxic af, talking about delivering the “best version” of ourselves by being a successful, efficient cog in the machine of a capitalist system. This content provides us with hope that if we buy all the products, lock in all the habits, and immerse ourselves in productivity and hustle culture, we will truly be that best version of ourselves, and our mental health will instantly be so much better. How do we expect our struggling whānau to fit into these notions when they’re in survival mode? Better yet, why do we expect ANYONE to push themselves to the capitalistic limit?

Again, this trend, and wellness culture as a whole, sets out to make us feel guilty for not having all this shit in our lives and trick us into spending all our pūtea. It plagues us with slogans like “Just get up and do it” and “No excuses” to make us believe that our mindset and motivation are the only obstacles we must face, and that if we just get those in check, we can have it all. For many, this just isn’t the case, with the substantial barriers they face invalidated in this conversation and their mental health damaged further through an unnecessary guilt of “making excuses”. A bunch of Goop skincare and a candle that smells like Gwyneth Paltrow’s vagina isn’t going to heal depression, whānau, but confronting the likes of homelessness and food poverty in Aotearoa begins to construct a stronger Te Whare Tapa Whā for many.

It’s easy to get caught up in all the bullshit. I’ve done it plenty of times, as I’ve pointed out, and will probably go on to do it again. But returning back to Te Whare Tapa Whā really helps to ground me, reminding me of what the important roots of wellness really are and allowing me to plan for how I can apply those values to the best of my ability. I examine the barriers that I face being a fat wahine in Aotearoa, meaning my access to quality healthcare and affordable clothes that fit are limited in comparison to my thinner peers, and I begin to plan how I can still honour all four cornerstones in light of these barriers. However, I also examine the great amount of privilege I hold as a MāoriPākeha middle class wahine. I might get caught up in the bullshit from time to time, but I can financially afford to eat balanced meals and hit the gym. Who gives a fuck if I can’t afford a bunch of supplements from NZ Muscle? In the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t mean shit.

Arohamai e te whānau, I don’t have the answers to solving the cost of living crisis or erecting affordable housing in Aotearoa. However, I think it’s important to shed light onto how cooked wellness culture in Western society truly is and remind us all during these times that we don’t need all the hogwash currently being shoved down our throats. It’s more than okay to live within your means, and there are urgent, grassroots issues that need our attention first as a collective before we worry about the superficial shit. Let’s be real; we are never going to live up to the unrealistic wellness standards being forced upon us unless you’re a high-class, thin, white social media influencer who can afford to eat granola in a pomegranate for breakfast every morning.

Glossary:

Paru – yuck

Kai – food

Wharenui – meeting house

Pūtea – funds, bank account

Wahine – woman

Arohamai - sorry