In a newspaper article showcasing a recent Natural Life Expo, the writer painted an accurate and attractive picture of the event. She showed a keen understanding of the objectives of the show and clearly described the sorts of exhibitors participating in the Expo and the seminars that visitors could attend. Then, she finished off the article by wondering why, when she visited our office to do the interview, she saw no evidence of either granola or Birkenstocks.

Huh? Well, thank goodness I’d stashed away evidence of breakfast and shoved everybody’s shoes into the hall closet before she arrived. I was saved once again from the horror of being portrayed as a frumpy, tree hugging, herb tea guzzling, sandal-clad, aging hippie.

Being seen as that sort of person, I read in the front of a glossy new magazine called Organic Style, is definitely not cool. The publication has set itself on a mission to save the world by “smashing the organic do-gooder stereotypes."

What is troubling to me is that the magazine, which is just one in a flurry of new titles exploiting the words “natural”, “simple” and “organic”, is published by Rodale Press, the (formerly?) highly trusted bastion of organic know-how. The rest of the magazine’s pages are filled with advertising for lipstick, skin firming cosmetics, men’s fragrance, designer clothing, SUVs, hair color, gourmet kitchen appliances and foreign travel destinations.

What is going on here? Why do so many people apparently need to distance themselves from the clichés about people who care about health and the environment in order to embrace a “new” cliché of balance and simplicity?

Is eating organically and using natural materials in your home nothing more than a shallow fad like pet rocks and misappropriated dreadlocks?

Or maybe those who ridicule the “holier-than-thou” people who favor “hemp caftans and bean curd” (more phrases from the pen of the new Rodale publication’s editor) are those who want to make money from this lifestyle.

And is that so wrong? I have no argument with a business making money. (In fact, I’d love it if this particular business made more of it.) And although photos of “beautiful” (ie skinny) models wearing organic cotton, and gushing prose about how some celebrity or other lives in a “natural” house don’t interest me, I don’t mind other people reading that stuff. Maybe such magazines will alert a whole new group of people to the need to live more simply and naturally.

Nor do I have an argument with the mainstreaming of alternatives. When Rolf and I launched Natural Life in 1976, we laughed about how the measure of our success at providing information would be that we put ourselves out of business. And over the years we have seen many of the topics we write about move from fringe to mainstream. The one that comes to mind most easily is “natural food”, which in 1976 was a rare commodity, only available in a few, hard-to-find health food stores.

So what am I going on about, anyway? What troubles me is the danger of dumbing down the words and images until they mean nothing. Until they can be used to spin something bad into something that seems good, especially to those who are still at the fad stage of commitment to this new lifestyle. 

There is a line between making something palatable and selling out, and it’s called greenwash. Greenwash occurs when companies use gorgeous scenes of pristine nature to divert attention from how they pollute to how they give money to charity. It happens when a pharmaceutical giant publishes an ad in a magazine produced by a company trusted by generations of organic gardeners.

For most of us, maturity banishes the need to pose and preen, to worry about what people think, to be hip to every new trend. Maturity allows us the wisdom and confidence to cement our commitments and find joy in family, community, wellness, balance and sustainability.

Let’s hope this “Martha Stewart Goes Organic” stuff is just an awkward life stage in the transition to a better world, the brashness of adolescence masking the insecurity that accompanies change.