I Went To Gwyneth Paltrow's Ayurvedic Healer & It Was…Bizarre

“It’s deeply rejuvenating, but it’s also experiential…it’s a little bit difficult to articulate,” the woman across the table tells me between mouthfuls of dhal, a bland mung bean soup that we're both eating in preparation for what comes next. “Each time has been a different series of results and effects for me, but always an enormous amount of releasing: thoughts, feelings, patterns…”

I’m sitting in the kitchen of a house perched high on a cliff in the Pacific Palisades neighborhood of Los Angeles waiting to see Martha Soffer, an ayurvedic healer trusted by some of L.A.’s most notable current and former residents: Gwyneth Paltrow, Kate Hudson, Julia Roberts, Matt Damon, and Kourtney Kardashian, to name a few. Of course, celebrities are known to be fans of “woo-woo,” and I am not, so I’m impatiently waiting to get in, and out, so I can head back to the office.

Little did I know, I would not make it back to the R29 L.A. offices today.

THE COMMUNAL LUNCH TABLE. / PHOTO: COURTESY OF SURYA.

A Little Background

Ayurveda is a bit tough to describe. Basically, it’s an ancient Hindu system of wellness practices that originated in India between 5,000 and 10,000 years ago. (That's long before Jesus Christ and the pyramids, mind you.) It looks at the whole being — body, mind, and spirit — and calls upon nutrition, herbs, and treatments to achieve harmony and health through vigorous detoxification. The hallmark of this is called panchakarma, or PK, for short, which is essentially a lengthy mash-up of different smaller treatments, curated by your healer to achieve specific results. Ayurveda is thought to help everything from restless sleep to Parkinson's Disease, but more on that later.

A BLEND OF HERBS. / PHOTO: COURTESY OF SURYA.

Of all the things my lunchmate told me during the hour I waited for my treatment, the most necessary to share is this: "The more I learn about ayurveda, the more I realize I don't know anything — and I know a lot!" she told me. Of course, like fashion, food, and popular culture, what’s old almost always becomes new again, which is exactly why I am nibbling on the recommended pre-treatment lunch of dhal, steamed rice, and vegetables with women who have just come out of morning treatments, and those waiting to go into the afternoon ones. And then my name was called.

...THE WOMEN BEGIN TO BLOT AND WIPE THE MILK OVER MY ENTIRE BODY...

The Consultation

Once inside the master bedroom, I am told to undress and lie on a table draped with a white sheet. There are steps up to table, and crystals artfully positioned underneath it. I quickly learn this is no luxury massage: No lights will be dimmed, no terry cloth robe will be provided, and I need to get over my fear of being buck naked in front of strangers — or I will not be healed today.

Once on the table, I'm covered with a sheet, and Soffer enters the room to take my pulse. With one hand firmly on my wrist, she asks me a series of questions about my health, zeroing in on queries about my skin and joints. I tell her I get hives and dry skin on occasion but have no joint issues. She continues to press, but I assure her my joints are fine. Knees? All good, I say. Hips? Pain-free, I assure her. She gives me a look of disbelief and goes to finish preparing my treatments in the kitchen.

Later, I learn that she's holding my pulse to determine which of three doshas — broad categories that describe your body's humor, or temperament — I most closely align with. She tells me that a Vata's pulse jumps like a frog, a Pitta's swims like a swan, and a Kapha's slithers like a snake. Vata people tend to have trouble gaining weight and are often cold and stressed; Pittas neither gain nor lose weight easily, can have high blood pressure, and are highly reactive emotionally; and Kaphas have trouble losing weight and are generally more laid-back. I'm deemed a Pitta and my treatment will include cooling herbs, milk, and brown rice to help "calm my insides," which will, in turn, help my redness and hives.

A CUSTOME MIXTUR EOF HERBS BEING LOADED INTO A BOLSA. / PHOTO: COURTESY OF SURYA.

Treatment 1: The Oily One

First up is a vat of oil cooked the night before with a blend of herbs to help the health concerns I reported when I made the appointment: stress, trouble sleeping, and more stress. The first woman (there are always two working on me) fashions a small towel into a loincloth of sorts, places it on my nether regions, and begins by drenching my hair and scalp with the hot oil. Then, in unison, they pour and massage more oil over my entire body. Breasts, butt, thighs — it's all being oiled, with each woman doing mirror movements on either side of my body the entire time. The oil has a rich, earthy scent that is unpleasant but not intolerable, and it's a few degrees warmer than what would be considered comfortable. Unlike a massage, there is no pressure; they're simply rubbing it in, and pouring more and more oil until the sheet I am laying on is drenched and I am laying in a hot, oily pool. This goes on for about an hour, after which I am wrapped in a clean sheet while they (thankfully) change the sheets on the bed.

OIL LACED WITH HERBS. PHOTO: COURTESY OF SURYA.

Treatment 2: The Milky One

When I return from the restroom, I lie back on the bed and I get another hand-towel loincloth. Using bolsas (small cloth bags full of herbs and, for my treatment, brown rice) dipped in hot, raw milk, the women begin to blot and wipe the milk over my entire body. As I lie there, I can feel the milk begin to thicken and turn sticky. I take a moment to peek from under my eye mask, and the liquid saturating my new sheet is brown and slightly chunky. Just like the oil, it begins to pool around my body. This goes on for another hour or so. At this point, I am ready to go home. Like, now. But I grin and bear it and am relieved when I am told I can rinse the clumpy hot milk from my body before my next treatment. I am led back to the bathroom, where I fiddle with the shower until I manage to get a tolerable water temperature. There are no bath towels, so I grab a loincloth-size hand towel and return to the room.

A TYPICAL TREATMENT USING BOLSAS FILLED OF HERBS. / PHOTO: COURTESY OF SURYA.

Treatment 3 : The Drippy One

It's nearing 4 p.m. (I arrived at 1 p.m.), but I agree to the last treatment, a jug that drips a steady stream of liquid directly onto the center of your forehead for around 25 minutes. It's called shirodhara and is said to work wonders on the nervous system. I consider myself very lucky that Soffer has selected coconut water for mine (hot oil is another common option, and I don't think I could have taken more oil at this point). At first it's jarring. Between the proximity to my eyes and the odd sensation, my nerves are going haywire, but eventually they calm. I never truly relaxed during it — Soffer told me that takes some practice — and by the time the water stopped 25 minutes later, I am one oily foot out the door. After a second shower, I have officially finished my first round of ayurveda, and never before have I been so relieved to be done with any journalistic assignment. (For the record, it took a second shower at home to remove all the oil from my hair and a few more to lift the scent from my skin.)

Astrology, yoga, lifestyle, food, treatments...it's a complete system of health.

MARTHA SOFFER

The Day After

A few days later, I caught up with Soffer on the phone, where she explained the doshas, the treatments I received, and a little bit about her background. Sure, she's an alternative healer to the stars, but her start wasn't unusual. In the mid-'90s, she was recently dumped and totally despondent, so she left Colombia and ventured to the States for higher education. After working on her ESL at Maharishi School of the Age of Enlightenment (Soffer is also an expert in transcendental meditation), she went on to study alternative medicine. Shortly after, she became in demand for her unique skill in the practice of ayurveda and, less than a decade later, she's leading a resurgence of the ancient practice. She was one of the first to practice in L.A.; now there are dozens popping up in affluent neighborhoods including Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. After all, the treatments aren't cheap. Soffer charges between $195 and $550 per day, and you're encouraged to go for a series lasting between three and 21 days for optimal effects.

A BOLSA READY FOR THE TREATMENT. / PHOTO: COURTESY OF SURYA.

Soffer has no shortage of information on the subject, but as she continued to touch on the many layers of the ideology on our phone call, I am reminded of the quote my lunch buddy told me: The more you learn, the less you know. Which is exactly how I am feeling. Ayurveda is both complicated and simple, and completely up to interpretation. After all, it's been around far longer than recorded history, so the original manual isn't printed in a textbook. According to Soffer, "Ayurveda is about life." She continues, "It uses astrology, yoga, lifestyle, food, treatments…it's a complete system of health."

It's no secret that the Western medical community is split on the topic. It's not difficult to find a M.D. who practices ayurveda as part of an integrative medical approach (the combination of conventional and alternative medicine), but then again, it's far easier to find one that dismisses Eastern practices like this. I say, if rubbing milk on your body floats your boat, go for it! Your health and well-being is what you make it. But I'll probably keep my dairy in my coffee.

A Harvard Medical School Breakthrough, In A Cream

In the not-so-distant past, there were two main options when it came to skin care: Things that were backed by scientific studies to prove they work and those that were natural, but unproven. Of course, you also had all the muck in the middle: formulas with a mishmash of ingredients that may work, but weren't able to back up their claims with cold, hard science. Thankfully, a lot has changed with the former two options and more and more brands are taking a scientific approach to studying and harnessing natural ingredients. Leave it to the French to be on the forefront of that movement.

Last year, French skin-care brand Caudalíe launched an anti-aging line called Resveratrol Lift, rooted in science finessed in Harvard's labs by esteemed life-extension scientist Dr. David Sinclair. Nicknamed the "Longevity Guru" for his research in reversing aging and dubbed by Time as one of 100 Most Influential People in the world, you likely know his famous quote: “The first person to live to 150 has already been born."

This past week, Caudalíe has unveiled the newest piece to the puzzle: A soft cream that feels as luxurious as ones much higher in price that harnesses the power of the science it's named for. Bonus: It also acts like a primer, blurring imperfections and leaving behind a matte finish perfect for layering under makeup. We know, we know —let's get back to what makes it so great. But first, a little background.

Mathilde and Bertrand Thomas' family vineyard in Bordeaux, France.

It Started Where All Good Things Do: With Wine

To understand this story, you first need a little background on Caudalíe. You probably know the brand from its addictive facial spray, skin-smoothing body scrubs, and maybe even its chain of deeply relaxing spas — but there's science behind the line that may surprise you. It all started during a wine tour in 1993 of Mathilde Thomas' family vineyard in Bordeaux, France, and a chance encounter with Professor Joseph Vercauteren, who was visiting from Montpellier's University of Pharmacy in France.

“He said our wine was very good, but we were throwing away the most interesting parts: the grape seeds," Thomas says. Vercauteren was already studying the benefits of grapes on health — and the resveratrol that can be harvested from them. Say it with me: Res-ver-ah-trol. That little ingredient found in red wine is the most important part of this story.

Fast-forward a few years: Mathilde and her husband, Bertrand, are working with the professor, as well as a team of their own, to research and create skin-care based around vineyard grapes. After all, they had the grapes. Within a few years, they had patents for their work with the anti-aging, dark spot-reducing resveratrol. Namely, finding the best resveratrol (it was hiding in the stalk and the vines) and linking that molecule with fatty acids to make it stable enough to actually do good for your skin. Think of resveratrol as your drunk friend: fun, but maybe they also need a slice of pizza at the end of the night. So a skin-care line based on science and natural ingredients was born.

We need to teach the skin to act young again.

DR. DAVID SINCALIR

Enter: The Harvard Brain Trust

Caudalíe had already pushed forward the research on the power of grapes. Then, in the early 2000s, it heard about another great mind working on the cause on another continent.

"Professor Vercauteren and I had been working together for years when he told me about this professor at Harvard Medical School, Dr. David Sinclair, who was on the other side of the planet studying resveratrol, as well,” she says. So she called up the good doctor and asked if they could compare notes. As expected, Dr. Sinclair is approached frequently to work with cosmetic companies, but it wasn't until now that the ethos truly aligned, he says.

Compared with all the hoopla surrounding many anti-aging products and methods, Dr. Sinclair’s approach is quite simple: How do we get product we know is good for the body deep enough into the skin so it can mimic what fillers do — only without the needle? (For the record, he says injections freak him out.) Now, we doubt anyone questioned whether or not he could get product into the inner layers of the skin, but what would it do when it got there?

We've learned vineyard stalks house the best natural resveratrol.

They wanted to create a moisturizer with two missions: strengthen the collagen fibers in the skin ("The network that keeps the skin up and prevents it from sagging," Dr. Sinclair says.) and improve hyaluronic acid levels. ("Which is what keeps the water in the skin,” he explains.) Read: firm, plump, and hydrate. “That was the challenge,” he continues, “to slow this [aging process] down and try to reverse [it].”

Simple, right? Well, kind of — but luckily, the principals he and his team at Harvard operate under give them the freedom to make breakthroughs at a molecular level through vigorous genetic testing. “That’s what we have been doing at Harvard to try to reverse aging in the entire body, to treat diseases like cancer and heart disease and Alzheimer’s disease,” he says. “[It’s the] the same technology, the things that we discovered control the aging process [in the body] are also in the skin; we’ve used that knowledge in this product. Our motto is that we need to teach the skin to act young again.”

After a few years of playing around with all-natural resveratrol from Caudalíe and an endless supply of hyaluronic acid, researchers found something — something big. “We had a breakthrough just last year," he says with a smile. The patent came soon after, filed jointly between Caudalíe and Harvard.

A Brief Note On Hyaluronic Acid

So why all the talk about hyaluronic acid (or HA, for short) when the whole line is based on resveratrol? Well, it's important to know that as we age, our bodies stop making as much hyaluronic acid — the natural molecules that hold onto water and make our skin look youthful and wonderfully hydrated.

Tons of products on the market are packed with hyaluronic acid, but getting it into the skin and encouraging your dermal layers to hold onto it for long enough to make a difference is the challenge many skin-care brands try to tackle. But it's not just an issue with creams — hyaluronic acid is the main ingredient in most dermal fillers. Even when shot into the skin with a needle, the HA is still metabolized within a few months, which is why most lip injections only last between three and six months. Translation: HA doesn't like to stick around for long — it's not in its nature.

The Breakthrough: Say Bonjour To The HAS2 Gene

Remember when Dr. Sinclair said that he wanted to try to get the skin to act young again? The breakthrough that accomplished this came when he and his team started playing with RNA sequencing. The goal? To isolate genes that reacted to a unique blend of resveratrol and HA.

"There are more than 20,000 genes in a cell. We used the latest in genetic technology to see which of these [reacted the most]," he explains. "It allowed us to measure every gene." One gene in particular, which we all have, stood out. Its name is HAS2.

Think of HAS2 as the friend whose eyes perk up when wine is passed around — this was the gene that loved resveratrol and now researchers knew exactly how to turn it on. They just had to find the right blend to do the most good. [Ed. note: Anyone else feeling like they'd be fast friends with HAS2?]

At this point in the discussion, you may be falling asleep. But know that Sinclair's eyes are lighting up and he's getting really excited — because it gets even better, so stay with us. Playing with blends and mixtures of molecules powered by Professor Vercauteren's original science, Sinclair and his team found a mix of molecules that, quite literally, made the HAS2 gene tell the body to make more hyaluronic acid, something genes don't want to do under normal circumstance. It's almost like they got HAS2 drunk; in it's stupor, it started making tons of hyaluronic acid.

A few words on the nitty-gritty of how it goes down: "The resveratrol goes in and turns on the HAS2 gene," Dr. Sinclair explains. With the right mircomolecules of hyaluronic acid mixed in, they saw "more than a 200% increase in [the production of HA in] this gene."

You may be asking: How drunk was HAS2? Pretty drunk: "HAS2 now makes this protein, an enzyme, that sits on the surface of skin cells and captures the micro hyaluronic acid that carries the product." Here's where it gets really wild: During this process, the HAS2 gene actually starts squashing the hyaluronic acid, which in turn, traps it in the skin. Awesome? Yes — and no one saw it coming: "[The process] makes them long, and when they’re long, they get stuck down in the skin naturally, they spread out, and that holds the water in," he says. Talk about getting the blend just right.

The final challenge? To make it work outside of the lab. "Getting molecules into the skin is difficult. Most will just sit on top," Dr. Sinclair explains. "[But] it was formulated so we could get both of the key ingredients deep into the dermis." The results out of the lab translated: In 84 days, the test group found increased firmness and more lifted skin.

It’s All In The Details

Naturally, they didn't just load the new ingredients into any old cream or serum. The French never overlook the importance of details, from the texture (Thomas describes the Soft Cream like cashmere — and she's not far off.) to packaging and scent.

"I wanted this scent to be all-natural and very addictive," she explains. Many would describe it a bit like herbal tea: "It's a blend of red thyme, lavender, basil, orange blossom, and sage," she says, "and it's also oil-free and 94% natural."

There's a caveat for this day cream, however: it doesn't have SPF, which was a thoughtful move, since SPF could muck up the efficacy of the formula. But it was formulated so it would penetrate fast, so you can layer your SPF moisturizer over it, Thomas says.

Speaking to Thomas, it's clear that the Soft Cream is her favorite, but she notes that the line's serum actually has the highest percentage of the resveratrol. The day cream, however, checks more than one box: priming for makeup and delivering soft, comfortable hydration in one easy step. They both ring in at under $100, as opposed to brands that compete with this kind of science whose creams can run double or triple that.

“It was a real breakthrough," Dr. Sinclair says, "but I’m sure there will be more.”

This Drugstore Face Cream Is A Game Changer For People With Dry Skin

When it comes to quality skin care, it's easy to feel like the more you pay, the better your results will be. While that is certainly true in some instances, there are exceptions — and this could be the biggest one we've seen in a while. Enter: a moisturizing face cream with the backing of a ground-breaking French skin treatment center, five years of devoted research, and 13 clinical studies. Oh, and did we mention that it's under $20?

It may seem too good to be true, but I can tell you firsthand that it's not. How do I know? Because I traveled to a remote part of France to see not only how it's made, but the people whose lives have been changed by the science behind it. (Spoiler: It has to do with bacteria.) It's the biggest release in years from storied skin-care company La Roche Posay — and we've got the full scoop. But let's back up to the beginning.

Les Thermes La Roche Posay treats thousands of people every year.

First Came The Town, Then Came The Brand

This story starts four hours south of Paris, in a town where everyone's favorite French drugstore brand hails: La Roche Posay. One of the draws of the sleepy region is a government-subsidized skin treatment center that specializes in severe cases of eczema and acne, psoriasis, scarring, rosacea, and more, plus various skin issues faced by cancer patients after surgery or chemotherapy.

Here at Les Thermes La Roche Posay, a center that opened its doors in 1904, the mostly-French population of patients spend three vigorous weeks, six full days per week, being aggressively treated with — get ready — water!

Each year, thousands of people here are treated with hydrotherapy. That is, nothing more than the thermal spring water coming up from the ground. Patients are (quite literally) placed on stretchers and sprayed, misted, and bathed for extended periods of time by doctors and specialists. They also drink the unfiltered water — about a liter per day. (You can scroll down to the bottom of this page to watch a video of the treatments in action.)

Thermal center manager Rachid Ainouche demonstrates a hydrotherapy treatment to a room of visiting dermatologists.

I realize that this probably isn't what you expected. It doesn't look or feel like a luxurious spa by any means; more like a pared-down hospital with the addition of gym showers. What the hell could you possibly get from a few weeks spent receiving a steady prescription of water? Turns out, a lot.

On average, a three week stay at the center results in major improvement. Of a recent sampling of patients, 86% saw improved skin flexibility and elasticity, 83% found a decrease in itching, 80% saw a reduction of scars, and 65% saw an increase in self esteem. (Yes, they monitor just about everything.) In a recent study on those with psoriasis, 93% saw a reduction in dryness, 67% saw a decrease in pruritus (severe itching), and joint pain was reduced in 16%.

Patients drink a liter of untreated thermal water a day.

The Fountain Of… A Better Barrier?

So how the hell does it work? And what does it have to do with this drugstore cream? So glad you asked.

You've probably heard about your skin's "moisture barrier," but your skin has another barrier, too — something La Roche Posay scientists are just now starting to understand as the "microbiome," a diverse and apparently very sensitive community of micro-organisms that live on the skin's surface. And when that community is thrown off in any way, that's when skin problems arise. Case in point: All the patients at the center with atopic dermatitis (eczema) and psoriasis suffer from the bacterial imbalance upon arrival.

The reason that hydrotherapy often works for them is because the unfiltered spring water isn't treated or filtered and has just the right mix of bacteria and minerals to correct skin conditions. In other words, it acts a bit like a restart button, resetting the skin's natural bacteria to an equilibrium where it can, in short, protect itself better. It's not as easy as adding a certain bacteria, but rather how all the bacteria interacts together to protect the skin.

But there's a problem: The water from this spring is only good for three days. After that, the bacteria starts to multiply and becomes unsafe for humans. But there is one thing they can take from it...

As far as our cameras were allowed in at one of the factories we toured.

Cracking The Code In Chimex

After my stop in La Roche Posay (and armed with my own bottle of thermal water to sip — quickly), I headed to parent company L'Oréal's bacteria research center in Chimex, France, a few hours north.

There I entered a top-secret lab where a small staff of scientists are studying pre- and probiotics.

To clarify, prebiotics are the "food" that good bacteria "feed" on to survive, normally made up of molecules in the carbohydrate family. (All these years and the answer was carbs — we should’ve known!) They're not to be confused with probiotics, which is what we call good bacteria. (Again, you need bacteria diversity, not just "good bacteria," for healthy skin.)

Got it? Great, because it's all about to come together.

Five Years and 13 Studies Later…

Here's where it gets good: The prebiotic discovered in the thermal spring water, the one that's been proven to help the skin's microbiome thrive, was finally harnessed and is now available in a range of products from LRP — without a trip to rural France. (Although, to be honest, go if you can!)

Think of this line, of which the cream is our favorite, as a healthy snack for your skin. In fact, in testing, the brand found that the skin's barrier looked and acted better in just one hour after using it. Plus, it has extras, like ceramide-3, to help support the moisture barrier; niacinamide, a form of vitamin B3 that they've found helps to sooth skin; and glycerin to lock it all in. I got my hands on it upon release and immediately noticed a major improvement in both the comfort and hydration levels of my own dry skin — and I have no plans to stop using it.

Is it as amazing as a trip to rural France? Few things are — but for $20 it could just be the fuel your skin needs to look and feel its best. And if that isn't a breakthrough, we don't know what is.

La Roche-Posay Toleriane Double Repair Moisturizer, $19.99, available at La Roche Posay.

These Two Millennials Want To Change The Way We Die

“I wasn’t some kooky kid who was collecting dead animals and keeping them in jars,” Amber Carvaly explains. “I was obsessed with The Little Mermaid and I had so many Barbies; I was just like everybody else. But I also loved The Nightmare Before Christmas. I really like the romanticism of death.”

Carvaly’s red hair is pulled into a tight bun and she's sitting behind a large wooden desk that takes up half of Undertaking L.A.’s just-opened office. East Hollywood’s latest funeral home isn’t what you’d expect from a mortuary — but then again, neither is Carvaly.

She is the first to admit the word "mortician" conjures some undesirable stereotypes: creepy men who prefer the company of dead bodies; or maybe greedy ones, who prey on the families of the deceased with high prices during a fragile time. And perhaps the worst: it’s most certainly not a job for a woman. But Carvaly is a mortician and a woman — and half of a new company that could likely change those clichés for good, although that’s not their goal. They have bigger fish to fry than stereotypes. 

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATHANIEL WOOD

A Little Background

Carvaly grew up in Corona, California, a small town about two hours east of L.A. She was laid off from her first job out of college when the Great Recession hit, forcing her to give up a rewarding post at the Downtown Women’s Shelter for a stint waiting tables. It was there she ran into an old pal, who had become a mortician.

“I was like, ‘Wow, it never occurred to me that this was a thing you could do,'" Carvaly says. “You grow up and people are like, ‘What do you want to do? Be a teacher, a doctor, or a lawyer?’ None of those sounded right, so I think I’m going to try this.’” It was at Cypress College’s School of Mortuary Science — which she notes is a very intense program with high dropout rates, and one of only two mortuary schools in the entire state of California — that she learned about Caitlin Doughty, a student a few semesters ahead.

“I wasn’t some kooky kid who was collecting dead animals and keeping them in jars,”

-AMBER CARVALY

“People were gossiping about this girl who was doing videos,” Carvaly says. “I went on my computer and I was like, ‘This girl’s really funny.’ I forget what video it was that I watched, but I was enamored with her. She’s so clever and witty, and she’s taking this hard topic and talking about it in this clever, satirical way.” Carvaly’s talking about Ask A Mortician, Doughty's YouTube series where, like the name implies, she fields questions about dying, embalming, and everything in-between. It's catnip for the curious set: Her milk-white skin, jet-black hair, and purposefully cheesy props bring 'em in, her candid knowledge keeps 'em hooked. 

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATHANIEL WOOD

As a child growing up in Hawaii, Doughty had a fascination with death. “I wasn't overly morbid, but we all struggle with our obsessions,” she says. “Learning you're going to die someday is harsh for a child in the single digits.” After landing in California, she got a job as a crematory operator — and the rest is history. Relatively speaking, she could be considered one of the most famous people in her field. There are the aforementioned YouTube videos and a New York Times best-selling memoir, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematory. She also founded The Order of The Good Death, a non-profit advocacy group that seeks to "explore ways to prepare a death-phobic culture for their inevitable mortality." Suffice it to say, she’s become the next-gen poster girl for the industry. But her next act — the one she tapped Carvaly to partner in — could be even bigger.

The New Kids At The Morgue

Undertaking L.A. is an oxymoron; it's a brand-new type of funeral home that seeks to bring us back a few hundred years, before the commercialization of death. And it’s almost eerily simple. Doughty and Carvaly will come to the home of the deceased and walk the loved ones through how things were done in the past and still done all over the world: washing and dressing of the body, and an at-home wake and/or funeral. The survivors can be involved as much or as little as they’d like.

The body may stay in the home for people to properly mourn for a few days. Then, it’s taken to Undertaking L.A.’s co-op crematory or to a cemetery in Joshua Tree for a natural burial. (That's the closest secular cemetery that allows the practice.) The definition of a natural burial is a loose one, but basically, the body is wrapped in organic, unbleached linen or cotton, and laid to rest in a hand-dug grave. (You can opt for a biodegradable casket if you prefer.) There's no embalming, no calling 911, and no last visions of a loved one wearing too much makeup in a casket. For Carvaly, it’s one last act of kindness and dignity she gets to be a part of; for Doughty it’s her life’s work come to fruition. 

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATHANIEL WOOD

While it might seem strange to us, the concept of Undertaking L.A. is far from novel. It’s how most of the world treats death, as well as certain religions within the U.S. So, when did it become a taboo thing that could only be handled by professionals? Blame Abraham Lincoln and the hundreds of thousands of soldiers who died during the Civil War. 

“When Lincoln was shot, his body was embalmed and went on a parade so everyone got to see him,” she explains. “It popularized embalming because people now understood this amazing technological advance; it lit the fire for embalming to be something that was acceptable. [In this case] it was necessary. But I think we’re coming back to a time where you don’t need to do that anymore."

(Embalming, for the record, is when the bodily fluids are replaced with a cocktail of preservatives and chemicals, like formaldehyde, by being pumped through a main artery.)

"You really have to have the strength of your convictions or you'll get swept up in the status quo,"

-CAITLIN DOUGHTY

This Civil War theory not only makes sense, but also offers insight into why the modern approach is better suited for some. Such as those who pass away far from home — or in situations where the body couldn't be kept at home, like a car accident. After all, a one-size death does not, in fact, fit all. But Doughty adds that there’s more to the growth of the funeral industry than that. When asked why the current system prevails, she’s quick to reply: Money. “Capitalism and the rise of cities,” Doughty says, adding that it’s left a undesirable impact on our connection with death.

“[At the beginning of] the 20th century, you had big hospitals come in and take the dying out of the home, you had funeral homes come in and take the dead bodies, and you had slaughterhouses and food plants take away the killing of animals. So every type of death and dying is now removed from society,” she says. Of course, with change comes both negative and positive effects. The positive includes the care hospitals can administer. The negative? According to the women, the fact that death is a specialized industry makes it all the more scary, mysterious, and abrupt — which they say deeply disrupts the grieving process. 

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATHANIEL WOOD

Mourning: A Theory

“Because we shroud and protect society from death, you don’t understand what level of grief to feel for things, so everything is blanketed at a 10,” Carvaly says. “Because we make it such a taboo subject, there is no barometer.”

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATHANIEL WOOD

“There are no academic studies on this, which is a shame, because I would love to point to something and say 'Yes, it’s proven!'" Doughty adds. "But anecdotally, everything I’ve seen is that when you’re involved in the death and you’re present and you let things unfold as they naturally unfold, and you see the small changes in the person, and you see the small changes in yourself over a couple days, you are much more ready to let go of the person and their body at the end of the process.”

Doughty speaks from personal experience. Her grandmother was the first death she handled as a funeral director. "It made me realize how hard it is to have services outside of the traditional death system," she says. "You really have to have the strength of your convictions or you'll get swept up in the status quo."

Luckily for those who don't feel the current system best, they have advocates in the duo. "The way we do it now when someone dies is you call the funeral home, and they come, day or night, to take the body away," Carvaly explains. "That’s it. The next time you see the body, it’s in a velvet-lined casket with makeup on and they’re wearing their suit. How can you properly work through grief when you’re trying to process why your dad looks like that? Why did they brush his hair that way? Why does it look like he has makeup on? My dad would never wear lipstick. Why is his neck scrunched up? He looks so unnatural.”

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATHANIEL WOOD

The alternative that Undertaking L.A. will provide? “If I was there with you, from beginning to end, and we dressed your dad together, and we laid your dad in his casket together, I think it would be easier. It would also give me the time to talk about everything with you,” Carvaly says. At this point in the conversation, you can tell she’s hitting her stride, her sweet spot; this is why she does what she does. “Yes, it’s more work, and it’s more emotionally draining than just taking a body and putting some embalming fluid in them, and putting them back in a casket. [In my job] you have to be willing to do that for people.”

Makeup in Lockup: Beauty, Power, & Danger in Women's Prisons

 Every morning, Candace Altman wakes up at 5:30 a.m. in a dark cell at Coffee Creek Correctional Facility in Oregon. She washes her face with cold water, combs her hair, pats on foundation, and lines her eyes with the black eyeliner she bought at the prison commissary. In her last two incarcerations, Altman would roll out of bed and throw her hair in a messy bun. But this third time, in prison for another round of drug charges and scheduled for release in two years, she vows to get to work and never return.

“If there’s anything I’m good at, it will be makeup,” Altman says as she dusts a shimmery shadow over another inmate’s eyelids. Altman, 34, is training for a degree in cosmetology as part of Coffee Creek’s rehabilitation program called Hair Design, a fully accredited program. Each day, Altman gets to the state-of-the-art cosmetology room at 6:30 a.m. to learn about the latest in aesthetics, from hair cutting and coloring to makeup, eyelash extensions, and gel manicures. A few years ago, the space was just a small classroom, but it recently quadrupled in size to accommodate its popularity and the prison’s overcrowded population.

Altman practices on other inmates, women who are glad to have the small reprieve from the monotonous reality of prison life. She’ll do this 10 hours per day, four days per week, for two years. By the time Altman gets out of prison in April 2020, she’ll have a cosmetology license and will be ready for a new career. "Before this, I had no job prospects, I had no skills, I didn't have anything like that, and this is the first time that I have been here and felt like I won't come back," Altman says. “We want to get out and be good moms, have careers, and be reintegrated... We don't want to be that big bad convict woman, you know what I mean?”

While opening a beauty school in a prison might seem like a pat response to the growing problem of mass incarceration, rethinking a prison experience that was designed for men with women in mind is an urgent matter. In just two decades, the number of women in prison has grown by 700% — bringing the latest count to over 220,000 nationwide— making women the fastest growing demographic going into the system. But programs like Hair Design are known to decrease recidivism and divert the cycle of incarceration.

Which is why, increasingly, some prisons are leaning into beauty. “We all wear men's jeans and these terribly fitting blue T-shirts,” Altman says. “They take away all of your individuality, [so] taking care of yourself, doing your makeup, and fixing your hair, just makes you carry yourself better. It just helps your whole attitude about being here.”

The bigger issue, though, is that while Hair Design appears to be a success story, beauty programs are run independently in each prison — and advocates like Tammy Kennedy, the Coffee Creek program director, are few and far between. These programs are on the rise, but without a centralized leader, the disparity between programs is vast — and some opportunities are seemingly squandered.

Before this, I had no job prospects, I had no skills, I didn't have anything like that, and this is the first time that I have been here and felt like I won't come back.

CANDACE ALTMAN, INMATE AT COFFEE CREEK CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

Peeling back the layers of what beauty means to incarcerated American women shows more than stark inequality in rehabilitation programming; it uncovers a broken system, rife with corruption, that is ill equipped to handle a sudden, sharp spike in population. What starts with haircuts and lipstick quickly folds into a story of the exploitative criminal justice system and, for many, it all starts with access to self-care. Nowhere is this seen more clearly than in Central Florida.

A Tale Of Two Programs

The cosmetology room at another state-run prison, Lowell Correctional Institution in Ocala, Florida, is a shadow of its Oregonian counterpart.

Its resources are scant in comparison: Lines of mismatched chairs and shampoo bowls surround tables and bookshelves filled with VHS beauty videos and textbooks that appear to be decades old. There are no in-demand treatments being taught, like lash extensions or gel manicures. Students are limited to cutting, perming, and styling hair, but things like hair dye aren't allowed “for safety reasons,” the director reports. When we asked a prison spokesperson to expand on these safety concerns, they said that Florida Administrative Code prohibits prisoners from dyeing their hair for security and identification purposes. But the full clause indicates that this is specific to extreme dye jobs that would "call attention to the inmate or separate inmates into groups based upon style." Regardless, practicing on mannequin heads would be an easy, albeit more expensive, way around this.

Florida code prohibits inmates from having their hair styled or braided anywhere but the institutional beauty shop.

We were told the prison taught makeup application and skin care, but during a visit to the program, the instructor (who prefers to be anonymous) couldn’t locate more than a few dusty eyeshadow palettes and two jars of cold cream from the back of a locked supply cabinet. It’s a downer for students, who know they’re not coming out prepared. “I'm grateful for the program, even though we don't [get] a license,” Ashley* says. “I mean, you can't even get out of prison and start work, but I mean ... I'm getting a lot further in here doing this class than I would probably [be] out there [in the general prison population].”

Because the curriculum is limited, inmates don’t learn what they need to finish their degrees, and are never offered testing opportunities — so they’re left to restart and pay for an accredited program outside of prison if they want to actually work as cosmetologists after being released. It’s a head start, but not much more. Of the women we spoke to at Lowell, interest in pursuing a career in beauty after being released was mixed.

It speaks to how, without oversight, the promise of a cosmetology program is at the mercy of the prison it’s housed in. In fact, between talking about haircuts and cold waves — a technique being taught to perm hair that uses a cold chemical wash over rollers — many took the opportunity to share their more-pressing concerns with us. While the Hair Design students in Oregon spoke to us about their hopes for the future, Florida’s students were more worried about their present, making it hard to focus on the little they’re learning.

Lowell cosmetology curriculum falls short of what the state requires, so licenses are not issued upon release.

“There's a lot of things that go on in [the prison] that the officers don't get to see,” Ashley* told us. “If you tell, or if you say anything... there's no protection really.” Another student shared her safety concerns: “You always have to watch your back wherever you go, even with the officers and with the inmates at the same time. It makes it really difficult.”

Compared to the conditions at Lowell, coming in for a cut is part self-care, part refuge, even with the limited services. “You come in here and you just take yourself in another world,” one older inmate getting a cut told us. “You wake up and just, I guess, expect the unexpected [in Lowell].” She’s been incarcerated for drug charges on and off since 1998 and says that while the inmate population has dramatically grown, conditions have only gotten worse.

While most inmates wouldn’t fully express themselves under the supervision of our prison escort, a woman getting a haircut on the last day of her sentence did. “How the officers will talk to you at some times is a struggle, and just knowing that you have to bite your tongue because you can't talk back,” she says.

Lowell inmates say the cosmetology program is a refuge from prison life.

It’s not just the cosmetology students at Lowell — the general prison population suffers from this program being limited, too. Oregon’s Hair Design provides a beauty salon and supply store, where inmates can order basics, like shampoo, skin-care products, and makeup, through the program for low prices. This isn’t offered at Lowell. It’s something that Kennedy has seen change the trajectory of an inmate’s time at Coffee Creek. “A lot of self esteem is lost when women come to prison,” Kennedy says. “Being able to color their hair, do their nails, and those types of things help to restore a little bit of that.”

Former inmates at Lowell say that providing this access would help combat the supply-and-demand issues happening for beauty and wellness products on the inside in Florida, which has been heavily documented in a series of exposés by The Miami Herald.

The bottom line seems to be that because beauty and self-care have been so heavily ingrained in our culture, the function of makeup, perfume, and hair products can empower inmates to feel like themselves again — or leave them in danger of exploitation. Because they so deeply want to hold onto themselves in a place where they have little control of their destiny.

The Power Of Beauty Products

Former Lowell inmate Natalie Hall, 40, who was released in 2017, was no stranger to contraband beauty, from dyeing her hair with stolen peroxide from the medical department, to applying colored pencils on her eyes in lieu of eyeshadow. Sometimes she was sent to confinement for it, but she says it was worth it. “To wake up and do your hair and have a little bit of makeup, or maybe some contraband perfume, was everything,” Hall says. She’s even made bootleg fragrance by soaking magazine fragrance samples in small jars of water in her cell. “You let it sit for like 10 days and you'd have perfume for a week,” she says. “It was nice. We would give it to each other as gifts for birthdays or Christmas or things like that.”

Former Lowell inmate Natalie Hall shows reporter Lexy Lebsack the colored pencils inmates use for eyeshadow.

On the outside, it’s hard to understand why someone would even risk getting in trouble for bootleg perfume or colored pencil eyeliner, but former Lowell inmate Amanda Hunter, 26, who was released in 2016, says that there’s a mental shift that happens when you are denied access to everyday essentials you rely upon. “It changes you into a survivor, I guess. It makes you more predatory,” she says. “It becomes your primary goal to always see that these things are taken care of. Even if you have to ration other things, or sell other things… you will find a way to get it.”

Without access to the products the inmates crave, they’re left open to exploitation by the same guards tasked with watching them. “They'll definitely use your needs against you,” Hunter says.

Hall saw this firsthand. She describes life on the inside as a forced barter economy between inmates and guards: sexual favors, making eye contact with guards while they watched you shower, and flirting could be leveraged for contraband, like makeup, and necessities, like toilet paper, soap, and tampons.

“If a girl's performing sexual favors for an officer, he would bring her in colored pencils, lip gloss, things that she could use for makeup or to sell,” Hall says. But it’s more than sexual favors that are sold for beauty on the inside. Hunter claims that officers would bribe inmates with canteen dollars (to buy shampoo or skin care) if they assaulted inmates the guards disliked. “‘Man, I’ll give you canteen dollars if you beat up that girl’, they’d say,” Hunter alleges.

A lot of self esteem is lost when women come to prison. Being able to color their hair, do their nails, and those types of things help to restore a little bit of that.

TAMMY KENNEDY, PROGRAM DIRECTOR AT COFFEE CREEK CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

This was the secret, underground economy that ran on a currency of self-care that Hunter and Hall both allege was rampant at Lowell — and they say that participating wasn’t always a choice. “When I turned down the guards [for sex] I was thrown in confinement or my stuff was torn apart, my pictures [of family] ripped up, sheets stepped on, contraband taken away,” Hall says. “My life made a living hell.”

When asked about the former Lowell inmates' allegations, a prison spokesperson issued a statement saying “physical and sexual assault are never tolerated by the Department,” adding that since 2015, the prison installed more cameras in housing units, as well as audio recording in all special housing units, and is currently in the process of implementing 40 additional cameras within its facilities. They also made changes to their video storage capacities. Any allegations of physical and sexual misconduct are “aggressively investigated” within two business days and subject to dismissal and even arrest. “The Department is committed to providing inmates with a safe environment, free from sexual abuse, sexual battery, and sexual harassment.”

It’s not an uncommon problem. “When you're incarcerating so many people who have a history of trauma and PTSD, you're creating circumstances that are just right for all kinds of terrible things to happen,” says Beth Schwartzapfel, staff writer from The Marshall Project, a nonprofit, nonpartisan prison watchdog group. “When guards have so much power, and the inmates are so powerless, it's just a corrupting situation.”

Even Coffee Creek, with its model program, has had its own problems through the years, too, including a sex scandal in 2016, a sexual abuse lawsuit in 2017, and an untimely death linked to limited access to flu shots earlier this year.

Supplies at Coffee Creek's cosmetology program are closely monitored by staff.

Here’s where the need for programming comes back in. While it certainly cannot solve the problems plaguing the criminal justice system, it can help. By investing in cosmetology, you increase the supply of these valuable products, therefore offsetting the demand and thus, the ones who hold the power because of it.

Skeptics might not approve of tax dollars and grants going for programs like this, but it turns out that for every dollar spent on in-prison programming, five more are saved in lower recidivism rates, according to the Council of Economic Advisers.

Popv reminds us that programming lowers the chance of returning to prison, but it also makes for a better experience inside. “It also increases the likelihood that they don't have behavior issues inside,” she says. “These programs increase the likelihood they make good choices for themselves, both inside the facility and outside.”

At Coffee Creek, 89 women have successfully graduated from the Hair Design program and reintegrated into society — and only six have ever returned to prison. In fact, the Hair Design program automatically reduces the chances of returning to prison to a third of the national average, according to Kennedy, who keeps a binder of her success stories from the past 16 years on her desk to encourage current students. Hair Design is among the best such programs in the country thanks to Kennedy’s dedication to apply for education grants to supplement state funding through Coffee Creek’s rehabilitation budget, as well as a partnership with Portland Community College, which oversees the curriculum.

Beauty is just one piece of a complex puzzle, but it’s one that can change lives. "It's a privilege that everybody is excited about," Altman says about Hair Design’s impact at Coffee Creek. “It's not a matter of deserving these things, it's a matter of rehabilitating people, giving them hope, and keeping them from continuing the same cycles, and coming back."

*Names have been changed and some last names have been omitted to protect the subjects' safety and privacy.

For Many Transgender Women, The Beauty Boutique Is A Refuge

"Even in the M.A.C. world, while you are embraced for who you are, I found that I had more wiggle room as a gay man," M.A.C. makeup artist Gizelle Messina explains. "The more masculine I was, the more opportunity presented itself — and I skyrocketed."

Messina is sitting at a conference room table in a shared workspace in Los Angeles. Wearing all black, her long, wavy hair is loose and her pristine makeup is an undeniable giveaway of her industry experience. "I had just gotten my own counter, a staff of eight, a promotion, a condo, and a brand new car, but when I got home and looked in the mirror I would just cry because I didn’t recognize myself." 

Her hands become tense and her eyes dim retelling the moment when she couldn't take it anymore — it was finally time to tell her boss.

Coming out as transgender is the task of a lifetime; and coming out to your boss, even in 2017, can still feel like a career-killer. "I know the stories about people like me who out themselves in the workplace," Messina continues, "This is when companies utilize policy and procedure to manage you out without saying that it’s because you’re different. I was hiding so brilliantly, that I felt like this person I had created, if I abandoned it, I would lose everything."

To celebrate Pride Month, Messina is joining six other trans individuals from around the country to share their stories in a documentary film by Transparent director Silas Howard. More Than T premieres tonight on ShowTime, but we sat down with Messina to learn more about her specific journey, ahead.

Working Her Way Up

As you're likely gathering, Messina did not get fired after she told her boss at M.A.C. she was transgender. She didn't get fired when she transitioned either. Quite the contrary: She'll be celebrating her 17th year at M.A.C. soon. Instead, her supervisor asked what she should call Messina, made a Ru Paul quip to lighten the mood (he's one of the company's original spokespeople), and that was about it. "It was then that I truly understood who I worked for," Messina says.

This isn't an experience that every trans or genderqueer individual receives — far from it. According to the National Center For Transgender Equality, 75% of transgender individuals have suffered from discrimination at work, while more than 25% have lost a job due to bias. A 2015 survey found 30% having reported a job loss or loss of a promotion due to their gender expression. What's more, this study found that 77% took steps to hide their gender expression in the workplace for fear of being terminated or harassed. Messina calls herself "very privileged" for both her professional coming out story and how supported she's been in her adult years since.

Of course, this was when things took a turn for the better. But everything up until this moment sadly followed a more-common trans experience growing up in Central California. "Everyone is pointing out that you’re different, and you’re just trying to play on the jungle gym," she remembers. Hers is a story that many trans kids can unfortunately relate to: By 13-years-old she was kicked out of her dad's house and she was parenting herself on the streets by 15-years old. She'd been raped and physically assaulted numerous times by 18, and the regular verbal harassment was incessant in the years following.

I was hiding so brilliantly, that I felt like this person I had created, if I abandoned it, I would lose everything.

- GIZELLE MESSINA

“By 18 it was just so hard to exist — to go to the grocery store, to go get something to eat with my mom, it was just was too much,” she says. "At that age, you almost feel like you want to give up, but there was something telling me to push through."

For Messina, finding a safe haven at work changed everything. She landed a job at the Arden Fair Mall in Sacramento at 18-years-old doing makeup at Glamour Shots; she then worked her way up to the Benefit counter, then eventually landed at M.A.C.

Her new job coincided with a romantic relationship that would temporarily cut off her feminine expression completely. "He said 'I love you and I think you're beautiful, but I want to be with a man'," she recalls. "I embraced a new voice, a new stance, and a new definition of who I was." This was when Messina observed her privilege starting to change. "I noticed that the more masculine I was, the more society accepted me, which was a huge mindfuck, because I had existed completely feminine my entire life," she says. Things were going so well that she kept up the facade long after the two had split. But she knew it wasn't who she truly was.

Finding Her Safe Haven

When Messina came out as transgender in the workplace, she credits her employer for making it a positive experience. "I do think that the beauty industry is a place that’s going to be a more welcoming workforce for someone who is non-gender conforming or transgender to exist," she says, "And I feel that M.A.C. is leading it."

Messina's been with M.A.C. for over 16 years now, and works in one of the most liberal cities in the country: Los Angeles. But even here, work is a sanctuary.

"Within the four walls of M.A.C. — that’s where life is so unique for me," she says. "I’m not Gizelle the trans person; I’m an artist, a leader, someone with tenure. I'm someone who is very well respected. People make a B-line for me to do their makeup, but as soon as I leave those walls I get the trans experience. I could be three feet out of my work and I'm knocked back to reality with, 'That's a man!' or, 'Fag!'"

Within the four walls of M.A.C. — that’s where life is so unique for me. I’m not Gizelle the trans person, I’m an artist, a leader, someone with tenure. I'm someone who is very well respected.

-GIZELLE MESSINA

Makeup Family

But M.A.C.'s contributions don't stop at Gizelle's individual experience. "We celebrate diversity and inclusion," an official company statement reads. "M.A.C. has made it its mission to be a safe place for LGBT and gender-non conforming people and have put funds towards that very mission, giving over $450 million to initiatives that are working to end HIV/AIDS and end the stigma for those living with it."

What's more, More Than T was made possible thanks to the M.A.C. AIDS Fund — and it seeks to rewrite the trans narrative with Howard at the helm, who is also transgender. The goal: Move past the headlines, the coming out stories, the isolation, and the struggles, and highlight the actual, multidimensional lives of the individuals.

The marked change in how trans individuals are portrayed in the media isn’t lost on Messina. She remembers seeing trans women on TV growing up — always with a cartoonish deep voice or maybe caught standing to pee for comic relief. "And the ones on CSI were always the prostitute," she says, "But we’re slowly getting there. Laverne Cox has a prime time television show! What a reward to see a trans person portrayed as an attorney."

Opening her life up to the public eye wasn't easy for Messina, but she's glad she did it — and she's feeling optimistic about the future for more trans and gender nonconforming individuals to find steady employment, representation, and a safe haven inside and outside the beauty world.

"I know not every cosmetics company is like M.A.C., but I know that eventually they will be, because it’s the right thing to do," she says. "I look forward to a time where what exists within the four walls of M.A.C. is everywhere.”

Fair Trade Beauty Is More Complicated Than You Think

When I was a child, my favorite movie was FernGully: The Last Rainforest, a magical animated tale that brought the devastation of deforestation into our living rooms and, in turn, made faraway forests a sacred place like no other. 

And I’m not alone: If Generation Z came of age with the unfolding reality of global warming, the millennials’ issue is most certainly our disappearing rainforests. To me, it still feels like ourissue. While many of us have adjusted our international news focus — the heartbreaking state of so many parts of the world give us no shortage of things to worry about — it’s still a crucial issue in countless ways.

Fast-forward to this spring, when my childhood dream came to fruition: I’m standing in the middle of the Madre de Dios region of the Amazon rainforest in Peru, just west of the Bolivian border, in one of the most pristine jungles in the world. Read on for what a visit to the Amazon is really like — and how brands (and you!) are protecting and supporting the rainforest.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAX MILLIGAN.

We’re Not In FernGully Anymore…

It took four flights, many nauseating bus rides down dirt roads, and numerous half-day boat rides up the Amazon. At this point, I’ll admit the conditions are hard. My anti-malaria pills are making me ill; my arms are still sore from pre-travel vaccinations; and even with near-toxic levels of DEET-laced bug repellant and clothing spray that my doctor prescribed me (yes, this is a thing), I've racked up over 50 mosquitos bites by the first night. Fun fact: I'm one of those people who didn't think mosquitoes "liked me" until I met the relentless swarms of the Amazon jungle. 

I also didn’t realize how sick I was until I quit the OTC drug ring that was our travel group: “I’ll trade you an anti-cramping pill for a anti-diarrhea tablet,” was common conversation in the bus. I had to go on a round of antibiotics upon my return. (Stateside, this common stomach ailment is all-to-affectionately referred to as "traveler’s sickness.") 

A slight misstep in the forest can also leave you debilitated. An unlucky journalist I traveled with was bitten by an ant that was hanging out in her rain boot and received waves of excruciating pain through her body for hours. To add literal insult to injury, she missed the sun setting from an observation deck that was, easily, the most amazing sight during my journey. 

The forest is a particularly inhospitable place for those not accustomed to it — but I’m no wimp. 90-degree temps mixed with 90% humidity was child's play compared to the emotional toll the visit took. The lowlights: A heartbreaking interview with a woman my age who's had such limited opportunity that when we talk about her life, she can’t help but break down crying. To put it in perspective, she has one of the better jobs in Puerto Maldonado, the small town that marks the entry point to the forest. Then, there were the guides at Posada Amazonas, a truly magical eco-lodge where I stayed one night, who expressed their concern to stay open, as they’re on a limited grant from the Peruvian government. Or, the men we see (openly!) illegally mining in the Amazon, a rapidly growing problem spurred by a gold rush, that leaves the river polluted.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAX MILLIGAN.

The Reality

But even with these struggles, this forest is thriving in contrast to others. The Indonesian rainforest has fallen on devastating times thanks to farmers burning the forests to make way for fields of palm trees. This feeds an insatiable international demand for palm oil, which is in nearly every consumer product you can think of, from packaged cookies to beauty products. I don’t have to tell you why this is an issue: Rainforests covered around 14% of Earth once, now we're at 6 or 7% — or even lower, depending who you ask. Yet, they house around half the world's living creatures, act at the "lungs of earth," and are vital hunting grounds for new drugs, which are desperately needed right now. (The issues are complex, but this isn't a doomsday article — hold on just one more minute!)

Back to my childhood dream of saving the rainforest — or at least helping a little: trying to figure out how to help is daunting. After all, I’m just like you. I work hard to make rent, pay back my student loans, visit my family, and have money left over to have a little fun with my friends when Friday arrives. How can I, soon to be a world away in the States, help this area or the people that live here in a real, sustainable way?

Fair trade gives the governments an economic incentive to maintain the forests...

-CHRISTINA ARCHER

Then, I learned this: One of the many reasons why this forest I'm standing in — and many other valuable ecosystems — is still intact is because the governments have realized that the natural forests could, just maybe, be more valuable untouched than if they were cleared to make way for livestock or en vogue cash crops, like palm oil. It's a brick-by-brick approach — ecotourism helps, and so do conservation groups, but there's also something the average person can do.

Fair-Trade Beauty

Chances are, you've seen the term fair trade thrown around a lot. "Fair Trade is a trading partnership, based on dialogue, transparency, and respect, that seeks greater equity in international trade," explains Michele Loeper, former marketing manager of Ten Thousand Villages, a nonprofit organization that sells exclusively fair trade merchandise. "[Fair trade] contributes to sustainable development by offering better trading conditions to, and securing the rights of, marginalized producers and workers." 

That sounds warm and fuzzy, but for me, it took traveling to somewhere deeply impacted by the practice to realize how how important it truly is. Honestly, before this trip I wasn't excited to pay a few dollars more for a pound of fair-trade coffee or tube of hand cream, because I didn't really know what it meant — until now.

The explosion of natural and organic products hitting the market means that brands are constantly looking for the next big ingredient to meet that uptick in demand. That's where fair trade comes in. To wit: Brands like Lush, L'Occitane, and Caudalie all feature fair-trade ingredients in some of their most-popular products.

Leading the pack in innovation and reach is a brand you may not expect: The Body Shop. Over the past 30 years, the U.K.-based company has helped create a model of what fair trade in the beauty industry actually looks like. 

Today, The Body Shop fairly and ethically trades with 26 supplier groups in 22 countries. A whopping 94% of the brand’s products feature fair-trade ingredients and the brand's movements are monitored by a third party Swiss organization, IMO, to ensure transparency in its ethical operations. 

The Body Shop has also made a commitment to do even better. This year, the company turns 40 and marked the anniversary with a goal dubbed Enrich, Not Exploit: By 2020, it aims to make massive strides towards being "the world's most ethical and truly sustainable global business." Not just a beauty business, but a business in general. That includes more than doubling the range of ingredients it sources, increasing the groups it trades with, helping 40,000 economically vulnerable people across the developing world — the list goes on.

ELDA LUZ VERA GONZALES. / PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAX MILLIGAN.

Meet Canada

My trip to the Amazon jungle was framed around a visit to one of these 26 supplier groups, Candela. It happens to be one of the oldest relationships The Body Shop has. The partnership began when one of Candela's founders hopped a flight to the U.K. in the '90s and showed up at The Body Shop’s HQ with a sample of oil. 

“I brought a glass Coca-Cola bottle of Brazil-nut oil with a cork in the top and asked for a meeting with The Body Shop,” Gaston Vizcarra, one of the founders of Candela, told me. “They recommended I change my bottle for the next time [laughs], but they were interested in trying to work with us.” The ethos aligned: “I was interested in selling it, yes, but the goal was to create a sustainable model, a business supply chain."

Translation: Then and now, fair trade isn't a charity — it doesn't contribute X amount of money per sale to developing communities. Instead, it's about creating a supply chain that allows locals to do what they've done for generations (trade) without being exploited (fair). Back then, The Body Shop called the movement "Trade Not Aid," which basically sums it up.

“I’m not going to call a supply chain a community supply chain if I am going to buy 15 kilos one year then nothing the next,” said Christina Archer, senior manager of sustainable sourcing at The Body Shop. “Because what have you done? Nothing. You don’t have a relationship, you haven’t made an impact.” 

Of course, The Body Shop has clout — it was purchased by L’Oreal in 2006 and has over 3,000 stores in 65 countries. But delivering large orders every year still takes thought. For example: “We use Brazil-nut oil in over 60 different formulas,” Archer says. "So, as customers stop buying one product, we can start using it in another one. We have a rolling demand, because we have been working with Candela for over 20 years.” 

The need for big, recurring orders isn't just valuable at The Body Shop. Heather Deeth, manager of ethical buying at Lush, echoes the sentiment: “When our volumes increase, we can become really powerful in how we buy," she explains. "That’s what we’re always looking for in our supply chain: How do we hit a critical volume? As we get bigger that’s where the opportunity is."

Fitting Brazil nuts into this model, however, isn't easy. 

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAX MILLIGAN.

A Nut In A Nut

Before I stepped off the plane in Puerto Maldonado, I had no idea what a Brazil nut was. My itinerary included a journey deep into the jungle — where tourists aren’t allowed to go — to see how Candela’s fleet of castañeros (the people who camp out to collect the nuts from January to March) bring in the nuts, how the concession owners function (the men and women who manage the collection points), and how the nuts are cracked, sorted, and processed back in town.

In the trading community of Lago Valencia, I met Elda Luz Vera Gonzales, a woman who practically has Brazil-nut oil running through her veins: Her father owned a concession before her and she’s made it her life’s work. Unlike women of previous generations, there’s “no machismo” needed to secure the job. Slowly changing ideals in the region means that this year, 34% of the concessions managed by Candela are legally held by a woman.

The way these nuts are collected, however, hasn’t changed much over the decades. Brazil-nut trees are some of the tallest in the rainforest, which means they couldn’t be farmed, even if you wanted to. The trees take over a decade to come to maturity and cannot be within around a half mile or so of another, or the roots won’t be able to stretch out. It's worth the wait; the nuts are delicious and the oil that is made from them is used in body, skin, and hair products to protect, hydrate, and add smoothness and shine, respectively. Anyone obsessed with The Body Shop's rich body butters will immediately understand how amazing this oil is in products. [Ed. note: I'm currently addicted to the Hawaiian Kukui Cream, which is packed with the Brazil nut oil created by Candela.]

The nuts aren’t what you expect, either. In fact, they’re more of a nut in a nut. They’re about the size of a coconut. Once you break open the shell, you'll find it’s packed with more nuts, each in another shell. They also make biting insects look harmless — if a falling nut hits you on the head, it can kill you.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAX MILLIGAN.

Collecting the nuts is a summer job. The castañeros are normally men and usually bring their families with them to camp out; the women cook and the children are on break from school, so they're likely helping, too. The camps have no running water or electricity, but sometimes a generator for evening light. The castañeros normally have other jobs in the rest of the year. 

For Gonzales, however, this is her main gig and it works a bit like this: At the beginning of each season, Candela furnishes pre-payments for concession holders, like Gonzales, to pay her employees to make the trek (the ones I met were from the Andes) and get their supplies sorted, like a loan with no interest or an advance on your check. 

A committee within Candela also set the prices for the nuts based on fair market value for that year. Prior to this system Gonzales would be at the mercy of traveling traders — and their pricing — who would, quite literally, wash up on shore unexpectedly. “They’d show up and say ‘I’ll buy your nuts’ offering whatever price they wanted,” Mr. Vizcarra says. Or, what’s worse, they wouldn’t show up at all and the perishable Brazil nuts would become a convenient feast for cute-and-colorful macaws with the munchies.

“They would be held captive of what the traders would give you,” Archer explains. “Where as here they have a contract with Candela and whatever they produce they are guaranteed to sell at X price.” 

Although the trading is becoming more sophisticated, Vizcarra notes that “people here have little information about how the market works; we have to be the link for the people of the rainforest.”

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAX MILLIGAN.

From Soup To Nuts

The concession owners weren't the only ones held captive in the old system. Do a little poking around and you'll hear stories of indentured workers and massive exploitation of castañeros, something Deeth found when Lush began its entry into sourcing Brazil-nut oil from this part of Peru. 

"We got a tip from our Amazonian butter supplier that there are issues around indentured labor," she explains, again pointing to the need to make big buys to ensure you know the whole story, from soup to nuts. "The source of this is people who are buying the nuts from brokers. How do you get traceability back [when you’re buying like that]? You can't.”

Mr. Vizcarra agrees: "It would be easy to work with a middleman, but then I don’t know where the nuts come from or how much have you paid to the producers," he says. "Have you cheated them in the weight? What have you done to get the nuts?" Mr. Vizcarra is the first to admit that this isn't the easiest way — but it's vital. 

Navigating the sustainable sourcing of the nuts from the forest is a logistical puzzle: Candela had to win the grant to legally remove the nuts from the forest, organize a way to get the nuts out of regions without roads (tractors and boats must travel on the weather's schedule, not Candela's), and get a lot of workers "on the books."

On a five-hour boat ride up the Amazon river to a collection point, Lupe Vizcarra, another Candela cofounder, explained that getting workers to become “formal” (i.e., have their incomes recorded and taxed by the government) is like a game of chess. It’s cultural, she tells me.

However, thanks to clever maneuvering by the Candela team, the company currently employs more than 500 people and, in turn, has become the guardians of sorts to 10,000 hectares of land home to roughly 10,000 Brazil-nut trees — which are a bit like the anchors of the rainforest. That’s roughly 38 square miles that form a playground for howler monkeys, exotic birds, alligators, and giant river otters. I can tell you firsthand that when you watch an endangered river otter playing with her cub on the banks of a lake at dawn, the heat, bug bites, and stomach cramps all fade away. It’s as close to FernGully as I’ll ever get — and every moment was pure childhood bliss.

“Fair trade gives the governments an economic incentive to maintain the forests,” Archer says. “We’re not going to solve the problems of deforestation and we’re not going to compete with the forces that are driving that, but we are giving another economic reason to help the communities living in and around those areas to try to combat it.” 

If that isn't a reason to pick fair trade when given the option when selecting a body cream or shower gel, I don't know what is. 

The late Anita Roddick, the visionary that started The Body Shop back in 1976, once said: “If you think you’re too small to make an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito.” Today, I can officially say I’ve gone to bed with many, but I no longer think I’m too small to make a difference.