I’m building a wellness brand in 2026. And every day I want to pull my hair out.
When I started it in 2022, I was honestly just building from a place of having a problem I wanted to solve - riddled with acne and having spent years researching remedies - but this is everyone’s story to tell now. But the meticulous planning, the perfectionism, the endless refining of what the brand should be meant we didn’t actually launch until 2024, right on time for AI, algorithms and ten-step wellness routines to completely take over the internet.
Sometimes (everyday) I wonder, what the fuck am I doing?
I’ve come to realise that maybe there’s something inherently avoidant in me that hates when something I love becomes popularised. My instinct is to run. To go as far away from it as possible. Which is slightly contradictory, considering I’ve now joined Substack at the exact moment everyone else has.
But wellness, amongst my messy, drunk life, used to feel like a retreat. An escape. Something niche that belonged to me and only a small handful of people. My own little sacred world.
Then that world started being imposed upon by an endless stream of content creators telling us how to live. What to eat. How to wake up. What supplements to take. Where to go. What to buy. Ten things you must do this week to become the best version of yourself.
So naturally, my first instinct was: fuck it. Abandon the wellness brand and move on to the next thing, which I’m really good at.
Jump from one thing to the next because I get bored so easily, then sit in the existential crisis of never mastering a skill. Another avoidant personality trait, I guess.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this was actually the reason to keep going.
I didn’t want to become another brand telling you how to live, what to do or what to buy. I didn’t want Alchemy to contribute to the endless algorithmic noise that makes us feel like there is always something else to fix, optimise, consume or become.
Also, ironically, I was already going inside myself over a wellness brand called ‘Alchemy.’ It felt so safe, so mystical, so…. wellness. Everything I was trying to go against.
I actually tried to change the name to Antidote, which felt much more in line with the world I wanted to build. But I was pretty shook to hear that everyone preferred Alchemy, even the people I really honestly trust.
So maybe/hopefully Alchemy can be a middle finger to the wellness industry. At least as much as it can be, considering it is still, ultimately, a consumer brand.
A middle finger to the endless commodification of our lives. To a capitalist society that has somehow managed to turn even our attempts to escape capitalism into things we can buy. To the algorithm that tells us which restaurants to go to, which books to read, which places to travel to, which morning routine will change our lives.
And fucking hell, I’ve devoured every last bit of every kind of content out there. I’m the perfect consumer for it all, lost in a 4 hour doom scroll sitting between 4 forms of content across my laptop, my work laptop and my phone.
Which is obviously why, like many others, it started to bother me so much.
Above all this though I realised that I felt empty inside. And no, not because I needed another thing to fix me. I felt empty because I was no longer transmuting any of this into art and I was building a ‘business’. No longer was it about creating something that transmuted pain, joy, identity, experience, reality, existentialism. It was about strategy, growth, metrics, performance, OPTIMISATION.
Living in London already feels like I’m constantly lost in liminality. Everything is moving, everyone is becoming, everything feels slightly in-between, slightly fake. And without my art to channel any of that, it all started to feel so vacuous.
But I suppose that became the turning point for me.
I wanted to build something that inspires me again. Because I realised that the product is actually just the tangible outcome of something much bigger.
Building Alchemy is a place to subvert wellness and what it has become. Yes, we still sell a product, but it’s not here to fix you. It’s just a little support for getting through this crazy, overstimulating life.
And actually, not having a wellness brand who we look to as a benchmark or inspiration is an incredible place to be.
I hope our brand never attempts to tell you how to live your life, or give you another list of things you need to buy, do, eat or become. There is enough of that out there.
I want it to exist as something that makes you think and feel.
Maybe that’s the whole point.
Who cares about engagement and sales anyway? As long as I’m building something that is true to me and my thoughts around wellness, consumerism, creativity and what it means to live in this completely fucking insane time.
But yeh, I think my qualms with wellness are something much bigger than wellness.
Written by Co-founder - Lucy
AI, ALGORITHMS AND ANOTHER WELLNESS BRAND
I’m building a wellness brand in 2026. And every day I want to pull my hair out.
When I started it in 2022, I was honestly just building from a place of having a problem I wanted to solve - riddled with acne and having spent years researching remedies - but this is everyone’s story to tell now. But the meticulous planning, the perfectionism, the endless refining of what the brand should be meant we didn’t actually launch until 2024, right on time for AI, algorithms and ten-step wellness routines to completely take over the internet.
Sometimes (everyday) I wonder, what the fuck am I doing?
I’ve come to realise that maybe there’s something inherently avoidant in me that hates when something I love becomes popularised. My instinct is to run. To go as far away from it as possible. Which is slightly contradictory, considering I’ve now joined Substack at the exact moment everyone else has.
But wellness, amongst my messy, drunk life, used to feel like a retreat. An escape. Something niche that belonged to me and only a small handful of people. My own little sacred world.
Then that world started being imposed upon by an endless stream of content creators telling us how to live. What to eat. How to wake up. What supplements to take. Where to go. What to buy. Ten things you must do this week to become the best version of yourself.
So naturally, my first instinct was: fuck it. Abandon the wellness brand and move on to the next thing, which I’m really good at.
Jump from one thing to the next because I get bored so easily, then sit in the existential crisis of never mastering a skill. Another avoidant personality trait, I guess.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realised that this was actually the reason to keep going.
I didn’t want to become another brand telling you how to live, what to do or what to buy. I didn’t want Alchemy to contribute to the endless algorithmic noise that makes us feel like there is always something else to fix, optimise, consume or become.
Also, ironically, I was already going inside myself over a wellness brand called ‘Alchemy.’ It felt so safe, so mystical, so…. wellness. Everything I was trying to go against.
I actually tried to change the name to Antidote, which felt much more in line with the world I wanted to build. But I was pretty shook to hear that everyone preferred Alchemy, even the people I really honestly trust.
So maybe/hopefully Alchemy can be a middle finger to the wellness industry. At least as much as it can be, considering it is still, ultimately, a consumer brand.
A middle finger to the endless commodification of our lives. To a capitalist society that has somehow managed to turn even our attempts to escape capitalism into things we can buy. To the algorithm that tells us which restaurants to go to, which books to read, which places to travel to, which morning routine will change our lives.
And fucking hell, I’ve devoured every last bit of every kind of content out there. I’m the perfect consumer for it all, lost in a 4 hour doom scroll sitting between 4 forms of content across my laptop, my work laptop and my phone.
Which is obviously why, like many others, it started to bother me so much.
Above all this though I realised that I felt empty inside. And no, not because I needed another thing to fix me. I felt empty because I was no longer transmuting any of this into art and I was building a ‘business’. No longer was it about creating something that transmuted pain, joy, identity, experience, reality, existentialism. It was about strategy, growth, metrics, performance, OPTIMISATION.
Living in London already feels like I’m constantly lost in liminality. Everything is moving, everyone is becoming, everything feels slightly in-between, slightly fake. And without my art to channel any of that, it all started to feel so vacuous.
But I suppose that became the turning point for me.
I wanted to build something that inspires me again. Because I realised that the product is actually just the tangible outcome of something much bigger.
Building Alchemy is a place to subvert wellness and what it has become. Yes, we still sell a product, but it’s not here to fix you. It’s just a little support for getting through this crazy, overstimulating life.
And actually, not having a wellness brand who we look to as a benchmark or inspiration is an incredible place to be.
I hope our brand never attempts to tell you how to live your life, or give you another list of things you need to buy, do, eat or become. There is enough of that out there.
I want it to exist as something that makes you think and feel.
Maybe that’s the whole point.
Who cares about engagement and sales anyway? As long as I’m building something that is true to me and my thoughts around wellness, consumerism, creativity and what it means to live in this completely fucking insane time.
But yeh, I think my qualms with wellness are something much bigger than wellness.
Written by Co-founder - Lucy