In the late 1990s and early 2000s, to be into wellness meant one thing above all: you were into detoxing.

The word was everywhere—splashed across juice bars, beauty product packaging, infomercials, spa menus. You could detox your body, your skin, your colon, your armpits, even your hair. There were detoxifying shampoos, detox diets, detox foot pads, and three-day detox retreats built around lemon water and infrared saunas. Whether you were doing it for your complexion, your digestion, or your karma, the idea was the same: your body was full of toxins, and only radical purification could set it right.

In the early 2010s, detox culture hit its mainstream peak. Entire spa menus were organized around elimination. Juice cleanse subscriptions flourished. GOOP released seasonal detox guides with daikon soup and detoxifying daal. To detox was to be in control—of your body, your choices, your life. It was wellness as discipline. Aesthetically austere, morally upright.

But today? The word “detox” barely registers. It feels dated. A relic from a more performative time in wellness. It’s no longer a desirable signifier. The culture has shifted—and detox, once the beating heart of wellness marketing, has been quietly phased out.

So what happened? Did we stop believing in detox altogether—or did we just outgrow the packaging?

Detox: A Cultural Obsession

To understand detox culture’s fall, we first have to understand its rise. Detox emerged as a powerful wellness motif in the late ’90s and early 2000s, a period marked by growing anxiety around modern toxicity—pollution, pesticides, plastics, preservatives. People were looking for purity. Clean eating was on the rise. Yoga entered the mainstream. And celebrities embraced extreme cleanses in the name of health, weight loss, or clarity.

Detox offered a simple solution to complex modern problems. It gave us rituals—baths, teas, green juices—that promised to purge what was wrong and restore what was right. It didn’t really matter that “toxins” were never clearly defined. What mattered was the feeling of doing something. You were flushing. You were abstaining. You were committing.

You didn’t need to book a spa retreat to feel like you were detoxing—you could start your day with warm lemon water, carry chlorophyll drops in your tote, or post your alkalizing green juice on Instagram. Entire online communities debated the merits of cayenne-maple cleanses, dry brushing techniques, and DIY charcoal masks. Pinterest boards were filled with “alkalizing food” charts and seven-day detox infographics.

There was a distinctly aesthetic quality to it all—glass bottles filled with green water, sprigs of mint, grapefruit slices, powders in ceramic bowls. Detox culture was wellness as ritual and performance. It promised transformation, but it also gave people a sense of identity: I am someone who takes care of my body.

Even bath rituals became part of the lexicon. Pursoma’s cult-favorite soak, Digital Detox, captured the shift perfectly: it wasn’t about flushing out toxins from pesticides or processed food—it was about reclaiming yourself from screen addiction, overstimulation, and the nervous energy of the always-on era. The packaging featured minimalist fonts and wellness poetry. It came with instructions to lock away your phone. You weren’t just detoxing your body—you were detoxing your life.

It was a smart evolution of the original detox template, updated for the anxieties of the 2010s: less about chemical toxicity, more about psychic overload. Still, the framework remained the same—something in your environment was harming you, and you needed a ritual to purge it.

Brands rushed in. Clay masks were marketed as detoxifying treatments that pulled out impurities. Shampoos boasted deep-cleansing properties to “reset” the scalp. Colonics became boutique offerings. Detox was everywhere—and it sold.

The Shift: From Ritual to Redundancy

But as the wellness industry matured and scientific scrutiny deepened, cracks began to show. Health professionals pointed out that the body already has robust systems for detoxification—the liver, kidneys, lungs, lymph, and skin work around the clock to eliminate waste. No juice cleanse or clay wrap was going to “activate” what wasn’t already functioning.

Moreover, detox culture often masked disordered behavior: extreme restriction, obsessive clean eating, or punitive habits disguised as health. The language of detox—full of words like “impurities,” “cleansing,” and “resetting”—began to feel moralizing. You weren’t just supporting your body; you were trying to purify it.

Then came 2020. A global pandemic made terms like “immunity,” “resilience,” and “nervous system regulation” the new gold standards. A culture of softness and recovery replaced one of rigidity and purification. Amid rising interest in hormone health, stress, and circadian rhythms, the old language of toxins and scrubs just didn’t hold up.

The body wasn’t dirty. It was burned out.