Mycotherapy has become all the rage. And that is precisely where the problems begin.
Because a market can boom within a matter of months. A proper industry, on the other hand, takes years to build.
Cultivating a mushroom properly, selecting and maintaining a strain, accurately identifying a species, monitoring the substrate, controlling growing conditions, harvesting, drying, extracting, analysing and processing: all of this requires time, skills, equipment and money.
As European demand has grown much faster than local production, a large proportion of the supply now relies on an international supply and processing chain.
Let’s be clear: importing a product from China or elsewhere does not in any way mean that it is of poor quality. Similarly, the ‘made in France’ label does not miraculously transform a mediocre product into one of excellence.
The real problem lies elsewhere: in the distance that can develop between the person who grows the mushroom, the person who processes it, the person who carries out the extraction, the person who packages the product, the person who creates the brand and the person who sells it.
At the end of the supply chain, the consumer is sometimes essentially buying a box, a promise and a nice logo.
But do they really know what’s inside?
That is probably the most important question.
Which species exactly? Which strain? Grown where? On what substrate? Is it the mushroom’s fruiting body, the mycelium or a mixture? How was the raw material processed? What checks were carried out? Has the final product been independently analysed?
These are far less appealing questions than a video touting spectacular mental focus or a brain suddenly transformed into a computer thanks to lion’s mane.
But these are the right questions.
Behind some of these mushrooms lies an ancient traditional history, particularly within various forms of Asian medicine. There is also a substantial body of scientific literature exploring their constituents and potential effects.
But we must immediately add something that marketing sometimes overlooks: traditional use, laboratory studies, animal experiments and proven clinical efficacy in humans are four different things.
A promising result in a test tube does not constitute therapeutic evidence.
And a dietary supplement is not a medicine.
It is precisely here that Western mycotherapy finds itself in a strange situation.
In just a few years, we have discovered what certain cultures have known for centuries. But where there was once empirical knowledge, codified methods of preparation and established uses, our digital age has sometimes substituted another tradition: that of marketing.
Traditional medicine has thus found itself propelled onto TikTok and Instagram, transformed into a lifestyle product, accompanied by enthusiastic testimonials and promises of improved concentration, energy, memory or sleep.
The ancient mushroom has become a ‘hack’.
The best symbol of this transformation is probably the famous mushroom coffee.
The idea isn’t necessarily absurd, mind you. But it perfectly sums up our times: even before many consumers have learnt what a functional mushroom actually is, what its constituents are or how it should be processed, the industry has already managed to turn it into a trendy drink.
Sometimes with this extraordinary promise emblazoned in large letters on the packaging: ‘no mushroom taste’.
We may have reached the point where it is easier to sell the idea of the mushroom than the mushroom itself.
Mycotherapy’s coming of age will therefore begin with something far less glamorous than an Instagram campaign: quality.
Precisely identified species. Documented cultivation practices. A known origin. A traceable raw material. Explanations of extraction processes. Analyses that, in particular, verify the product’s identity and safety. Manufacturers capable of explaining what they do, rather than simply displaying spectacular percentages on their packaging.
This also means accepting the limitations imposed by regulations.
A food supplement cannot, by the magic of advertising, become a treatment for cancer, Alzheimer’s, depression, osteoarthritis or any other illness.
Yet the temptation is immense.
The more consumers want to believe in a simple solution, the greater the responsibility of those who market it should be.
And consumers, too, have their part to play.
Over the past twenty or thirty years, we have learnt to look at our food differently.
We turn the packets over.
We read the ingredients.
We check the origin.
We compare production methods.
We know that a tomato grown a few kilometres away and an avocado that has travelled halfway round the world don’t tell exactly the same story.
Why abandon all these habits when buying a dietary supplement costing 30, 50 or 80 euros?
Typing ‘best Reishi’ into Google and assuming that the top three results represent independent expertise is tantamount to entrusting your decision to search engine rankings, advertising budgets and algorithms.
We can do better.
Where was this mushroom grown?
By whom?
What species is it exactly?
Which part of the mushroom was used?
What is the actual quantity of raw material contained in the product?
What extraction process was used?
Are there any analyses available?
Can we identify the manufacturer and trace the production chain?
And above all: do the claimed benefits actually correspond to what we know, or simply to what we’d like to hear?
This is what proper mycotherapy looks like.
Not some new ‘miracle’ mushroom.
Not a powder capable of fixing everything.
Not the next product that social media will have decided to hype up for six months.
But a genuine industry.
Growers. Mycologists. Laboratories. Skilled processors. Quality controls. Traceability. Compliance with regulations. Rigorous scientific research. And consumers who are sufficiently informed to tell the difference between an interesting hypothesis and a fabricated certainty.
Mycotherapy has considerable strengths: an ancient history, fascinating species, very active scientific research and a steadily growing public interest.
It also possesses all the ingredients necessary for the usual excesses of the wellness market: fads, exaggerated claims, products that are impossible to compare, and consumers confronted with narratives far simpler than the science behind them.
Its future will likely hinge on this.
The real revolution will not lie in discovering a new, extraordinary mushroom tomorrow.
It will lie in knowing exactly what is contained in the capsule we already hold in our hands.
We only ask that which has already grown considerably to become mature.
article written based on the writings of Paul de Vulpian, co-founder of Villa Hélène, without, however, citing him or attributing the text to him.
