SoulCycle is having an identity crisis

It’s the 21st day of the [partial government shutdown]( and things … do not seem to be [anywhere close to resolved](. The biggest victims of [Senate Republicans’ refusal]( to vote on bills to reopen the government are, as is so often the case, [low-paid workers and already poor families](, as well as the furloughed government employees who have experienced a [chain reaction of events with devastating financial consequences](. My colleague Aditi Shrikant has been doing great work covering the shutdown’s less immediately obvious effects — the [chaos currently ensuing at the nation’s airports](, the [ruined vacations](, and now, the fact that people are literally going to national parks [specifically to vandalize trees](. (Which, like, what!?) Both Aditi and I are also still interested in hearing your stories about how the shutdown is affecting you, so please don’t hesitate to get in touch if you know someone, for instance, who’s currently scrambling to relocate their wedding — or if you know the person who’s vandalizing all those trees; you can reach us at [aditi.shrikant@vox.com](:aditi.shrikant@vox.com) and [rebecca.jennings@vox.com](:rebecca.jennings@vox.com). —[Rebecca Jennings](, culture reporter at The Goods Competition has Flywheel and SoulCycle spiraling into an identity crisis [Spinning class]( Sarah Lawrence for Vox At the end of December, users of the popular cycling class Flywheel received an email in their inboxes with the ominous subject line, “An Announcement From Our Co-Founder.” In the vague note, CEO Ruth Zukerman wrote that she will be stepping down from the company, citing a move to undisclosed future endeavors after nearly a decade of cultivating Flywheel into the boutique fitness behemoth it is today. “As an entrepreneur and creative individual with a thirst for growth, my reflection this year led me to realize — with a heavy but excited heart — that it’s time for my next adventure,” she wrote. “I know I am leaving you in the best hands with the most talented instructors who have all been trained and nurtured under my method both technically and philosophically.” Internally, the shift had been a long time coming. In recent months, Zukerman — who also co-founded SoulCycle and played a significant role in the rise of the modern cycling movement — had reportedly been relatively hands-off while promoting her new book, Riding High: How I Kissed SoulCycle Goodbye, Co-Founded Flywheel, and Built the Life I Always Wanted. In her book, Zukerman is vocal about her strengths in the idea conceptualization part of entrepreneurship, but less so in the nuances of running a company from the business side. Zukerman’s departure is just one piece of a picture that’s forming about the future of boutique classes. While some analysts predict that the [spinning bubble is about to burst](, it seems instead that cycling’s juggernauts are facing a period of readjustment. As consumer demand shifts away from the concept of in-studio luxury spin classes — opting for the convenience of at-home cycling programs like Peloton and cheaper, less amenity-laden classes — Flywheel and SoulCycle are being forced to do some soul-searching of their own. [Read the rest of the story >>]( Here’s a fun thing we think you, newsletter reader, might be into. Kara Swisher (editor-at-large of [Recode](, which like The Goods is part of Vox Media) is interviewing Glossier founder Emily Weiss on Monday night. Kara happens to be the [best interviewer]( we know, and Emily is one of the most important beauty entrepreneurs around. If you’re in New York, you can get a ticket [here](; the event starts at 7:30 pm at the 92nd Street Y. If you’re not in New York, Recode will be streaming the conversation on [Twitter]( and [Facebook](. The retro piece of exercise equipment my parents couldn't give up [Abdominizer]( Sarah Lawrence for Vox In the 1990s, when my family and I lived in the United Arab Emirates, a revolution of sorts came to our TV, all the way from Atlanta: CNN, which ushered in Larry King’s suspenders, grainy footage of the Gulf War, and a solemn-looking Wolf Blitzer as a soundtrack to the dinner table. But it also brought a bizarre invention to my 7-year-old life, through an infomercial: the Abdominizer. I was no stranger to the lure of advertisements. My father worked in market research, so I sometimes got an early look at what was about to hit supermarkets — very exciting products like flavored puddings, not-so-exciting products like nonalcoholic beer. And I was a sucker for anything advertised on TV, once dragging out all the towels in the house to recreate a fabric softener ad featuring a kid flopping onto a pile of fluffy towels. One of my most memorable tantrums as a child was in an ice cream shop — because the three scoops on my cone weren’t in the same order as in the display. (I maintain that this was a valid complaint.) But the Abdominizer (sometimes styled “Abdomenizer”) ad was markedly different. For one, it was long and seemingly realistic, and instead of a gimmick or cutesy family scene, it was demonstrating something I’d never seen before, a way of exercising that seemed far from conventional. Of all the odd things we’d started seeing on CNN — from blonde bouffants to battlefield updates — this was the strangest. The Abdominizer was a newfangled piece of exercise equipment, an electric blue contraption shaped like a rib cage that promised rock hard abs. The models in the infomercial used it effortlessly, “abdominizing” their way to a flat stomach by doing sit-ups with the contraption for support. It looked like a genius proposition. And then it came to stores and my father decided to get one in an attempt to reduce his belly fat. It was the same Abdominizer, straight out of the television screen and now in our home. For the first few weeks, we admired the box. We showed it off to guests. We all tried out the Abdominizer for a few minutes. There were fleeting moments of gratification when the infomercial aired on TV and we’d drag it out to compare. But its appeal faded almost instantly. My sister and I tried using it as a sled, an unsatisfying experience in a carpeted apartment. The Abdominizer was eventually shoved under a bed and moved with us from country to country. A few years later, my parents decided to move back to their native Pakistan, so off we went, to my grandmother’s home in Lahore, while our boxes and furniture went into storage. We then moved to the city of Karachi, and over the years, we’ve lived in a succession of apartments across the city, moving to limit commutes and expenses. The Abdominizer traveled with us everywhere, but it remained near-forgotten, unused and unloved. [Read the rest of the story >>]( More good stuff to read today - [How gyms convince new members to stay past January]( - [Federally funded school lunches under Trump will have more dairy and salt]( - [Why so many financially independent adults are still on their parents' phone plans]( - [A smart baby bed has stirred controversy for its $1,300 price tag. Now parents can rent it.]( - [Why cheese plates are everywhere right now, explained by a cheese plate influencer]( - [How Proactiv became the go-to mega-money endorsement deal for celebrities]( Manage your [email preferences](, or [unsubscribe]( to stop receiving emails from Vox Media. Vox Media, 1201 Connecticut Ave. NW, Washington, DC 20036. Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.