I’ve had this large patch of bumpy, dry, and discolored skin on my upper left arm ever since I was a teenager. I’m self conscious about it; I avoid tank tops, I turn to the right in photos. Whatever. We all have our things.
There is literally nothing “wrong” with it other than aesthetics. That hasn’t stopped me from lathering up for more than 20 years with different lotions and potions, including prescription, to coerce it away. Nothing has worked. It’s just how my arm is.
Every time I visited Equinox, the luxury (more on this in a second) gym I’d pump Kiehl’s onto it. For free* (*Not free, actually a $300+ monthly membership).
In my head, if the rich people stuff didn’t work (it doesn’t), nothing would.
But then, quelle horreur, Equinox changed the soaps to Grown Alchemist.
Do I care? No. It’s still nicer than what I use at home. But a lot of people seem to care. What interests me, though, is what it says about Equinox itself - and what may be there when you wash away the brand.
I justify the dumb monthly price to be an Equinox member because it’s my health: part of a routine, access to mental clarity, bougey comfort. I like not having to bring my own towel to the gym; I want easy pool access; I like the cold eucalyptus wraps.
And then there’s the soap. The gym chain famously held Kiehl’s products in it’s locker rooms and showers, where you could soak in as much pour le corps as you like. (Wasn’t there a Broad City episode where they fill plastic bags with fancy creams to take home from the clearly-parodied-Equinox gym?)
When the soaps switched over to Grown Alchemist, people on social (and irl) complained. Overall, Equinox members are not having it - it smells bad, it feels gross. It’s a brand that, as a friendly Reddit user points out, “is sold at TJ Maxx.”
Non-Equinox members are hoping that the conversation dies down so that one of the most significant first-world problems of our season leaves their feeds forever. Which, fair. (Have any of you even read this far?)
I thought this was just silly noise until a few weeks ago. After a recent workout, I was in the shower and realized I was using the face wash as a shampoo. The two have different feels and textures, but I didn’t realize my error until the muck was in my hair. It was a simple mistake to make, though, because the labels on the bottles had already washed right off.
You’d think that a shampoo bottle would be able to withstand water in a shower, but the labeling is weaker than anticipated. Consistently across gyms and shower stalls, the labels are brushing off, leaving us guessing what we’re putting onto our bodies.
Is this a travesty? No. It’s a dumb inconvenience at an expensive gym.
Is it a symbol of something else? Maybe.
My whole thing with marketing, brand and creative is always this: it starts and ends with the product. Equinox is not in the soap business; they’re barely in the gym business. They, according to themselves, are in the luxury business. (SEO Copy: “Where Luxury and Fitness Meet.”)
I’ve worked with both luxury and value brands, among a range of others. There are many nuanced differences between these businesses, but the biggest divergences boil down to two spaces: the product and the story.
With luxury, the product is (usually, hopefully) of better quality, made with top-tier and well-researched materials. I am 99.99% certain that my Williams Sonoma Goldtouch bakeware (seriously, it’s the best) will outlast whatever is the first hit on Amazon.
That said, as with all marketing, the product only goes so far. At some point, the story comes in.
Many times (not always, but many times), the difference in quality between a high-end product and a medium-level product isn’t as cavernous as the gap between price. (See: anything in the beauty industry. Like, say, soap.) In order to justify that, marketing and creative hook customers with the story to help them feel superior. It’s not just that the shoes you bought are of better quality; they’re of luxury quality, and you get to know that, hold that, boast that.
Is it obnoxious? Yes. Does it work? Yes. Which is why so many people are all up in arms about Equinox’s switch from Kiehl’s. It may be a lesser-quality product, but I doubt that it’s as significant as a shift as the conversation suggests.
To me, it’s not even that Grown Alchemist dilutes the Equinox brand. It’s the soap itself, which is literally being diluted. I didn’t understand what the fuss was all about until, sure enough, I saw the labels peeled off. It’s as if you were to get on a treadmill and all the numbers on the machine were rubbed off. You wouldn’t expect to see that at any gym, much less one that prides itself on being better than all the others.
In March, the company received $1.8b in new capital to refinance its debt; then, in August, Blink Fitness, it’s value brand, filed for bankruptcy. The brand has long been plagued with rumors that it’s an unfavorable place to work. Creative competitors such as Life Time (which dub themselves “athletic country clubs,” presumably with a straight face) are taking over retail spaces in cities. They’re offering even further amenities, such as co-working officespace, and coming for Equinox’s lunch/post-workout smoothie.
So, is complaining about the soaps at a luxury gym ridiculous? Yes. It’s like complaining about the champagne being served too cold. But there’s a difference between being served chilled wine on a private yacht or on the Titanic. Time will tell which boat is carrying us to where luxury and fitness meet.