66 THE CUT | MARCH 2–15, 2020
In recent years, research on light therapy has moved from the
fringes of scientific discovery to something closer to the main-
stream; its commercial uses are now following the same path, as
these devices, once available only in spas, gyms, or dermatolo-
gists’ offices, become increasingly affordable for consumers.
Meanwhile, the research is only getting more ecstatic. New stud-
ies are showing how light can heal the brain and body of ... any-
thing? Everything? That’s an exaggeration, obviously, but just
barely, or so I’m beginning to believe.
Something about the sheer breadth of maladies that light
therapy can supposedly treat has the effect of making the
whole thing seem too good to be true; it starts to sound like
an infomercial or maybe something advertised on Joe Rogan’s
podcast. It does make intuitive sense that light could change
the skin—I know (vaguely) that a baby born with jaundice will
often be treated with light. I know (personally, irresponsibly)
that if you lie in the sun, your skin will tan or burn. And
I know people who’ve seen their seasonal depression lift after
using a sad lamp. But what does something like diabetes have
to do with light? There’s even some evidence that neurological
problems, including Alzheimer’s and traumatic brain injuries,
can be improved with light therapy. What does neurology
have to do with light? And even if I understand that light can
and does alter the skin, why (how?) would it reduce wrinkles
or acne?
I remember from my brief, failed attempt at becoming a mil-
lennial plant parent that houseplants respond to sunlight more
dramatically than I might’ve guessed; the cheery, perky pothos
I bought for my desk drooped within two days because I’d placed
it too far from a window. But that’s a plant. I am not a plant.
(Am I a plant?)
LIGHT- THERAPY DEVICES use different kinds of light, from
invisible, near-infrared light through the visible-light spectrum
(red, orange, yellow, green, and blue), stopping before the harm-
ful ultraviolet rays. So far, the effects of red and near-infrared
light are the most studied; red light is often used to treat skin
conditions, whereas near infrared can penetrate much deeper,
working its way through skin and bone and even into the brain.
Blue light is thought to be especially good at treating infections
and is often used for acne. The effects of green and yellow light
are less understood, but green might improve hyperpigmenta-
tion, and yellow might reduce photoaging.
The concept of using sunlight or visible light (in other words,
colors) to cure diseases is an old one, something humans have
intuited again and again across the centuries. In the late 1800s,
European doctors began recommending heliotherapy for vari-
ous illnesses, including tuberculosis; it was thought that sun-
light could destroy the disease-causing bacteria. Avicenna, a
Persian physician who practiced ca. A.D. 1025, thought color
itself could treat various ailments—red was for stimulating
blood flow, blue was for cooling the body, yellow was for easing
muscle pain. He also believed a person with a nosebleed should
not so much as look at the color red, as it would make the
bleeding worse.
The modern study of light therapy arguably began in the
1960s, but it got a significant boost in the late 1980s, when
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dio lat gr ho ,
one day, astronauts would be able to grow their own food while
in deep space. It’s now almost taken for granted that they can—
and they do—grow produce like lettuce, kale, and cabbage in
40ish-pound rectangular boxes that emit a purple-pink glow.
(Plants absorb red and blue light and reflect green light, which
creates the magenta effect.) On Valentine’s Day 2016, the astro-
naut Scott Kelly posted a photo from the International Space
Station: The background is Earth, and the foreground is a bou-
quet of space flowers—zinnias grown onboard.
Kelly had revived the zinnias after a bout of mold; space
travel does weird things to flowers. It does weird things to the
human body, too. In space, even the smallest scratches don’t
heal properly on their own. It’s not fully understood why, but,
as the theory goes, the zero-gravity environment disrupts the
cellular and molecular processes involved in tissue repair. But
something funny happened to the scientists who were growing
the plants under the LEDs: The cuts on their hands healed,
almost as they would on Earth. This accidental discovery
helped drive interest in the search for a medical application of
light, says Janis Eells, who studies light therapy at the Univer-
sity of Wisconsin–Milwaukee. (Eells began her career in phar-
macology but switched to studying photomedicine after being
amazed by its healing potential. “Light is my new drug,” she
told me.) Some scientists who study photomedicine believe the
nasa origin story is overblown, that it’s only one of the factors
that led to the development of the field. “People sure do like to
talk about it,” said Michael Hamblin, a former principal inves-
tigator at the Wellman Center for Photomedicine at Massachu-
setts General Hospital.
Well, of course we like to talk about it! I like to talk about it
now, ever since I started using these devices. They are futuris-
tic, otherworldly; it makes perfect sense to think this technol-
ogy might’ve come from outer space. My Joovv Mini is an
8¾-by-15-inch flat panel of red and near-infrared lights, and
it costs $695. I tend to turn it on after dark, when the lights
cast an eerie red glow in my living room that makes me think
of the Stranger Things logo. Mine is small enough to keep on
a side table, and it’s meant for “targeted treatments”: face,
joints, or muscles, one at a time. But there are bigger versions,
too, intended to be used on your whole body at once—the big-
gest Joovv device is the Elite, which is 26¼ by 72 inches and
costs $5,995. You’re supposed to stand in front of the larger
ones, but some other at-home products can be configured in
dome shapes, like the Celluma Pro (an LED device on loan to
me from aesthetician Joanna Czech), so you can lie under-
neath, maybe take a nap. I also tried the Déesse Pro LED Mask
(lent to me by aesthetician Shani Darden), the same type of
device Chrissy Teigen and Jessica Alba have shared photos of
themselves wearing. With the mask, you can, in theory, multi-
task, which is maybe why I liked it the least.
I expected these things to be hot to the touch, but they’re not;
they’re room temperature, maybe even a little cool. Yet after a
few minutes of sitting in front of them, I feel warm: It’s my
cells, apparently, heating me from the inside out. I’m growing
attached to the blissed-out sensation I get from the red glow.
It’s similar to the sun-drunk feeling I remember as a California
teenager, minus the guilt I now associate with damaging my
skin. I’m not sure if it’s “working,” but I’m also not sure that it
isn’t. Since the summer, I’ve had two small scars just above my
right wrist, accidental tattoos from making dinner. It might be
my imagination, but once a day for a week now, I’ve been put-
ting my hand under the Celluma Pro panel, and I think the
scars are fading finally.