You may have heard that Blake Lively sort of runs her own Goop-esque website called Preserve. She sells specially “curated” clothing and home “essentials.” She writes little letters to her readers. There’s a photo on the home page of an Asian-inspired red quinoa salad. I’d probably eat the hell out of it.
Preserve makes little sense as a cohesive website. It’s difficult to navigate and contains weird state of the bikini addresses. I don’t understand Blake’s mission except to busy herself in the last days of her flagging acting career. One can’t sit around and polish Ryan Reynolds’ abs all day, every day. Blake seems harmless and not without a sense of humor. Her latest essay is mystifying. She was stung by a swarm of bees, which deflated her butt. She’s speaking metaphorically about the aging process? I don’t know. Here’s a few paragraphs. Maybe you can figure it out:
I spent the week leading up to my big day shooting content for Preserve’s coming months. Just yesterday, the final day of the shoot, I felt an electric shock of energy— was it excitement that I was about to turn another year older? Was it nerves? Why did it feel like agony? I like getting older… I think.
But this felt terrible. Does your butt quite suddenly (and painfully) deflate when you turn 27? Because mine hurt like hell …then my neck, back, legs and forehead. And oh my hands! They were shriveling. It felt like I was being shot by dozens of tiny invisible darts. I felt like the Wicked Witch, melting, melting, burning, melting.
As it happens, I wasn’t being greeted by the onset of spontaneous aging, but rather a full-fledged bee day. Attacked. All over. Everywhere.
I don’t know enough about insects to say if they were wasps, honeybees or Mother Nature’s miniature flying tasers. What I DO know, is that just moments before we were in the midst of a gorgeous fall fashion shoot. Now, I was a Monty Python sketch; running at top speed in no particular direction, whipping my arms and h ands around like I’d just discovered they were growing out of my shoulders without my previous knowledge. There was a terrible sound piercing the air too… I was later informed this sound had emanated from my very own mouth. I’d prefer to never hear it again. Along with everybody else on the East Coast.
Despite the horror described above, Blake was fine. I can’t understand how she was immediately okay because — even if one isn’t allergic to bees — being stung by an entire swarm can really mess a person up, right? I don’t speak from experience, thank god. The full article recounts the bee swarm attack and then heads into weird territory. Such as … what did Blake do to “recover”? She threw herself a “fake” birthday party. She decorated a cake and made flower-shaped, ice-cream sundaes. She pulled out her necklaces that look like gum drops. She lit candles that smell like hot fudge. She rambles about how candy sprinkles represent getting older, and she’s cool with it. Her sign off: “How old will you bee today?”
That’s enough, Blake Lively. I’ll stick with looking at the pretty photos of food.