If your gym smells like something— and most every gym smells like something—it’s likely a combination of spray cleaner and sweat. Maybe you’ll get a whiff of rubber, or whatever gunk greases the weight machines.
Then there’s SoulCycle, which smells instead of white grapefruit rinds, with a hint of freesia—a pervasive scent that’s cast by glossy yellow, designer candles. The candles also light the cycling studios, affording the space an air of intimacy amid the energy of a Berlin nightclub, while you and your fellow riders all sweat, pedal, and thrust your limbs in semidarkness to EDM.
If you don’t immediately recognize the Soul Cycle scent, or its aesthetic, or if you haven’t casually joked about the “cult” of Soul Cycle over the past two decades, you are likely not an affluent urban American Millennial.
That’s because SoulCycle is more than a spin studio with a fantastically recognizable brand. No, what SoulCycle is is a phenomenon that birthed a whole category of fitness brands—and the consummate example of the right idea at the right time.
The company is the brainchild of Julie Rice, a former talent scout, and Elizabeth Cutler, a former real estate broker, who founded it in 2006, and within two years were running a pair of spin studios. The operation prided itself on great customer service, inclusivity, and high energy, and it grew fast: Within three years, Rice and Cutler were pulling in $10 million running just three studios, but also designing up to 125 new SKUs of clothing, from sports bras to leggings, every six weeks.
To acolytes, SoulCycle was part personal goal smashing, part communal thriving, part motivational therapy—courtesy of instructors who became microcelebrities, their up-to-$35 classes listing online at noon on Mondays and selling out within minutes.
Not long into this rocket ride, Rice and Cutler had a realization: They had built
