How to Chill the Fuck out this Week
Though it may be a fading feeling, for a hot min the words "detox" and "juice cleanse" went hand in hungry hand. The consequent release of ketones (the shit your body can secrete when you suppress your appetite) mimicked the release of cash from your tightly-edited student wallet; pretty much everything else was a cashew-fuelled blur. Anyways, detoxing. This article isn't about that, or how to take a foamy bath or buy a cool unicorn latte which will make your Instagram look nice. It's about something a bit harder to pull off, but it's what I think we should all sort of, talk about. Chilling the fuck out.
Photos by Vai Yu Law. Subject: @chantellmeaboutit, Next Canada.
Makeup and Hair by @karenkimbeauty
On a sunny day, a good morning workout/healthy breakfast combo makes your stomach smile, the sharp edges of life seem softer and your life seem more manageable. This has benefits for both mind and body, sure. But let’s look at your mind for a second. Who is cleansing that?
Today, we’re proposing a new kind of cleanse. It’s a mental yoga class that’s more of the yin-variety than the vigorous, drenched-in-sweat Vinyasa version — A day of breathing, belly laughs and whatever the heck you want. Our revised cleanse is a day-long (or longer!) flex of the relaxation muscle — A time to breathe easy and smile at the sky. The gag? Relaxation isn't Netflix and mindless ice cream and snapchat filter-induced "what does my face even look like?!" feelings. Though omg, is there a place for that.
We have a mission for you. This mission is that of the #treatyoself variety, but the conscious kind, the woke kind. This is a brand of chill that purposefully strides through town, orders a coffee for one with authority, picks up the dopest shit for dinner from a farmer's market, or her aunt's backyard, and does. nice. things. because. nice. things. are. nice. and. you. should. feel. nice. more.
This mission also requires that you relinquish yourself from 2017's Instagram standard of perfect, and accept that some days you're going to feel useless, slovenly, exhausted, confused. This does not, ever, mean that you ARE useless, exhausting, confusing. It just means you're alive.
I am going to enter a very weird existential land right now but I think you'll like it, because it's helped me a ton in the past months. I like to (I'm already so sorry for subjecting you to my soul) think of myself as a mist - not a body, or a face, or a soft serve swirl-like mashup of the two. Just a mist (stop laughing). Here's why.
If ever, I'm having a bad day, like I'm drowning and there is no Leonardo DiCaprio with a half-piano to save me, I ask myself a question.
"If you did not have a body, would you still want to change anything about yourself?"
More often than not, most of my issues fade in these moments. But let me clarify. A mist, how I see it - is what it is. So much of my insecurity tends to lay in the outside stuff - the if-then theories society likes to rub into our consciousness like a good night cream that soaks riiiiight in. I like how I treat people, I like what I believe in, I think I'm doing nice things. Sometimes I think my body isn't good enough for the world it lives in, but I know that's not true, because I'm alive, and I'm often moving, or thinking, or breathing, when I think these things. So, I exfoliate. And breathe. And know that it's bullshit.
My Dad is one of the people who constantly reminds me of the importance of chill — he leads by example. I used to run around the house with my head cut off before (probably also after) exams, interviews and fashion shows. What good did that do? It gave me pimples, perpetually furrowed eyebrows, and totally eliminated my need for caffeine. So, now? I take each Sunday to remind myself not to worry about it. To keep my head down, work hard, and breathe out any ounce of panic I have about the week of “chaos” ahead. That’s another thing, too. Stop glorifying “chaos” with hashtags and captions and off-the-cuff conversation. So you’re crazy busy? Stop telling people and streamline. Handle it. Breathe, hug your Mom, and make your life fit your body like those major jeans you bought last weekend. Yeah, those ones.
They look great on you, btw.