I’m spilling my guts in a dimly lit room full of strangers. As I sit with nine other New Yorkers in a circle of chairs surrounding a giant candle, I find myself divulging all my latest anxieties in response to the question: “How are you, really?”
This is Peoplehood, a new venture from Elizabeth Cutler and Julie Rice, the founders of the controversial yet consistently buzzy SoulCycle. Although Cutler and Rice left their active roles at the spin class chain in 2016, they took the “soul” with them and poured it into Peoplehood, which is essentially a connection workshop (officially called a “Gather”), designed to give your empathy muscles a workout.
After some initial stretches and breathing exercises, nearly everyone in the class is spilling some serious tea, especially when we eventually break out into small groups to discuss our feelings and what we want to “let go of” in our lives. This is the kind of sharing my mom and my friends might normally have to tease out of me and yet here I am — *shudders* — being vulnerable.
As the group revelations unfold, I feel good. Maybe even…warm and gooey inside? Skipping the small talk for deep connection can feel refreshing, it turns out. But then, towards the end of the Gather, a part of me starts to panic. This is not going as I planned. I came into this listening workshop as a skeptic, and not just because TikTokers have been comparing Peoplehood to a cult. Really, the whole idea of paying up to $165 a month to experience this kind of artificially prompted, deep social connection icked me out. So when I attended, I figured I’d be doing more eagle-eyed observing than sharing. I definitely didn’t expect to be oversharing. Especially because one of the stated goals of Peoplehood is to help people give their listening skills a stretch and to improve their empathy for others.
Listening was certainly part of the session but, in order to give folks something to “empathize with,” attendees had to open up. Peoplehood is great at nudging everyone towards doing just that. I don’t know if this is due to the fact that we were all strangers who may never see each other again, or if it was the chill vibe of our Peoplehood guide, Juliana Estrella, who has a calming, ASMR-y voice. Or if those powerful, earthy candles burning in the center of the room were taking everyone’s defenses offline. (You guys, seriously, the candles were so strong. When I followed up after class to ask what the scent was, I learned they were $100+ products called Bougie Apothicaire Spirituelle Mad et Len. Bougie indeed!)
Or maybe it was psychology. Rice told me that she and Cutler had spent three years perfecting the Gathers, incorporating research and lessons from AA groups and different religions. They also consulted with professors and psychologists (though it’s worth noting that Gathers are not led by therapists — more on that later) and got very specific about the questions posed in the Gathers (Rice’s favorite is: “What’s something that’s keeping you up at night?”).
And most people at the Gather did open up. My circle buds discussed everything from relationship troubles to racism to just feeling unmotivated. As I listened to them — until the end of class when I started panicking about my own overshare — I found myself getting out of my own head. Identifying, empathizing. I really didn’t want to admit it but I did leave the room feeling less alone (and like my sinuses had been reset by the potent aroma from the candles).
Peoplehood isn’t the only new operation trying to foster such connection in traditional wellness spaces. There is a cohort of new ventures in this sector aiming to bring folks together in the name of health. A new trend report from the Global Wellness Summit identified “wellness gathering” at the top of its hot list for this year, noting that “communities” are the future of the wellness industry. The report says: “We ‘know’ loneliness is skyrocketing, that it kills, and that the number one predictor of health and happiness is relationships. But somehow, the recent uber-capitalist wellness market has led with two things: a sea of keep-them-spending ‘me time’ products and ‘digital wellness’—both lonely journeys of ‘self-care.’ The COVID pandemic has proven to be the breaking point. The biggest wellness trend is the development of new spaces and experiences that bring people together in real life—creatively and with intention—where social connection is the burning center of the concept.”
Similarly, a 2023 trend index from Mindbody, which does research and has data on fitness and wellness studios around the world, identified “The Rise of the Wellness Collective” as big this year, noting that “consumers will continue to look to fitness, beauty, and wellness businesses as a source of community.”
Peoplehood (which has both online and in-person Gathers) is not alone in this community-building — other ventures with a similar ethos are popping up everywhere. There’s Othership in Toronto, a popular bathhouse offering saunas, ice baths and breathwork classes, which specifically encourages people to “bring their crew” for “evening socials” in the space. There’s the anticipated “urban wellness club” Six Senses Place opening in London soon. There’s also Remedy Place, which claims to be the world’s first “social wellness club” and is based in New York and Los Angeles. The founder of Remedy Place, Jonathan Leary, PhD, tells Refinery29 that it hopes to be the hot new alternative to happy hour with friends or dates, especially for sober-curious folks interested in ditching their G&Ts in favor of group IV drips. Leary’s team is even partnering with the podcast We Met At Acme to host a dating event where singles can meet and bond over cryotherapy and non-alcoholic drinks.
What these trendy spaces have in common — other than being a bit pricey — is that they’re hot spots (or cold spots, if you’re going the ice bath route) to meet new pals or catch up with old ones. “With remote work, people need everyday places to be and belong—and younger gens, who are ditching booze and bars, seek healthier social spaces,” the GWS report says.
Do I know a lot of people who are ditching the club to do cryotherapy with their besties and Hinge dates? No, but there’s certainly a collective craving to get together outside of traditional dark bars. Especially after all we’ve been through with the COVID pandemic, people need a “third place,” says Lauren McAlister, co-owner of the fitness studio McAlister Training and a member of Mindbody & ClassPass Wellness Council. The “third place” is a defining space outside of the home and the office (or the home office) where people seek connection with others. The term was coined by urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg in 1989, who found there was a human need for another place of connection, such as a church or a community center — or hey, maybe a spot like Peoplehood? “For a lot of people right now with the pandemic and being home more, there’s even more of this need for a third place,” McAlister says. “And wellness businesses are becoming a third space.” In a recent report, Mindbody found that more than a third of consumers were likely to choose well-known wellness businesses for their “community-building activities.”
But it’s a fact that wellness spaces haven’t always been welcoming to all communities. Heather C. White knows this all too well. Years ago, she joined Equinox, took some classes and found that “the only other people of color there were actually part of the service staff cleaning the floors.” This led her to found TRILLFIT, a fitness and mental health venture with the specific intention to center Black women and people of color, and to be inclusive of those who are disabled or chronically ill. “We have major swaths of people who are desperately searching for community and they want to feel [like they] belong,” White says. “You can see that in the rise in suicide rates that are happening most steeply among people of color… It’s sad to see the combined effects of the world, social media, climate change and racial injustice. But as we come to more of a solution-oriented approach, communities based around wellness and healing are going to be the things that save us and propel us forward.” She found this to be the case with her TRILLFIT community, which filled a gap and gave Black and brown folks a space to feel represented while getting together and working up a sweat.
“We really became a movement,” White says. “We said: ‘Wellness is not a privilege, it’s something deserved by everyone, including marginalized groups…’ People have preconceived notions about what community is and what it takes to build community. Some people think it’s as easy as putting a bar next to a yoga studio. But that isn’t what builds community. What makes people linger is to see [others] they have things in common with. Community takes planning and trust and heart and authenticity — that’s how you build a movement.”
Another group the specific push for in-person wellness connection tends to leave out? People with disabilities, chronic pain, or those who are immunocompromised. Just because something is “online” doesn’t mean you can’t form a true community there, says Julie Blackburn, a data scientist who’s been diagnosed with primary progressive multiple sclerosis (PPMS), a condition that affects the central nervous system and mobility. During the pandemic, she started doing chair yoga and chair Zumba through the MS Dream Center on Zoom. Before the sessions, she and others would chat and they soon became both friends and accountability partners. “People may make an assumption that the community can’t exist in the same way in this remote environment, but it does,” Blackburn says. “Having that has been such a profound game-changer. I don’t want to get emotional… But I used to be the woman’s middleweight triple crown champion in karate. Well, my legs don’t work that well anymore, so it’s like, how do you give that up? This has been just so, so great to have this community again.”
Pricing also limits accessibility to collective wellness spaces like Peoplehood but you don’t have to break the bank at one of these luxe spots to satisfy your hunger for connection. There are lots of cheaper options, including free running groups and pickup sports leagues. “There’s a grassroots nature to this that doesn’t cost money,” says Beth McGroarty, research director of GWS. “Think about the explosion of walking clubs and pickleball groups and even bingo teams… It’s not just the fancy wellness industry doing this.”
You can’t talk about the push for socialization in wellness spaces without talking about mental health, which is, of course, tied to our general health. Remember, Peoplehood asked me to consider how I was actually doing and nudged me toward sharpening my listening skills, which would hopefully help my outside relationships. Research shows there’s a strong correlation between having strong relationships and general wellbeing, per the decades-long Harvard Study of Adult Development.
“We thought if we could provide structure and the scaffolding for people to connect with others and really listen to them and their own voices, that there was something potent in that,” Cutler told Refinery29 about the formation of Peoplehood. “Right now, people are really putting a value on what it is to have true health, and the foundation of true health is our relationships… There is a real need for social health — for relational health — and this is a great way to access that.”
While the ideas of strengthening empathy, listening skills and, in turn, broader health are nice, the thing about Peoplehood is it does this by asking questions that can tread into therapeutic “support group” territory. But Peoplehood is not led by licensed therapists. “It feels therapeutic, but it’s not therapy. It’s vitamins, not medicine,” Rice told The New York Times in a quote that was later slammed on TikTok.
The “therapeutic” feeling can lead to issues among a group of people who are getting vulnerable in the real world. It can be easy for someone to be triggered or for a conversation to spiral out of control and be unhelpful, says Jennifer Silvershein Teplin, LCSW, the founder and clinical director of Manhattan Wellness (full disclosure: I go to another therapist within Manhattan Wellness group). “This is a simple example,” she says, “but do you want a bus driver driving your bus? Or do you want an individual who has never driven a bus before getting behind the wheel of a New York City metro bus and trying to make a turn on a busy street? The individual can do it, don’t get me wrong, but one is a little more seasoned [than the other].”
So in the spirit of “wellness gathering,” if you’re looking to work out issues or believe you have serious problems with connecting with or listening to other people, it might serve you better to go to actual group therapy. They might not include fancy candles but therapy groups can also be a space to connect with others while feeling more “well.” “So often, people are going through something, and they think they’re the only one,” says Silvershein Teplin. “Or they think that they’re a total weirdo… I find that there are a lot of collective experiences that no one is talking about. And when you can share what you are going through and someone else says, ‘Oh my god, me too!’ I believe there’s such a powerful moment of connection. That’s why group can be so great — it makes us feel less alone in our existence.”
Peoplehood also made me feel less alone. But I would wager that I’d have experienced less anxiety after telling strangers how I was really doing if I’d shared it in an official therapy group, with ground rules about privacy and such (Peoplehood has a confidentiality policy but it’s a bit hard to see how it will be enforced and followed in the real world). Plus, knowing you’re not the only one with a problem is one thing, but being given the tools to solve that problem? That’s something that can almost certainly lead to better health.
Back in my Peoplehood chair circle, before we started sharing, we were told not to interrupt or interject when someone else was talking. Not even with filler words like “yeah” or “totally” or “that happened to me too!” If we felt called, we could signal to someone that we related to them by placing our open palm over our collarbone or “aggressively” nodding, our guide told us. Additionally, to “validate the community” we were encouraged to snap our fingers after someone was done speaking.
This, I admit, created a great vibe. But I wondered later if I’d felt so open to sharing about my life because people were being trained to actively listen to me; you don’t always get that unremitting attention when you’re telling your roommate or partner about your day while they make dinner. Here, I did feel heard, and I tried to hear other people, too. But was it just because I was being coached to do so?
Again, toward the end of class, I was eventually stricken with that gut feeling that I’d overshared. A part of me felt that it was because the situation felt somewhat artificially crafted. Which, of course, it was. Peoplehood is like the Splenda of human connection: not as good as the real stuff. It did its job — I shared something I probably needed to get off my chest, and it was a good reminder to listen when other people are talking — but I might rather have had this experience of sharing and listening deeply with my friends or family.
The thing about Peoplehood is that if you have some money to blow and are feeling disconnected, it can nudge you towards connecting. But you might do better to take its ethos and apply it to your daily life. Listen harder. Get vulnerable with your pals. Spill your guts to them at a run club or during an ice bath or just on a nice walk in the park.
Just do more things that make you feel good and plugged into your social network. And hey, maybe light a candle while you’re at it.
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