Product Reviews.
What's actually worth buying, what's marketing theatre, and what you should break up with. No sponsorships. No affiliate spin. Just the receipts.
Worth it
11 reviews
Oura Ring Gen 4: the wearable that actually changes behaviour
A titanium smart ring that quietly tracks sleep, HRV, temperature and recovery without the nag-anxiety of a watch. Validated within consumer-device tolerances. The subscription is the only annoyance.
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Loop Earplugs: the best EUR 25 you can spend on your nervous system
Reusable silicone earplugs that take the cortisol-driving sharpness off the world without silencing it. The simplest product on this list, and one of the most effective.
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Ritual: an honest multivitamin with one expensive missing assumption
Transparent capsules, traceable ingredients, no proprietary blends, and a fishy aftertaste from the algal omega. Worth it with caveats — and what to know before you subscribe.
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Seed DS-01: the most over-engineered probiotic on the market, and it might be worth it
A two-capsule, twenty-four-strain probiotic with an outer shell that survives stomach acid and a price tag that hurts. Worth it with caveats — and what to eat instead if you're not in the market for premium capsules.
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Manuka Doctor Honey review: when wellness honey is actually worth the price
Real Manuka honey is a genuine antimicrobial — but most of what is sold as "Manuka" in supermarkets is glorified table honey with a green sticker. Here is how to read the label, why MGO matters, and the one budget option that beats the £40 jars.
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David Protein Bar review: the macros are real, the philosophy is not
28g of protein, 150 calories, zero sugar, designed by Peter Attia. The macros are genuinely impressive. But the marketing — "the body is just a protein deficiency away from greatness" — is the kind of optimisation gospel that quietly wrecks your relationship with food.
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Hair-fall supplements: 90% are biotin theatre. Here's the 10% that work.
Nutrafol, Viviscal, Sugarbear, Olly — most are biotin-padded multivitamins sold at a luxury markup. The real fix is usually iron, sometimes minoxidil, almost never a gummy.
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Psyllium husk: the cheapest, most boring supplement that actually works
No marketing, no nervous-system theatre — just one ingredient that quietly fixes most people's gut, cholesterol and blood sugar for about €0.15 a serving.
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SuperTeeth Prebiotic Mineral Toothpaste: the upgrade you didn't know your mouth needed
Hydroxyapatite instead of fluoride, prebiotics for your oral microbiome, and a tube that doesn't squeeze out a glob of synthetic foam. We were sceptical. We're converted.
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Pure Encapsulations Magnesium Glycinate: the boring supplement that actually works
No glow-up packaging, no founder story, no proprietary blend. Just clean magnesium glycinate at a real dose — and probably the single most cost-effective sleep upgrade we've tested.
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Nordic Naturals Ultimate Omega: the omega-3 we actually finish the bottle of
Third-party tested, no fishy burps, and a real EPA/DHA dose without the "wellness" markup. If you're going to take fish oil, take one that's worth taking.
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Products that don't deliver on the promise — and what to buy instead.
MUD\WTR: a coffee swap that costs three times the coffee
A mushroom-cacao morning drink that costs three times what coffee does, contains a seventh of the caffeine, and gives you a habit-stack instead of a hit. Skip the daily, keep the ritual.
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Athletic Greens travel packs: the same expensive powder, more expensively
The same formula as the canister, repackaged into single-use foil sachets at a 20 percent per-gram markup. Convenience framing that lets the brand charge a travel premium on a daily product.
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Vital Proteins Collagen Peptides: the best-selling collagen powder, not the best one
The Jennifer Aniston-fronted, Nestle-owned, supermarket-shelf collagen powder. 20g hydrolysed bovine collagen per scoop — a real dose. The hair-skin-nails promise is what to take with caution.
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Beam Dream: a nice cocoa with a sub-clinical sleep dose
A cocoa-based sleep powder with 3mg melatonin, low-dose L-theanine and magnesium, sold on celebrity testimonials and a EUR 60/month subscription default. The ritual is the active. The powder is the wrapper.
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Hims & Hers: telehealth done at scale, with the telehealth tradeoffs
A subscription that compresses "go see a doctor" into a five-minute quiz. The drugs are real. The clinical care is thin. Skip the default funnel — and what to do instead.
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Liquid I.V.: a sugar packet with a medical-sounding name
A "hydration multiplier" that is 11g of sugar per serving and the same electrolyte profile as a pinch of salt. Skip it — and what to drink instead.
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Magic Spoon: a better cereal than Lucky Charms, still ultraprocessed
High-protein, low-sugar cereal that actually tastes like the childhood thing — but built on allulose, milk protein isolate, and tapioca starch. Worth it with caveats, and only as a sometimes-food.
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Huel: meal replacement that mostly delivers, with caveats
An honestly-formulated nutritionally-complete powder that earns its place — but should not be every meal, every day.
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Olipop: prebiotic soda or just clever sugar?
Better than Coca-Cola. Not the gut hero the Instagram ads claim. A useful step-down drink with caveats.
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Liquid Death: skull cans, supermarket water, premium markup
A heavy-metal aesthetic wrapped around boring mountain water. Hydration is real. The €2.50 mark-up is marketing.
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AG1: a €99/month multivitamin in a very expensive pouch
It's not a scam. It's also not magic. You're paying podcast-ad money for a perfectly fine greens powder that does roughly what a €20 multi does.
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LMNT Recharge: the electrolyte that finally tastes like something you'd drink
Sugar-free, sodium-heavy, and the only stick pack we've found that actually fixes the 3pm crash without leaving a chalky aftertaste. Here's when it's worth it, when it isn't, and how we'd use it.
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The brands gaslighting you, and the clean swaps worth switching to.
Cymbiotika: liposomal delivery, luxury pricing, and a thin evidence base
Silver foil pouches of liposomal vitamin C and glutathione at $80 a month per SKU. The delivery system is real. The clinical case for most people isn't. Skip — and what to take instead.
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Goop wellness drops: a luxury-priced shrug
Gwyneth's wellness empire monetised the placebo effect at $90 a bottle. The ingredients are unremarkable. The branding is the entire product. Skip — and what to use instead.
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Function of Beauty: the customisation quiz is the product, not the shampoo
A direct-to-consumer brand that turned a personality quiz into a billion-dollar haircare empire. The bottles are pretty. The ingredient list isn't. Skip it — and what to use instead.
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Prime Hydration: the Logan Paul drink kids carry like a status symbol
A neon sports drink marketed to children, lawsuit-grade caffeine in the energy line, and a hydration claim that doesn't survive its own ingredient list. Skip it — and what to drink instead.
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Recess CBD Seltzer review: the prettiest can in your fridge does almost nothing
$3 a can for 10mg of broad-spectrum CBD and "adaptogens" measured in milligrams that would not move a mouse. We took apart the dosing maths and the marketing — and what you should actually drink when your nervous system is asking for help.
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Erewhon $20 smoothies: status drink, vending-machine inputs
A celebrity-collab smoothie that costs more than most lunches and uses ingredients you can buy for €4. The vibe is the product.
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Bloom Nutrition Greens: TikTok-famous, lab-thin, sugar-bright
A flavoured pink-green powder that sold itself with dance videos. The label tells a less viral story. Skip.
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Gruns kids gummies: a multivitamin shaped like candy
Pretty pouches, parent-friendly TikTok, and a fibre claim that does not survive a label read. Skip.
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Collagen creamers: pretty pouch, hydrolysed waste of money
They taste nice in coffee. They will not plump your skin, fix your joints, or do the things the label heavily implies. Here's the actual collagen evidence — and the cheaper way to get it.
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Neuro headbands: the €500 placebo with great Instagram lighting
Apollo, Sensate, Muse, Pulsetto — the at-home "vagus nerve stimulators" cost more than therapy and do less than a 4-7-8 breath. Here's what the actual data says.
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NAD+ IV drips: €800 for a placebo with a needle
The longevity clinic's favourite upsell. The molecule is real. The IV route is mostly theatre, and the people selling it know it.
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Break Up With Axe
Axe sells teenage boys a body spray made of synthetic musks, phthalate-suspected fragrance, and a propellant cloud you can taste. There is a reason your bathroom smells like a chemistry lab.
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Break Up With Dove
Dove sells you "Real Beauty" while pumping microplastics, synthetic fragrance, and palm-oil deforestation into your bathroom. Here is the receipts version — and the clean swaps worth switching to.
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Break Up With Sunsilk
Sunsilk sells "expert hair" to women in the global south using the same surfactant base, same silicone film, and same fragrance black box as every other Unilever shampoo. Here is what the bottle actually does.
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Break Up With Vaseline
Vaseline is petroleum jelly. The clue is in the name. Here is what that actually means for your skin, your hormones, and the industry it props up — and what to put in the jar instead.
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