Within seconds of walking into the empty cafe, a salesgirl is asking what I want and hovering over me as I consider the cryptic menu. She’s wearing activewear, a red-tip French manicure and thick strips of false lashes. The Biscoff shake, she tells me, is her favourite, as she presses me for my order. The menu comprises nutrition shakes and “loaded” teas. It lists flavours but not ingredients. “So, are the shakes fruit and yoghurt,” I ask, “or …”
“They’re protein shakes,” she says, and when I ask what, exactly, is in them, she tells me it’s Herbalife protein. I ask for more detail.
“Um.” Stumped, she calls the manager. He’s young, friendly and eager to assist. I feel bad that I’m pretending not to know anything about his business, which has a peppy, generic name, but is in fact a Herbalife Nutrition Club. I want to see for myself how they represent the shakes and teas because Herbalife’s rules prohibit clubs from advertising that their products are available on the premises.
I recently interviewed a man who was duped into sinking more than $70,000 into one such nutrition club. He has levelled serious allegations against Herbalife, including that the company is controlling. The investor, who I’ll call John*, thought Herbalife was just a product supplier. He now likens it to a cult.
“It was very controlling in nature with strict guidelines as to what you can and cannot do in operating your ‘studio’,” he alleged in a statement to lawyers. “Its scope was well beyond what a person would understand generally to operate a retail shop.”
John’s testimony forms part of an investigation into a potential class action against Herbalife. Law firm Piper Alderman says that
