Los Angeles, California: a city of strikes, dreams, and—constantly, inescapably,
unavoidably—wellness. Even though I've been covering L.A.'s odd "health culture" since I first moved ,
here as a baby reporter in 2017, at a time when Moon Juice ruled the roost ,
(side note: remember the "sex dust?"), when I left the city for New York in 2018,
I really believed I'd never return. Even though I had enjoyed going to the mall, eating at In-N-Out,
and driving to the beach in the morning, I persuaded myself that I "just wasn't the L.A.
type" because I was a 24-year-old scumbag in a city of exquisitely toned and barre-class-toned beauty.
If only Amanda Chantal Bacon had the ability to create a custom dust to treat that condition.