The Daily Beast's Rebecca Dana has spent the last three weeks living according to principles espoused by Gwyneth Paltrow in her GOOP newsletter. It sounds like its been really complicated.

In the name of GOOP, I have now given up white foods (bread, pasta), preserved foods (chips, cookies), toxic foods (candy, ice cream), and foods containing heavy metals (I never quite figured this one out). I have dutifully tried to rid myself of negativity and the inner gunk of past excess by drinking two tablespoons of olive oil every night before bed. I have done butt-lifting exercises in my living room, cultivated my “sticktoitiveness,” cooked enormous feasts one day and subsisted on kale and lemon water the next. I have given myself a five-minute makeover involving a tight drugstore headband and slathered home-made Turbinado sugar and coarsely ground coffee paste on my cheeks, to open up my pores. I have paired slouchy trousers with a shirt that has “some edge.” I have added adaptogenic herbal formulas to my morning routine and tried to eat in accordance with my body’s natural rhythms. I have experimented with four different recipes for chocolate chip cookies. I have practiced the African philosophy of ubuntu. I have purchased leggings.

What? She went through all that, and so far as we can tell, didn't even get to have sex with a British rock star at the end? No, thanks. We'd rather live like a different celebrity. Like maybe Zach Galifianakis. Where's his newsletter?

My Life As Gwyneth [Daily Beast]