[22] The series is executive produced by Paltrow, Elise Loehnen, Andrew Fried, Shauna Minoprio, and Dane Lillegard for Boardwalk Pictures.

[32][3][4][33][34][35][36] Mia de Graaf wrote in Business Insider Malaysia that the series "can legitimize unscientific, magical thinking about health, as well as pseudoscientific therapies... [and] further erode the foundations and trust in scientific professions.

"[37] Jonathan Jarry of McGill's Office for Science and Society wrote "The core problem with the series, in my opinion, is its coronation of personal experience... [Such] anecdotes are dirty data: they are contaminated by a dozen variables..."[38] Ars Technica similarly accused the series of making as if "the subjective experiences of a few select individuals are equivalent to the results of randomized, controlled clinical trials..."[39] Some of the criticism regarding pseudoscience focused on Netflix.

"[45] Arielle Pardes wrote in Wired that "the show has its fair share of 'junk science, gibberish, and unproven health claims from snake-oil-salesmen guests,' as some reviews have pointed out.

[46] Wired UK, Victoria Turk was positive about the focus on the possible therapeutic applications of these drugs: "in the past two decades, research studies and clinical trials have been conducted that involve LSD, psilocybin and other substances that we usually think of in a recreational context, often with the aim of exploring treatments for mental health disorders such as depression, addiction and PTSD," but bored by the lack of rigorous scientific discussion: "This is where the episode really starts getting boring.

The success of this episode is, in large part, thanks to Betty Dodson, a 90-year-old feminist sex educator and her colleague, Carlin Ross, who run workshops that aim to empower women with knowledge about their bodies.

But it’s strong on vulvas," Julia Belluz who had previously published a reaction to the series trailer said that "When we watched the actual show, we found it was generally less edgy than the trailer suggested — some episodes were downright boring (like the 'health-span plan' about dieting for longevity), while others contained useful health messages (such as caring for and loving your body)"[6] Jen Chaney in Vulture wrote that "I was fully prepared to hate The Goop Lab...

I regret to inform everyone on the internet, where it’s become a competitive sport to vocally loathe Paltrow and her website that sells vagina-scented candles for $75, that The Goop Lab isn’t particularly hateable.

Some of the episodes are even helpful... the half-hour installments, which each focus on a specific wellness topic and recruit Goop employees to try out various treatments and therapies, are actually interesting and informative.

I’d wager that anyone making time for “The Goop Lab” is coming to it from a similar place: A love-hate desire to know what she's actually like when she doles out the advice that usually appears, disembodied, on her website.

Curiosity is hard to fake, and Gwyneth has it, whether she's asking a doctor to explain his psychedelic research or querying one of her assistants/guinea pigs about the effects of an experiment.

As I binged my way though [sic] the episodes, I found her to be unfailingly funny and entertaining, and I came to understand why so many flock to her site daily in the hopes of Goop-ifying their lives.

The tsunami of Goop hatred is best understood within a context that is much older and runs much deeper than Twitter, streaming platforms, consumerism or capitalism.

Throughout history, women in particular have been mocked, reviled, and murdered for maintaining knowledge and practices that frightened, confused and confounded 'the authorities.'

Criticism of Goop is founded, at least in part, upon deeply ingrained reserves of fear, loathing, and ignorance about things we cannot see, touch, authenticate, prove, own or quantify.

[52] Pardes focused her Wired review on the idea of hope: "What the show does most candidly, though, is shine a light on the desperation people feel when science cannot understand their pain.

Throughout the series, we meet a Goop staffer suffering from a panic disorder, another who’s dealing with the trauma of her father’s suicide, and another who has trouble with intimacy since coming out as gay.

It’s the people whose products and alternative therapies are showcased on screen, each of whom can expect a sizable dose of interest after the exposure from Paltrow’s show.

"[7] In 2020, the series was nominated for two Critics' Choice Real TV Awards, which "recognize excellence in nonfiction, unscripted and reality programming across broadcast, cable, and streaming platforms."