“Hey, did you see what Gwyneth Paltrow said about vaginas?” a friend emailed the other day. Now, I tend to get a lot of email about Gwyneth Paltrow, mostly thanks to an open letter I wrote a year ago that has people convinced I need to be informed of her every move. Most of the time, my reaction is a resounding “Meh.”
But this? This, I had to see.
And I was not disappointed when I clicked the link he had sent me.
In fact, I was the opposite of disappointed. In a month of depressing news, bleak, serious events and nonstarter blizzards, Paltrow’s recent endorsement of the Mugwort V-Steam is a small bright spot of pure, genius comedy.
What’s that, you say? A Mugwort V-Steam?
It’s a Harry Potter-sounding spa treatment that is, in her own words, “a mini-throne, and a combination of infrared and mugwort steam cleanses your uterus, et al. It is an energetic release — not just a steam douche — that balances female hormone levels.”
I’m going to give you a minute to read that again: Mini-throne, uterus, steam douche. (Not included: the actual word vagina. But this is what we are talking about here.)
“If you’re in LA,” she adds, “you have to do it.”
I don’t live in LA, so I won’t be partaking of this amazing, terrifying-sounding treatment. Also, from what I’ve read, the health benefits of this are dubious at best.
“Does Paltrow think her fallopian tubes are getting tidied up in the process, too? It does not,” wrote exasperated pediatrician Russell Saunders in a Daily Beast column.
“The female reproductive tract does not need to be cleaned at all. In fact, methods of feminine cleansing like douching can do more harm than good. Women should no more steam their vaginas than flush them with Lysol.”
Granted, the V-Steam is not something Paltrow made up out of thin, steam-filled air — it’s actually a centuries-old practice in Korea called chai-yok, and its practitioners believe it can reduce stress, regulate menstrual cycles and get rid of hemorrhoids.
Still, I’m going to side with the person who actually went to medical school.
But science aside, I am starting to really enjoy Gwynnie. She’s gotten so eccentric, unaware and zanily over-the-top, that she is now on the level of Joaquin Phoenix-style performance art, with an added level of hilarious 2015 Marie Antoinette “Let them eat kale” thrown in for good measure.
She shows up in nude jumpsuits on “The Tonight Show,” performs Broadway-style raps of “Anaconda” and doles out nutty health advice.
She’s gotten people revved up enough times to know the drill: If you want people to stop, you just have to stop making grand pronouncements. Normal celebrities would have retired into a cave for a year and joined five charities in the hopes of getting better publicity, eschewing all interviews save for a quick Q&A to promote their newest movie or their latest line at Target or their most recent episode of “Keeping Up With the Kardashians.”
Not Gwyneth. She’s like, “Yeah, I know you all think I’m nuts — and no, I’m not going to shut up. I’m gonna keep talking. Next up: Steam your vagina.”
If being honest and open about who you are is a hallmark of happiness, well, then, Gwyneth Paltrow is probably one of the happiest people on the planet. She just does not care — and I like that.
She is weird enough to be one of my friends, any of our friends, really — a quirky, lively, truly bizarre mind in the body of the Prettiest Girl from High School. So with that, I say bravo, Gwyneth. Carry on with your steamed lady parts.