There are two things you should know about me before we get going: 1. I am not skinny, and probably never will be. At 30-years-old, 5'8" and 170 pounds—a size 12—I just make the "normal BMI" range. Given that from ages 13-23 I was 5'8" and weighed around 210 pounds, I am fairly satisfied with the weight I've been able to pretty much maintain for the past seven years. 2. I don't really believe in anything. I want to believe in god. I want to believe in ghosts. And I really, really want to believe in astrology. But all I truly believe is that some day, I will be totally dead.
These two seemingly disparate disclosures help to explain why, about a year-and-a-half ago, I followed up on a referral from a coworker to see Patrick Fratellone, a medical doctor favored by the fashion flock. Dr. Fratellone is a cardiologist, but he's also a herbalist. And much like Dr. Frank Lipman—the celeb practitioner I interviewed for a Buzzfeed story about "fashion doctors":—he approaches medical issues, no matter how minor, in a holistic fashion. Depressed? Maybe you're low on Vitamin D. Bad backache? Try taking fish oil to reduce inflammation.
I decided to see Dr. Fratellone because, as a 29-year-old, I was starting to feel old. Bloated. Sick basically every time I ate something other than a salad. And despite hiring a trainer and cutting back to 1,500 calories a day, I wasn't losing the extra eight pounds I had gained over the past year. And really, finding a good doctor in New York—the most crowded city in the US—is a pain in the ass, so I figured I'd give him a chance.
The woman who referred me to Dr. Fratellone was not overweight. Or bloated. But she, like many of our colleagues at a glossy women's magazine, was a believer in the idea that a doctor can truly improve your life if you let him. "He might make you stop eating vinegar—it's very acidic," she told me. Oh.
So, despite my reservations, I went to see Dr. Fratellone at his midtown office, which is like any other doctor's office, except for the fact there's a little room off to the side where he sells all different types of supplements—the room that my husband calls, "Where He's Making the Real Money." You definitely won't find Versace home furnishings in Dr. Fratellone's office. But he does happen to be in the same building as a Cutler Salon. How convenient.
After one visit, I let Dr. Fratellone—cleaning-living, raw-eating Dr. Fratellone —into my life. And despite never ever succeeding at an elimination diet in the past—I break on Day 2 of any juice cleanse, no matter how many liquid calories I'm forcing down my throat—I took his advice and stopped eating cow's milk cheese. Goat's and sheep's were okay once or twice a week, and raw cow cheese was alright occasionally. Because, you know, the lining of the stomach of the cow is really terrible for you. It's like the worst thing in the world. Awful.
A month later, I was feeling better—less bathroom issues, flatter stomach. "Now I want you to cut out gluten," Fratellone said. So, despite my love of bread, especially croissants, especially whole wheat croissants stuffed with spinach and feta from Manhattan's Ceci Cela patisserie, I vowed to avoid gluten for a month.
A year and a half later, I haven't touched the stuff, except for two occasions. Once was in Singapore, where I was covering fashion week and eager to eat the soy sauce-laden local delicacies (most soy sauce is equal parts soy and wheat), including chicken rice. I did not regret trying the dishes, but I certainly paid for it with stomach pain and awful bathroom situations you'd rather me not detail here. The other was a dinner where I was the guest of the restaurant's owner. I was able to pick around the gluten items for the most part. But at one point, after discarding a delicious-looking tempura-battered ramp, I was forced to confess that I, too—Lauren Sherman, lover of food, non-fashion fashion person—had gone on a gluten-free diet. The rest of the table may have understood, but I, as a food lover, felt insecure. For the remainder of the evening I dabbled in gluten, and decided that from now on I would notify hosts of my "dietary restriction" beforehand.
To be sure, I haven't lost 50 pounds because my lifestyle change. More like 10. But I have gained something: a little more control over my life. Since cutting out gluten (the dairy, to be honest, still makes an appearance now and again), I've gained the courage to quit my job as an editor to work as a freelance writer. I've also patched up family relationships that felt permanently broken. Did I make these changes because I stopped eating gluten? Not exactly. But feeling better physically allowed me to address other things in my life that were causing the wrong kinds of stress.
(I should also note that a month after seeing Fratellone, I sent my husband to the doctor's Midtown office. He cut out gluten with me, and is now 30 pounds lighter without any additional exercise or change in eating habits. Bleh, men.)
Yet despite my apparent conversion to what I believe most cynics would consider the dark side, it's still hard for me to understand why fashion people are so obsessed with their doctors. Even after researching and writing a lengthy article on the topic, it's strange that a group of people, who from the outside are so in control of their lives, would want to gain even more control. Very rarely are fashion people carrying extra pounds, or suffering from severe acne, or any other ailments that would spur someone to see a life-changing doctor.
But then again, maybe it's not so strange. Fashion people are tribal. They travel in packs, and those packs tend to follow each others lead—from owning the latest Celine bag to trying the newest Tata Harper facial oil—and it's no different when it comes to improving what's inside. (Especially when fixing what's inside will make you look better on the outside.) If you're going to one of these doctors, if you KNOW about one of these doctors, then that's just one more thing you can discuss with the sisterhood.
And really, what's not to like about these practioners? Sure, there's something faddish about what they do, but one has to remember that fashion people are paid to know about this stuff—being ahead of the trends is actually a job requirement. And maybe most importantly, very few fashion people are as rich and fancy as you'd imagine, which means that if they're spending good money to see these guys, there must be some truth to what they're preaching.
And maybe I'm a little more like those so-called "fashion people" than I care to admit. A few days ago, I went to the Piper Clinic, the holistic healing center run by Tracy Piper, whom I interviewed for that other story. I had just returned from a 24-hour flight, and my ankles were quite swollen—particularly the left one, which I twisted about a month ago. One of Piper's employees gave me a "lymphatic drainage" massage, for which I paid a still-feels-insane $150. Days later, and for the first time in weeks, I still have no swelling in that ankle. It's hard to admit, but I can't help believing the healer when she says her massage drained my body of the toxins causing the swelling. I guess you've got to believe in something.