#72: Kate Riley

"She told me she had never met someone as committed to living out the actual ethos of punk rock."

Oct 26, 2025

I truthfully didn’t know anything about writer Kate Riley until

, former Health Gossip guest and generally tapped-in woman, suggested she come on. The pitch: she’s “an advanced yogini with sick tattoos,” the author of a brilliant new novel, Ruth, and Molly’s best friend (the two have known each other since 2002). Suffice it to say, I was sold.

Read on to hear more about Kate’s day to day, from her recent fascial discoveries to her “fascistic” oral hygiene routine (hint: may or may not involve goat milk and a WaterPik).

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Health Gossip #72: Kate Riley
Aries/Aries/Aries
“North Internet”

What does health, or being healthy, mean to you?

I think in the coming decade we’re going to feel a deep, tidal pull to return to ancient definitions of health and wellness. For me this looks like learning about my ancestors (medieval people) who believed that sickness was punishment from God and that healing was only possible through repentance and consumption of mummy powder.

How would you describe your current lifestyle?

A death doula you’ve definitely heard of once took me aside after a bachelorette weekend in Cornwall-on-Hudson — this was before new-media types made multigenerational gynocentric retreats a thing, but that weekend ended up being like a healing, trauma-informed sequel to Panic Room that really evolved the conversation around female networking spaces — anyway, not my story to tell, but she told me she had never met someone as committed to living out the actual ethos of punk rock.

How do you start and end your days?

First thing: wake up in the most ethereal somatic landscape, courtesy a genius service soft-launched last month by a very big name in bedding (hint: it rhymes with Schmästens) that uses your Prenuvo scan results to determine the unique combination of pillows required to access your RightAngle, which in turn allows your body to flush out cortisol so it doesn’t build up in your fasciae. (Totally late to the game and just learned about fasciae. Obsessed.) Honestly I have tried a million of these services and this is the only one that did anything — halved my laudanum dose.

Take off my mouth tape and sing the chorus of “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine.

Let the horses out.

I try to do my flight of vitamins and adaptogens on an empty stomach, so at this point in the morning I’ll slam whatever the wizards at my techno-biotic compounder have prescribed for the day. There’s one particular pill — maybe my tin supplement? — that requires I eat one full baked yam an hour before I take it. So if it’s a tin day I’ll do that.

I’m pure fire/air signs, so my life is all about little rituals to keep me grounded. After my supplements, I’ll usually head to the parterre garden, settle under a boxwood (cultivated from clippings slipped to me by the Head Gardener at a property in Chilmark you’d definitely recognize), and spend the next 5-10 hours in an upward dog pose.

I find most food repulsive in daylight, but mid-afternoon I’ll graze on some zoodles or a deck of Wasa just to keep my blood sugar steady.

My evening routine begins when the sun sets. After one drop of my sleep tincture (I keep it in a tiny fluted glass vial, a repurposed party favor from that iconic, Vogue-approved wedding in 2019), I do my tooth ritual. Dear readers: moral hygiene starts with oral hygiene! I am fascistic about it — I have a countertop WaterPik that is kind of like my war rig. I alternate between filling it with reduced-fat unpasteurized goat’s milk (full fat clogs ☹️) and a black market bone broth my friend Faustine ships quarterly from Ghent.

Then I turn off all the lights in the house except for the category-defining Panthella Mini gifted to me by the sweeties at Louis Poulson, and light the three candles that together comprise my signature scent (sidebar: I’m told solving the mystery of my blend has become an industry-wide pursuit — I’ve even had guesses from several “noses,” but am pleased to say nobody has gotten close).

Next, I head out into the twilight (Salter House nightgown/tattered Le Chameau wellies/random men’s hoodie from Tractor Supply), get all the animals in for the night, draw concentric circles of salt and diatomaceous soil around the property, and check that the trail cams are transmitting.

By this point I’m quite drowsy, so it’s all I can do to drag myself back to the house and into the cozy, fragrant glow of my bedroom. Wriggle into an old pair of OVO monogram pajamas (cancel me), pull out my iPad, and watch exactly one hour of George C. Scott’s Patton before falling asleep.

Can you recall a moment when you became more aware of your health, or your relationship to it changed?

Three words: butchery-informed breathwork, via the secret menu at Sky Ting. Outrageously subtle; life changing. Level one takes six months of weekly classes PLUS a three-month Zoom apprenticeship at Kinderhook Farm; I’m almost done with level two and have literally never felt more generally conscious.

I know some people have been deterred by the price. I honestly think that when you spend money in the wellness space, on a very deep level it tells your body “you are loved.” And when your body knows you have that money but are choosing to spend it elsewhere… the first question I ask when someone describes a new injury or ailment is, had your body recently seen you spend money on something besides your body? The answer is yes 1,000% of the time.

Do you have a spiritual practice?

I feel most connected to the spiritual world when I’m profoundly integrated with the natural one — when every part of my life is in alignment, every decision a reflection of my deepest beliefs. For me this really fell into place in 2017, when instability in the snail mucin market led me on a journey to understand what those amazing little bugs (?) really are, how their lives and deaths could teach me about my own. I’ve been farming my own snail mucin ever since; if you know me, you know I literally refer to them as my teachers.

What’s your relationship to self-healing?

I had always suspected that the human body could heal itself, but last spring I hosted an Intuitive Clout-Bombing colloquium for a certain nepo-baby-helmed digital-only platform, and saw the evil side of self-healing. For obvious reasons I can’t name names, but one attendee — an ascendant micro-movement consultant never seen without her Tabis, which should have been my first clue — literally healed a 4-inch gash on her own arm using blood siphoned from a homunculus in her Telfar. So my relationship with self-healing is: extremely cautious.

“I think in the coming decade we’re going to feel a deep, tidal pull to return to ancient definitions of health and wellness.”

Do you work with any practitioners, texts, or modalities on a regular basis?

I’ve tried every school and -ism under the sun, but there’s just this beautiful clarity that comes with realizing what works for your body. For me, everything clicked into place when a certain Philo-adjacent accessories designer (whose absolutely transcendent collab with Cristaseya should be dropping any day now) pointed out to me that it’s all bullshit and nothing actually matters. That’s my mantra — all decisions are downstream of that.

When do you feel the most nourished?

I was just in Paris for the shows [Editor’s note: these responses were recorded in early October], and besides Yohji’s epic Giorgio Armani tribute, all anyone could talk about was how most rats die within fifty feet of where they’re born. I think it says something about this current moment — our own need for radius, terroir. I know I personally feel most nourished eating whole foods grown within my ISP address and prepared by people who know and respect my work.

How do you reset?

Cancel all obligations, lie flat on my back on a hard surface, arrange to have at least 40 pounds (for me, the 50- to 55-pound range is ideal) of soft weights (sandbags, yoga props, etc.) placed on top of my body (focusing on the neck and thorax areas), and listen to Wagner’s entire “Ring Cycle” without moving. Kegeling throughout. Learned this from the most stylish octogenarian I know — we met when I outbid her on some insane brutalist andirons, and now I stay with her every time I’m in Berne.

Do you have a favorite meal?

I’m not sure anything beats the Jeffrey Deitch special: a single apple, polished with Purell.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Don’t sign the NDA.

To the person reading this?

Do your own research.

What would you like to see or create more of in the world?

This winter? A capsule collab between John Derian and GeekVape. Some new exotic breeds from Greenfire Farms. A Ruth Bader Ginsburg biopic done right. Kitten-heeled waders from Khaite.

Always? Community-building, mass luxury in conversation with regional and niche, and more companies to pay me more money to spend on powerful magnets and crystals.