A is for Addiction. B is for B12….

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My name is Michael and I’m currently battling with quite a serious addiction.

I’m a health food addict.

Health is my Obsession. 

Matcha, acai, bentonite clay are my drugs of choice. When I walk past a fresh fruit and veg market the different colours, sights and smells take me to places I’ve never been. I can feel the serotonin and dopamine firing across my synapses and life has never felt so good. The word organic is highly arousing.

Walking past a Whole Foods and I scurry in like a mouse to cheese. I cannot stop myself and nor does the lack of funds in my bank account. I have to go in every shop I walk past, I tell myself I’m supporting a good cause, and each time I go in I’m hit with another £20. That is if I succeed in restraining myself. This time I bought some raw chocolate mulberries, hydrogen peroxide and two boxes of herbal tea. I need these things. I need these things because really, when you think about it, they are an investment and if you don’t invest you won’t ever gain. No one won the lottery without buying a ticket first.

So many family members died when I was young which could have been prevented due to a healthier lifestyle. This is what triggered my addiction. At least that’s what I tell myself. After all it’s easier to blame your family for your fucked up ways than take responsibility.


‘Who needs cocaine when you can take organic cacao?’ I fanatically shout at my friends. ‘Fuck vodka I have kombucha!’ I have never been to Ibiza but I have done a two day fast and a series of juice cleanses. This is my equivalent to a rave. To my friends and family I am The guru, I’m often asked what vitamins and foods should be eaten. I ask a series of intrusive questions regarding their bowel health before I give a conclusive answer, because Hippocrates hit the nail on the head when he, ‘all disease begins in the gut.’

I have done spirulina, chlorella, propolis, maca, lucuma and carob. Activated seeds and nuts – you bet. I was on the coconut water and oil bandwagon long before it was in vogue. Oil pulling, tongue scraping, dry skin brushing – these things are a daily ritual, my temple is Wholefoods and I pray at the altar of free range and organic. Hemp oil is my god. I’ve promised him my firstborn in exchange for eternal youth. I refuse to age. Failing this I plan to turn to raw veganism – give it a Google, those bastards advocating it look pre-birth and I will one day walk amongst them.


I’ve started to distil water in the kitchen and I look like a mad professor because it is set up on the stove looking like a game of Mouse Trap. The only difference, however, you risk third degree burns on your torso and limbs if you lose. My housemates think I’m insane and they must find it extremely unsettling when they look upon me because they rarely see the flesh of face. I’m usually stripped down to my underwear (clothes are so terribly restrictive, and there is health benefits to wearing less) and my face is covered up in homemade face masks from whatever I’ve cooked up that day ranging from avocado, Manuka honey and ground oats, bentonite clay and apple cider vinegar – which smells horrific, my list of face mask recipes is endless. But alas, when your face is your money maker its things like this that could determine if you make the Burberry casting or not. What’s a struggling male model to do?

The other day I chopped a bit of our neighbour’s bamboo plant that rudely hangs over the garden wall and boiled it into a tea – it’s high in silica and in price coincidently, and it works wonders for the hair. I love my hair, being self-sufficient and saving money so you can imagine the sheer euphoria I was feeling as I sipped the tea down.

I have a shelf in my fridge that solely consists of supplements and strange powders and herbal extracts. Who needs solid foods? There is nothing worse than running out of one when pay day seems like a year away. They all taste vile but they serve important purpose – maintaining my health. My friend once asked me do I ever eat something just because it tastes good – ‘No’ was my response. Everything that I put in my body must serve a purpose. I don’t read fiction. I only delve into books on herbalism and food combining and I’m on first name basis with everyone in the local Neal’s Yard.

My diet is incredibly restrictive, I’m a vegan. I don’t do nightshades – tomatoes, potatoes, chilli (paprika, red pepper flakes and cayenne pepper), peppers, aubergines, goji berries and blueberries. No to citrus – lemons, limes, grapefruit and oranges. I don’t do sesame. I don’t do wheat, gluten or soy and I’m funny about people who don’t wash their vegetables. I’m a regular pilgrimage goer to Mildred’s in the heart of Soho. It’s an edgy vegetarian/vegan restaurant and they shudder when they see me walk in. They too are painfully aware of my dietary requirements and all that it entails.


I’m radically experimental in my ways. I went through a phase of juicing in my late teens and like an amateur I juiced too many carrots and my skin turned a deep shade of orange. I believe with enough conviction and confidence any look can be pulled off however my powers were severely diminished that day. I’ve added too much apple cider vinegar to a bentonite clay mask and ended up with horrific burns. You see I have never rebelled, I was never on the goth/emo bus, I never dabbled in drugs instead I experiment with essential oils and practising lymphatic massages and pressing acupressure points on my body. Yes I want money, I crave financial stability as this was something I never had growing up (but then again who does), but I don’t want money for bitches and booze. I want money for me and my health.

My biggest goal right now is to book enough modelling jobs so I can buy a decent dehydrator, a copper jug and goblet for water, a Vitamix so I can start making my own hemp milk and I spiralizer so I can start making my own raw vegetable pasta. I also want to get back into hot yoga (I used to do it 5 times a week back home – shout out to my amazing teacher Jacqui) and seek out an infrared sauna. Despite these things being in trend right now and living in one of the most expensive capitals in the world, I’ll find a good deal somewhere. I live in hope.

Stay real.

After completing a 2.1 in law and deciding a normal life was not for him, Michael worked in a soulless office for 9 months to raise funds to move to London. Once there he began to pursue his childhood dream of becoming a model. So far it seems to have paid off and he hasn’t looked back ever since.

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