On The Green Juice Effect
Juice cleansing sucks in a really great way, and I’ll be the first one to admit that. It’s a fabulous route to de-bloating yourself the day after a binge, and the hunger you feel after a morning of nothing but massaged kale puree and a carrot/beet combo that actually may have been previously regurgitated is relieving to a tee. I’ve tried a few cleanses — some more successfully than others — but what I really want to talk about is straight up, vomit-inducing, stomach lining-burning, yoga body-loving liquid salad: also known as ‘juice.’
I have a really hard time figuring out where juice fits. I can’t swap out lunch for a cup of baby food. Maybe that works for Gwyneth Paltrow and other goop-y folks, but I am not so goop-y that I am willing to trade out lunch. There’s a reason why I frequent Just Salad: because I want just salad, and not really anything else. I’d never want to drink juice with lunch, because I’m getting nauseas by just typing about that idea and not even by really thinking about it.
Therefore, I am not a frequent flyer of the juice. I drink juice when I feel like I need it, and I need juice when I feel like I need to prove to myself that I can drink juice like a lady, and I need to prove that to myself when I consume a jar of crunchy peanut butter in five hours or less. One of my best friends always tells me that it’s ‘seriously impressive’ when I accomplish this, which is a somewhat backhanded compliment. If your friend gets her hand stuck in a jar of Justin’s almond butter, never tell her how ‘seriously impressive’ it is. Just don’t.
Two weeks ago, I decided I needed to detox (whatever that means). Let me inform you that I was wearing a pretty good outfit that day and made a semi-effort to put myself together in the morning. It wasn’t a huge effort, but it was like an extra coat of mascara kind of effort. When I left the building to get lunch, I blended in with everyone else doing their usual 1pm thang. I did my business, everyone did theirs, and no awkward eye contact that New York often thrusts upon us was made.
I went to a market on 6th Ave. that has a full-fledged juice and smoothie bar. I ordered some sort of juice that had the word ‘detox’ in its name and decided I would trust the people in charge of naming the juices to name them accurately and not just randomly. Because how much would it suck if I didn’t get a real detox, right?
So I pay for the juice, which is, in fact, green, and I leave the market…And you would’ve sworn the whole effing world changed on its axis. Yes, I’m just as narcissistic as the next millennial, but I really wouldn’t say what I’m about to if it wasn’t true. But all of a sudden, with juice in hand, people looked at me differently.
I felt like I had been given King Neptune’s crown. And yes, that is a SpongeBob movie reference. Men were checking me out, but in the ‘I love you for your personality and your work ethic’ kind of way and not in the cat-calling kind of way. Women looked at my juice and sent the same signal I’ve sent to green juice-carrying women so many times before: 1. I hate you 2. But I’m so impressed with you 3. Okay, fine, you go girl 4. Ugh you’re definitely really fit. (Ed. note: I really am not that fit at all.)
I told a male friend that I had discovered the Green Juice Effect. It’s an incredible thing: it gives you an unspoken authority and people automatically respect and admire you more. Do you know what he did? He looked at me like he had just had too large of a sip of green juice. “Shut up, Hannah. You sound dumb. Actually.”
I’m convinced the Green Juice Effect is a real thing. I mean, it makes total sense. Green juice — and other juices, too — give off the impression that you care about your body, that you’re well-off enough to buy unnecessary juice, and that you’re intelligent, in a way. Holding a green juice is the new holding an iPhone.
Has anyone else ever experienced the Green Juice Effect? Or am I going absolutely, goop-y, bat shit crazy?