White Women “Gurus” and the Cult of Perfection

Why we don’t need any more master classes

About ten years ago, I was deeply entrenched in what, today, I would call a cult. What was this cult? The White-Lady-Guru Cult. I am hesitant to name names here, but you know the type. They happen to meet all the stereotypes of female beauty in our culture — super skinny, long beach-waved hair, prominent cheekbones. Their makeup, nail polish, and highlights are impeccable. They wear designer clothes and jewelry that advertises their spiritual beliefs. Their Instagram feeds look like something out of an Anthropologie catalog and their master classes cost thousands of dollars.

Their work varies, but is generally in one of the following categories: yoga, meditation, nutrition, business, relationships, or general well-being. Their qualifications? Mostly, they are “licensed” through trademarked coaching companies — in other words, other entrepreneurs. That’s not to say that some of those programs aren’t useful in some way, but let’s be clear that these folks aren’t typically doctors, counselors, or anything else that would require deep and intensive academic study and real-world application, along with recurring requirements to renew their qualifications with continued “field time” and ongoing education.

But they damn, they seem legit AF. Happy. At peace. Able to eat a cinnamon bun and never get chubby. (Or better yet, they reached a place of transcendence in which they no longer crave cinnamon buns to begin with!) Strong enough to plank for ten minutes. Hot enough to be married to a rich guy who also happens to be an entrepreneur with 50,000 followers. Wealthy enough to buy those trips to Hawaii where they take those stunning selfies on the beach in their itsy-bitsy bikinis.

Their Instagram feeds look like something out of an Anthropologie catalog and their master classes cost thousands of dollars.

In general: everything is perfect. Because they finally figured out the key to the universe. And they’re willing to share that with the struggling women of the world who desperately want to be that perfect for a mere $5,000-$10,000 (not counting room, board, or airfare).

Yes, I confess, I was enthralled with these women ten years ago. I couldn’t seem to get anything right. I had worked so hard for my master’s degree, but I hated my job. I was in a relationship with someone who was decidedly uncertain about his desire to be with me. My family had fallen into abusive dysfunction as my parents dealt with their divorce and my dad’s stroke. I had gained twenty pounds that I couldn’t seem to lose.

And my god, I was so fucking unhappy.

These women were all in their twenties — five to ten years younger than I was at the time — and they’d already figured life out! I longed to be like them.

I read all their books. Took all their free programs (because I couldn’t afford the master classes). Followed their every move online.

I even started talking like them and creating marketing material for my bath and body shop that mimicked theirs.

Because, goddammit, I was determined to pull myself up by the bootstraps, like they had done. I was determined to be like them.

My journey in this cult — and yes, I’m deliberately using that word — was littered with red flags. Most of them were just nudging little feelings.

For instance, when I’d read one of their new bestsellers (and back then, many of them were pumping these out once a year), I’d feel empty at the end of the book. The title had been so promising. The book design and marketing was so energizing and compelling. But nothing in the text was actually new or even very interesting. I’d read all that stuff before, in their last book — just in a different format.

Then there was the time they spent talking about beauty, makeup, food, and exercising. They didn’t seem to have an ounce of body fat on them. Their Instagram feeds were filled with images from their 6-mile jogs and two-hour yoga sessions, their diets of green smoothies, kale salads, and the occasional indulgence of a tart made out of only goji berries and brazil nuts.

I was so determined to be like them — to look like them — that I’d try to follow their wellness advice, but it cost more money than I could afford. I also noticed that the time put into preparing these meals and working out for 2–3 hours a days was overwhelming, both mentally and physically. In fact, it felt eerily like the days, not so long before, that I’d been struggling with eating disorders and compulsive exercising. But no, I told myself, brushing away my concerns. It can’t be the same thing if these ladies are doing it. This is about “wellness,” not losing weight.

Their Instagram feeds were filled with images from their 6-mile jogs and two-hour yoga sessions, their diets of green smoothies, kale salads, and the occasional indulgence of a tart made out of only goji berries and brazil nuts.

Things really started to fall apart, though, around 2012, when one of my favorite wellness coaches shared on her podcast that she and her partner of ten years had decided to move into separate bedrooms. I was intrigued — my partner and I had decided to do that and I feared it spelled the end of our relationship (which was correct — I just wasn’t brave enough to face that at the time). I was hoping this coach would share what was happening in her relationship so that I would know I wasn’t the only one struggling.

Instead, she said it was a totally normal move (which in many cases, it absolutely is) and that she wanted to emphasize that nothing was wrong with her relationship — in fact, it had never been better or stronger.

I was dismayed. I felt so alone in this sea of perfect women. I’d been following them for years, and clearly, I was doing something terribly wrong, because their lives were so perfect and I just couldn’t get it right.

And then…less than a year later, the coach who had moved into a separate bedroom, away from her partner, announced that they were breaking up.

Of course, I consumed everything this woman said about her breakup like a starving woman. I had to know what had gone wrong. I had to understand everything. Something about this felt like it held the key for me to figure out why my life was so messed up.

She said little, though, except that the relationship had been emotionally abusive for years and that he was, in her opinion, an extreme narcissist.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute! Years?

I had a flashback to a podcast in which she had been talking about relationships and how she never asked her single friends or friends who were struggling in their relationships for advice.

“Why would I go to people who can’t get their shit together in relationships for advice? I want advice from people who are making it work.”

I remember being so stung by that. I was in a relationship that was clearly struggling but did that mean I didn’t have anything valuable to say about love and relationships? I mean…I got her point, but also, I wasn’t sure it was that simple. I also resented her statement that a single woman doesn’t know anything about healthy relationships.

Suddenly, all those uncomfortable feelings about these women began to arise. I realized this woman had been coaching people about their sexuality and romantic relationships for the past seven years, all while, by her own admission, she had been in an emotionally abusive relationship with a narcissist. And yet she didn’t believe that people having relationship issues should give advice…?

What the hell was going on?

I kept trying to find an answer to the questions that were swirling in my head, but only one kept surfacing: This is all bullshit.

I can’t tell if, ten years later, we’re getting savvier to these tricks, or if a new generation of women has simply swooped in and is now working the millennials for their hard-earned cash so they, too, can be effortlessly beautiful, overwhelmingly successful, and enlightened, for just six payments of $799.

I’ve seen a lot of young women calling out another one of these lifestyle gurus who has been peddling relationship advice even while her marriage was on the rocks (among other troubling issues, like plagiarism). It seems like promising evidence that we’re finally getting wise to these tricks.

Maybe we’re making progress. Though it seems I still see a new relationship guru/life coach/wellness maven enter the scene every few months — someone who will finally help you lose that weight, build your divorce-proof dream marriage, hit that six-figure salary, and get that walk-in closet of your dreams. And she’s usually 25, so you know she knows exactly what she’s talking about. She’s been married for three argument-free years, has a life coach certificate, 10,000 followers on Instagram, and a naturally high metabolism — so bitches, get in line, cuz this young lady knows her shit.

But here’s the thing: the problem is not these women. The problem is that we love them. We follow them. We want to be like them.

White women have a troubling habit of deifying perfection. I get it — we’re taught we have to be perfect, after all. But then we go and drink so much Kool-Aid, we start handing it out to the women next to us.

She’s been married for three argument-free years, has a life coach certificate, 10,000 followers on Instagram, and a naturally high metabolism — so bitches, get in line, cuz this young lady knows her shit.

We gotta have those Lululemon yoga pants, and a fridge full of leafy greens, and our Tuesday night book club and Thursday night meditation class. We gotta get that book deal for the next white-girl-self-help book, and our podcast needs a sponsor, and we’re saving up for a stylist who can take our Insta feeds to the next level. And don’t let’s forget about our bizarre obsession with marriage and motherhood — getting that perfect $3,000 engagement ring for the perfect “I said yes!” shot on Facebook, and social media countdowns to our wedding day, and the hashtags we make up for our engagement party and bachelorette party and bridal shower, and the honeymoon photos, and the first baby bump + sonogram post and all the organic yoga mom photos that follow and…

Everyone’s always so perfect and happy. No one fights with their husbands or struggles in their marriage. No one eats too many cookies — or any, because we’re GF now. Everyone’s babies are perfect and no one ever has a bad day as a mom and…

I’m not saying any of this to be hurtful — hence why I was careful not to name names. But I think we’re stuck in a dangerous feedback loop. We want perfection and we create a system that elevates those who are selling it (despite the fact that it’s not real). We buy what they’re selling and strive for more perfection. Which creates more little Barbie soldiers who rise up with their new set of master classes and then we buy them and… You see? Dangerous cycle.

It’s heartening to see young women calling out these — sorry — phonies earlier than my generation did. That seems like a start.

But I think we’re gonna have to take it even deeper if we want to fully release this — which means being willing to give up this addiction to perfection. Being willing to give up our attachment to the false promises of the patriarchy.

Life is messy and chubby and uncomfortable and the truth is, no one can escape that. So let’s stop wasting our money trying to.

© Yael Wolfe 2020

Resist!