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If only other cancer patients could wish everything away, like the heroic Elle Macpherson | Catherine Bennett

Elle Macpherson’s gratitude journal must have written itself last week. On most days, any wellness industry leader feels justifiably grateful for the gigantic profits seemingly made from human gullibility: the response to her latest venture suggests that the market for experimental self-care may have been severely underestimated.

Since the exclusive revelation of Macpherson’s “cancer journey” in Australian Women’s WeekWithout outsourcing the work to a gratitude assistant, there would hardly have been enough time that day to capture the joy felt by a model-turned-entrepreneur when her apparent rejection of evidence-based medicine is widely portrayed—with little room for objection—as a story of entirely justified heroism.

At the top of the gratitude list are headlines like Daily Telegraph“I relied on my inner instinct, not chemotherapy, to beat breast cancer”; Sky News‘s “Elle Macpherson says she is now ‘in perfect health’, seven years after learning she has breast cancer”; and the LA

Just: “Elle Macpherson explains why a holistic approach to treating breast cancer worked for her”. You seem to conclude that if the cancer is beaten holistically, it will never come back, as it did for one of my dearest friends when treated conventionally, and kill you.

Next on the list: the numerous reports that make little or no mention of Macpherson’s past association with Andrew Wakefield. Crucially, the disgraced doctor’s name is absent from the first, lengthy report on her recovery, which does, however, make generous mention of her wellness company, WelleCo, a provider of exclusive nutritional supplements.

Even in less affectionate accounts, Macpherson’s public and personal connection to Wakefield eludes scrutiny. As redundant as it may be to mention a woman’s old relationships, knowing that she supported an anti-vaccination film made by a figure blamed for measles and mumps outbreaks and still raising doubts about vaccinations might have led readers to wonder whether Macpherson-style blatant science denial might be right for her.

Even more grateful that rhino horn hasn’t been mentioned yet. Any day that no one remembers that you once talked about eating the pulverized horn of an endangered species is a good day for a vegan health guru: In the week when you want your health insights to be taken seriously until your new memoir is published, they’re practically priceless.

Another omission that evokes gratitude: the alkaline diet with which Macpherson started her career in the wellness field. Macpherson told the standard in 2015: “I believe that most of the complaints are due to an over-acidified body.” Cancer Research UK refuted this as one of the telegraphThe worst celebrity diets of the year, right up there with Michelle Mone’s TrimSecrets. Do we think a person can’t achieve perfect health even with Macpherson’s patented supplements? Whatever her own conclusions nine years later, some of her followers must be wondering if they can stop testing the pH of their urine now.

Overall, perhaps the biggest reason for celebration at WelleCo is also good news for celebrity wellness entrepreneurs everywhere: The coverage of Macpherson’s “remission” suggests like nothing before that their industry has moved beyond years of ridicule and is now beyond rational consideration. This seems to be the case even in news sources that once shied away from doing justice to alternative claims that, if popularized, could potentially put lives at risk. In the same pages where not long ago it was common to find the then-Prince Charles accused of “outright quackery,” for example, crankphobia has now subsided to the point where readers are discovering that Macpherson’s “intuitive, heart-led holistic approach” deserves serious attention.

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Her achievements are recognized by none other than herself: “It was time for deep, introspective reflection. And that took courage.” After seemingly rejecting medical advice, we learn, Macpherson spent eight months in Phoenix, Arizona. Her support team included her GP, a holistic dentist, an osteopath, a chiropractor, a naturopath and therapists. Research has yet to show which, if any, of these treatments are optional. For advocates of caffeine enemas, it must be bitter indeed that her cancer regimen was recommended by a prince rather than a former supermodel. For owners of Airbnbs in Phoenix, however, the future looks bright. Just as celebrity health reports can improve public health—as they did after Kylie Minogue’s breast cancer diagnosis—their influence, research shows, is great enough to undermine it.

Companies like Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop, the Kardashians’ Poosh, and WelleCo can at least argue that their business is spouting nonsense about self-love and taking seemingly unproven supplements. An occasional controversy, such as that surrounding vaginal steam, is unlikely to shake consumer confidence in the world of “clinically studied” (seemingly unproven) ingredients, where it’s normal to rely on a “medical medium” (Goop) or to note (as Macpherson does), “I really pay attention to my mitochondria, too.”

The only proof that followers of Paltrow and Macpherson’s absurd health plans need, it seems, is the looks of their creators. If you don’t believe in the power of structured water (a Macpherson favorite) or think you can reduce your intestinal permeability with a bovine colostrum (Goop) supplement, the work of the wellness industry — like astrology or the planchette — probably isn’t for you.

A strong preference for Macpherson over Paltrow – and indeed over the King – can hardly explain why parts of the media that were once averse to Goop are now spouting a different kind of nonsense, one that seems so blatantly irresponsible.

Perhaps it reflects a noticeable increase in disregard for medical evidence – most recently following the Cass review. Or perhaps the dream of bespoke, individually tailored self-care, “no to standard medical solutions”, is particularly attractive at a time when many medical practices seem to be particularly concerned with avoiding human contact.

Yet even the worst NHS care is rarely as cruel as Macpherson’s approach to cancer recovery: it seems to suggest that the dead simply did not have the courage to heal themselves.

Catherine Bennett is a columnist at the Observer

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