What are the implications?

In isolation, Bloom’s routine was hilarious to read, and we can all use a few chuckles. But for health professionals, it has subtle murmurs of a long-running predicament: that of celebrities plugging dodgy wellness products and treatments.

“The wellness industry is worth trillions of dollars and it’s because of stuff like this: people hear this then think they need ‘brain octane oil’ and they go out and buy it – despite the fact that there isn’t any evidence that it is actually required by your body, that it improves how your brain functions,” says Dr Preeya Alexander, a Melbourne GP who has been combating health misinformation via her Instagram account since 2016. “It is all very funny until we start to see the impact.”

There are many examples of “quirky” wellness types with millions of followers going too far. We’ve giggled at actor Gwyneth Paltrow, whose wellness website Goop famously promoted vagina steaming and yoni eggs (which copped a $US145,000 fine), and last month, much to the dismay of health professionals, she wrote about treating lingering COVID-19 symptoms with intuitive fasting and infrared sauna sessions.

We’ve chuckled at supermodel Kerr and her obsession with crystal healing, but last year she shared the “virus protection” guide of the controversial figure behind the celery juice craze. Then there’s Pete Evans. In 2012, the country laughed at the chef’s “My Day on a Plate” column, in which he revealed he ate “activated almonds” and drank “alkalised water”. But the sniggering gradually turned to alarm when, over the proceeding years, he supported an anti-fluoride group, suggested replacing baby formula with bone broth and went against sunscreen. More recently, his social media accounts were deleted for repeatedly spouting COVID-19 misinformation. And yet, he remains beloved by many as a wellness guru.

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The reality is that celebrities and their modern cousins, social media influencers, have enormous sway over their followers. And even if someone isn’t directly harmed by a questionable dietary product (see: brain octane oil) or wellness habit, it may lead them to neglect other, proven health behaviours. Plus they waste their money in the process.

What needs to change?

Dr Ken Harvey, a leading medical campaigner and president of Friends of Science in Medicine, says promoting non-evidence-based products “does need to be gently smacked”. He calls for more regulation of the health messages posted by people without qualifications, as well as more robust evaluation of supplements, which the TGA considers to be complementary medicines that are low-risk and so are not as thoroughly assessed for efficacy before hitting shelves. “It’s a trust-based system, essentially,” Harvey says.

Alexander, meanwhile, wants to see more health professionals speaking up: “The nonsense has gone unopposed for too long.” As for Bloom’s quest for self-optimisation with “brain octane oil”, we can – and should! – laugh, it’s mostly harmless. But it’s also worth taking a step back and remembering that when it comes to wellness habits, not everyone is laughing: some people are taking them seriously, and sometimes we’re better off not hearing about them at all.