food – freadom

February feature: Calling out #fitspo and modern diet culture

This post comes at the start of what will probably be several discussions about food, body image, diet culture, and intuitive eating. After reading Laura Thomas’ Just Eat It, I genuinely feel that my entire mindset around food, my body, and my priorities has dramatically altered. Until this point, I considered myself to be a body positive fighter against ‘slimming’ teas, body shaming and unrealistic, idealistic beauty standards. Whilst I may have argued these points in earnest, I couldn’t deny – and still can’t deny, although I’m working on it – the pointless hours I had spent worrying about my body, what I ate, and everything in-between.

Diet culture is a strange phenomenon, because most people seem aware that it exists, but very rarely do we truly acknowledge its dangerous depths. Beyond that, it is easy to forget the many forms that diet culture takes, especially in modern society. It is no longer just the print advertisements showing the same body types time and time again; diet culture is woven into just about every piece of content we consume. I have made many attempts to rid myself of this toxic influence, ironically by pursuing attitudes and trends that are just as embedded in diet culture as those early forms.

Through my recent journey of trying to unlearn these toxic doctrines, it’s becoming increasingly clear that diet culture operates above all in rigidity, restriction and regulation. Whilst we may label it under ‘diet’, the more important descriptor is ‘culture’, since even the D word has now been rejected by many. Whilst seemingly a significant improvement, the result is in fact the masquerading of diets and diet culture under new trends, lifestyles and regimes. This is where restriction and regulation becomes important, because the new diet trends of our society all maintain that common indicator of an unhealthy and restrictive diet. Examples include ‘healthism’, increasing rates of orthorexia, gym-culture, protein marketing, and evolving body trends which now embrace the toned, big-bummed, skinny waste yet still curvy (aka near impossible) figure. These are all components of modern diet culture.

The dangerous thing about modern diet culture is its denial of its true form. Diets have traditionally been very open in their intent; torch fat! lose weight! get that summer body! Sure, many people still embrace these attitudes, but the majority of dieters probably don’t even realise that they’re on a diet. I certainly didn’t. When I carefully calculated my macronutrient and calorie intake, maintaining prescribed ratios and *god forbid* never eating more fat or carbs that I was ‘supposed to’, I genuinely didn’t believe that I was on a diet. I was on a fitness journey; a quest to build muscle and feel strong. What I was doing felt like the absolute antithesis of dieting; after all, I wanted to gain (muscle) weight, and I justified the regulation by insisting that this would ensure I ate enough, at the risk of eating too little (as I previously had done). Perhaps this was a necessary part of my journey from severely disordered, restrictive eating to a healthy relationship with food and my body, but I doubt it.

In reality, this was a way for me to maintain the same control over what I ate and how I looked that fuelled my under-eating in the previous year. I may have kidded myself that I was now in the game of gaining weight, but there I was turning a blind eye to the hour of cardio I did every day after lifting weights, the careful regulation of my eating, and the obsessive desire for a flat stomach (as if I had no organs to house). I believe that this is the same journey that many other people, girls in particular, are susceptible to. In the boom of fitness influencers and Instagram #fitspo, the thin ideal has been reshaped – not only are we told to be thin, we are also told to be toned, and have natural curves in the ‘right’ places. I’d be lying if I said my fitness goals weren’t entirely driven by aesthetics; it may have felt good to reach a new personal best on squats, but only because it meant I’d be growing my ass a bit more.

My point here isn’t to shut down fitness influencers or say that they are perpetrating disordered eating behaviours and body confidence, but it’s not far off the mark. I believe that these ‘influencers’ hold a huge responsibility to deliver fitness content that does not encourage a prescribed body image, fat-shame, use problematic terms, or demonise vital parts of our body like fat. (FYI, there’s a reason that female lower belly fat is ‘stubborn’ – it’s goddam supposed to be there). No one is denying that many people pursue fitness for goals outside of aesthetics, but in the growing popularity of before and after pictures, it’s time to realise that #fitspo is the new #thinspo, and realise our own responsibility to others and ourselves to not appropriate fitness and exercise as another body-shaming diet tool.

This all ties in closely with disordered eating, because eating and exercise go hand in hand. As Laura Thomas says in Just Eat It; if it has rules, it’s a diet; and fitness culture is certainly filled with guilt-inducing, regimented rules. Heavy calorie restriction and over-doing the cardio is just as much disordered eating as tracking your protein intake in between gym sessions. One may be more physically dangerous than the other, but both nonetheless inhabit diet culture and disordered eating. Perhaps even more dangerously, the disordered eating behaviours among fitness culture are masqueraded by language that instigates a false sense of empowerment. Protein-rich snacks are literally everywhere; the new golden star in food marketing which immediately makes a food ‘good’. In the dichotomy of good and bad food, fitness culture has introduced a wider set of terms; rather than just ‘healthy’ and ‘unhealthy’, ‘portion control’ and ‘greedy’, we’re now bombarded with dozens of macronutrients, micronutrients, ‘superfoods’ and whatever else, giving that dichotomy even more ground. We live in the days of ‘cheat meals’ in which one chocolate chip cookie is both demonised as progress-inhibiting and sensationalised as the biggest, most exclusive treat of all time. How could such a conflicting, loaded and restrictive language of food ever be considered healthy? When pleasurable foods are limited to days labelled under a negative term like ‘cheat’, yet still loaded with the exclusivity of a wild indulgence, something so basic as a biscuit can become fitness culture’s drug. No wonder we end up knee deep in a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, wondering how the hell we got there.

Exactly a year on from my first introduction to weight lifting and fitness, my mindset couldn’t be more drastically altered. I exercise regularly because it makes me physically feel great, creates a satisfying tiredness that makes curling up with a book all the more fun, and most importantly because it boosts my mental health. Just as she encourages the benefits of intuitive eating, Laura Thomas also discusses the importance of intuitive movement, and how this can reconnect us with our body in a healthy, kind and genuine way. A month ago, a trip to the gym would feel worthless to me if I’d forgotten my Fitbit, because I wouldn’t know how many calories I’d burned and therefore how much food I’d earned (hint: food is not to be ‘earned’ – you’ve earned it by being alive). Now, I’ve sold my Fitbit (terrifyingly, a mentally difficult task), move in accordance with how my body and mind feel, take a lot less time staring at my stomach in the mirror, and feed my body exactly what it wants. No one can press the benefits of intuitive eating like Laura Thomas, so I’ll leave that to her, and say simply that having read her book has changed my entire outlook on my body, undoubtedly rippling into the contentment of my mind.

Reflecting on Veganuary: When ethics clash with disordered eating

So here we are, already one whole mammoth-month deep into 2019. I’ve been thinking about the topic of this post almost constantly throughout January, and even in the months leading up to it. As a vegetarian with an extremely complicated and relationship with food, I always knew that transitioning to a vegan diet would be equally complicated. So I didn’t do it. Didn’t even try, in fact – and I have no regrets.

That intro probably seems like I’m about to start vegan-bashing, which is absolutely not true. The ethics of a vegan lifestyle is, quite frankly, goals. I’d love for that to be my lifestyle. I follow lots of vegan accounts across social media because I find the whole movement, and the strength that it is galvanising, very inspiring. Seeing stats on the increasing number of vegetarians and vegans in the world warms my heart with the tiniest shred of hope that we might actually be able to slow down the cataclysmic ecosystem failure that our planet is facing. I watched the documentary Land of Hope and Glory last year and obstinately decided that I would complete – not even just attempt – Veganuary, and continue the lifestyle thereafter. Honourable intentions, sure, but I was forgetting the most important agent in this whole agenda – my own body and mind.

Having established that I am absolutely an advocate of plant-based living and depending as little as personally viable on animal products, I want to discuss the restriction it inhabits. Veganism, like vegetarianism, is a restrictive diet. It is restrictive for ethical reasons, but that doesn’t prevent the fact that it is inherently restrictive. Restriction is the entire point – you are cutting out entire food groups, labelling them as ‘bad’ and ‘no-go’ foods, attributing a sense of shame to the consumption of those foods. This is absolutely my attitude towards meat, and it aligns with my ethics. At the time I decided to become vegetarian, I didn’t even think about the impact that this restriction might have on my relationship with food.

When I remember the amount of time, pain, stress and anxiety that was consumed by my over-restrictive diet, I wonder why on earth I didn’t seriously take this into account when transitioning to vegetarianism. Truth is, the nutrients I was losing didn’t relate all that much to my past fears of food. I made this change whilst in the depths of exploring weight-training and trying to make #gainz – a lifestyle which was naturally (in my mind) impacted by cutting out 90% of my protein intake. In my obsessions with macronutrients, I saw meat as purely protein, and cutting it out meant only that I’d have to source protein from elsewhere to fuel my #fitnessgoals. Perhaps I was just in a good place with my eating, but I really believe that the nutritional make up of this food group was largely responsible for why giving it up didn’t affect me mentally. However, I want to press on the fact that this may not be the case for all people. Restriction is restriction, and whether or not I was able to cope with it, that may not be the story for many others.

So here I am having made a huge deal of the restriction involved in giving up meat. Good lord, imagine now giving up everything that contains any trace of animal produce. That’s a lot of food off your plate. And, if you think of the products that you automatically associate with dairy – cheese, butter, cakes, ice cream – there’s a trend to be seen. When I watched Land of Hope and Glory and declared my future veganism, I thought about what I’d have to cut out and how I would navigate this new lifestyle. When I realised I would no longer eat cookies, biscuits, cakes, and basically every other delicious snack (except for vegan options), I got a pang of excitement for the amount of fat and sugar I’d be cutting out. I envisioned a 2019 where I was at optimum health, practiced clean eating and lost a few pounds in the process. This honestly sounded like a dream.

Truth is, it was a dream. When I decided to be as vegan as possible to prepare myself for Veganuary, I tested myself by resisting cookies whenever they were in the house. When I ultimately ate a cookie, I was so angry at myself. Filled with guilt, shame and self-resentment, I couldn’t stop thinking about the impact this would have on my calories in/out balance, how the added fat to my daily food would automatically make me gain weight. Hold up. What?

I didn’t think at all about the milk and butter that had gone into those cookies that had come from the animals I was supposedly fighting for. Truth be told, in that moment I didn’t care – I’d eaten a goddam cookie and my body was about to pay the price. It was after this incident that I realised I was using veganism not as an ethical lifestyle, but as a diet tool masqueraded as being ‘good for me’. In my mind, the logic of supporting animals, the planet, and myself with all the natural whole foods I’d be eating, meant it was a no-lose situation. That would potentially be the case, if it weren’t for the fact that diet culture is so ingrained within me that I subconsciously manipulated an ethical decision into a desperate plan to lose weight.

‘It’s almost like an eating disorder, but they’re calling it veganism’
Kim-Julie Hansen, Talking Tastebuds ‘VEGANUARY SPECIAL’

Now, I’m fortunate in recognising this. I honestly think a year ago this realisation wouldn’t have occurred to me and I’d be full-steam ahead on the vegan train. Maybe it would have been fine, improved my skin, made me more energised, cleared my conscience – but maybe that would have come at the cost of my relationship with food and my body, not to say all of the progress I’d made in recovery. I am fortunate in the voices I listen to and the influences I take in. In the ‘Veganuary Special’ episode of Talking Tastebuds, vegan author Kim-Julie Hansen discusses the prevalence of vegan influencers who use veganism as way of encouraging orthorexia as a healthy lifestyle choice. After expressing her love of vegan junk food (finally, someone has done it), she criticises the culture of veganism adopted by many that focuses on juice cleanses, detoxes and intermittent fasting. One more time for those in the back please.

More recently, I began reading Laura Thomas’ new book Just Eat It. The cover boasts the slogan, ‘how intuitive eating can help you get your shit together around food’. Um, yes please, sign me up. I bought it immediately and this thing is pure gold. Seriously, like, how is it that every damn sentence is stating exactly how I’ve felt around food for years? – Anyway, circling back; Laura Thomas gives a modern take on diet culture and the many ways it embeds itself in how we eat.

‘In a world where ‘diet’ has become such a dirty word that even Weight Watchers have dropped it, pursuit of weight loss has become passé and people have ditched diets in favour of the more rarefied and esoteric ‘lifestyle’ movements like clean eating, wellness and even veganism. In an attempt to distance ourselves from overt dieting, we have developed new, creative ways to engage in disordered eating behaviours.’
Laura Thomas, Just Eat It, p. 28.

My god. If that’s not a word for word account of my attitude towards food in the past year, I don’t know what is. To be clear – Laura Thomas is not denouncing veganism as an ethical choice whatsoever. She simply criticises its appropriation as a diet technique, and I’m all here for it.

It seems that a lot of people are finally on board with shutting down diet culture and criticising the impact it has on our relationship with our bodies, yet we’re reluctant to admit that it has seeped into other avenues of our eating choices. While many fitness influencers are chugging the spirulina and goji berries, there’s very little conversation on the impacts this can have on our mental health. This absence of discussion is what leads many people (like myself) to feel guilty for not being ‘good’ enough – in regards to either health or ethics – unaware that this is the same guilt that feeds a desire to make ourselves thin.

So, while I header this post with a picture of my vegan, healthy looking breakfast, know that this was my breakfast of choice because it gives me energy and stamina (and porridge with peanut butter is life). After that, I was immediately excited about the strawberry custard creams I have in my cupboard, because who the hell doesn’t need strawberry custard creams in their life? I even dared to make the decision to dunk some in my tea. Maybe you’re not a dunker – if so, don’t hate – but those are the only kind of food choices I want to be making.

Fatphobia: in culture and in consciousness

Today I re-watched the Friends episode, ‘The One With All The Thanksgivings’. I love Friends, but its problematic tropes are no secret, particularly the transphobia towards Chandler’s dad, the various examples of toxic masculinity and the fatphobic ‘fat Monica’ gag. In this episode in particular, the last two are rife. The characters recall past Thanksgivings in which Monica overhears Chandler call her fat (after mocking her for her weight behind her back beforehand, I might add). This triggers Monica’s decision to lose weight – problematic enough as it is – and Chandler is immediately attracted to her in their next meeting. One thing leads to another and, in a bit to seek revenge for his treatment of her, Monica accidentally drops a knife which severs part of Chandler’s little toe.

I’ve always found what happens to be strange, but now it just pisses me off. Two things are exposed: that Monica’s extreme weight loss came as a direct result of being mocked as ‘fat’ by a guy she liked, and that Chandler’s injured toe was an accident – yes, still an accident – that came as a direct result of him calling her fat. Yet Chandler is the one who gets to storm off, demanding alone time and unwilling to even talk to Monica. I’m sorry, what?

When I was younger and found that sequence a bit strange, the feeling I hadn’t yet discovered was utter tiredness towards this toxic masculinity that exudes entitlement and ignorance. In a battle between a malicious remark and an accident caused by the trauma of that remark, how is the man with the slightly stunted little toe the one who gets to be mad? It honestly makes me rage. There’s also the fact that Chandler doesn’t remember calling Monica fat – clearly so mundane in his vocabulary that it didn’t even make the cut in his first memories with his now girlfriend. Honestly, I cannot.

This episode aired in 1998, over 20 years ago, and so is filed away in the ‘of its time’ category of ‘not ok’ aspects of culture. But regardless of a show’s filming date, when it is replayed incessantly to the present day it is important to question these tropes. After all, the fat girl and the trans parent are still laughed at to this day.

In this instance, and in all of the examples I’ve seen of people hating on the character of Ross in particular for his frequent (unchallenged) toxicity, I am somewhat relieved that modern audiences are one step ahead of antiquated views. We allow these elements of the past to remain, so long as they undergo our rolling critique. It’s good, and it’s giving the consumer a proactive role in cultural censorship, but it can make us feel more ahead of our time than we really are.

Two hours ago I ate what I estimate to be four servings of granola. Possibly the least interesting sentence you will read all week, but for me it instigated immediate fear, repulsion and anger towards my body for taking an action that – in my head, at that moment – would result in me becoming fat. What’s worse: the fact that I immediately believed I would become fat, or the fact that I felt terrified of that possibility? In the style of my favourite podcast: I’m a feminist, but I openly acknowledge my cognitive dissonance in aggressively challenging fatphobia, whilst also being terrified of gaining any weight in my own body. I’m dealing with two issues here – the completely twisted and media-influenced perception I have of the relationship, processes and functions that occur between food, exercise and the body, and my unconscious fear of gaining weight. Who am I to fiercely call out fatphobia when I myself can’t shake the fear of gaining weight? I’m a hypocrite, I know, but I promise I’m working on it.

‘If we are feeling bad about our looks, sometimes the thing we need to address is the feeling, not our actual physical appearance’
Matt Haig, Notes on a Nervous Planet, p. 59.

I believe that many people struggle with the same hypocrisy and the same fears. We have been indoctrinated with the idea that fat = bad, and in our outwards thinking culture we forget that deconstructing fatphobia is as much an inside job as an outside one. In the past year I have really, truly been trying to diminish my inherent fear of fatness that came as a consequence of my disordered relationship with food. So in the process of recovery, I had to teach myself not only to love and respect my body and to understand the vitality and joy of food – I also had to teach myself that gaining weight wasn’t the enemy. I would say to my boyfriend, ‘even if I did get fatter it’d be fine wouldn’t it? Nothing about my life would change, right?’, and he would say ‘Charlea, you’re not at all fat!’, believing that I was still building up this fear. Instead, I was trying to reverse the demonising that I had placed on gaining weight. If I gained a few stone, nothing about my life would change, and anything that did would almost certainly by the result of socially prescribed views on weight gain. If I retreated to my own thoughts, I would be the same person, and weight gain would cease to be the enemy.

So now, reminding myself of this journey – of the incredible voices and influences that have helped me, of the value in who I am outside of my physical appearance – I don’t really give a shit about how much granola I ate. I no longer want to get out my scales, weigh out how much I think I ate and calculate the calorie intake. I no longer want to tailor my trip to the gym around burning more calories, before having a vegetable-based lunch purely for minimal consumption. I want to continue to fight and call out fatphobic media content, and to maintain this regained consciousness for the next time I fall victim to the pressures of beauty standards. I’m happiest when I’m sat reading, with a cup of tea, surrounded by the people I love. And since my weight has zero impact on this scenario, I won’t even allow it to take up space in my mind, because I have shit to be doing and saying and no magazine cover will continue to derail my happiness.

The mince pie polemic: obsessions with food at Christmas

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, for most. Christmas exudes joy, gratitude and celebration in every corner, and from 1st of December that corner is one we’re rapidly backed into. Above all else, Christmas is simply more intrusive than any other time of year, with adverts and products and gifts constantly thrusted upon us.

I love Christmas, but I understand its many issues. The capitalist obsession that plagues on parents lacking money; the bombarding of social obligations testing our mental capabilities; and the food. Food is an issue for many people, but it’s often an understated one. As a nation we yearn for passing around the Quality Streets during Doctor Who on Christmas Day, yet we don’t consider the effects of food at Christmas. Christmas is one of the few times of year when the associations of food with tradition are enormous. Whilst this is often derived from the food itself, such as Christmas dinner and advent calendars, there’s a generalised notion of indulgence at Christmas that lingers throughout the season. Then, come January, the ‘getting back on track’ mentality projects through self-critical New Years resolutions and resentment at any gained weight.

I have a huge problem with the notion of December indulgence and January reformation. Food advertisement is truly excessive in the festive season, and being surrounded by so much food can trigger a ‘fuck it’ mentality. I know that I have that feeling a lot when confronted with food at every turn – show me a pack of cinnamon spiced cookies enough times and I’ll eat them all. Now, I am not in any way criticising eating, over eating, under eating, whatever eating, because I believe that that is every individual’s own business. I am criticising not the actions of us, the people doing the eating, but the cultural obsession with food shown through advertising and retail. It is the influence of this cultural obsession with food, rather than the healthiness or will of the individual, which leads us become negatively affected by food at Christmas. For one thing, it makes us overtly self-conscious of a bodily function which is better reserved for our physical and mindful instincts.

If there were no such thing as the January come-down after the December high, people would not insist upon hitting the gym to shift any weight gained over Christmas. We would not internally demonise food and build up a fear of its consequence. This cycle portrays food as the party drug; something dangerous whilst also something we yearn for, which ultimately evolves into shame once the thrill wears off. How has food become a criminal indulgence? Why do I feel guilty for eating two mince pies in one go? It’s nonsensical. Eating is often an emotional process, but we need to cut the baggage that’s been unconsciously loaded upon us. Eat to feel energised, satisfied, full, nourished, and happy – and try, as much as possible, to disconnect from the overcharged focus on food at Christmas. If you over eat, you might remember next time that your body didn’t feel good last time you ate that amount. If you put on weight, your body will continue to exist and function, and whether or not you choose to change, it should remain a choice based on how you feel in yourself. Remember, most of all, that food is a function and the external qualities connected to it (body shape/size/weight) do not deserve your emotional attention. That is reserved for having fun and being happy.

Beyond more general issues surrounding food, and the notion of over eating, Christmas can be incredibly overwhelming for those with issues with under eating. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, Christmas is more intrusive than any other time of year. The emphasis on having a great time and being surrounded by friends and family creates a hyper-vigilence that is difficult to escape. During my greatest difficulties with eating, my (understandably) concerned family sometimes acted like a supervisor over my eating habits when I was with them, frequently asking what I’d eaten that day. Whilst I genuinely understand the positive intentions, this is often the least helpful environment, as it heightens the pressure over what we’re eating and can actually be triggering. Particularly with the excessive presence of food at Christmas, any reluctancy to engage in that tradition is more noticeably juxtaposed, heightening that feeling of abnormality.

In the most recent episode of Venetia Falconer’s Talking Tastebuds, Dr Robin Hart gave the most wonderful advice:

The kind of rule of thumb is this: don’t ask people why they’re not drinking; don’t comment on people who eat a lot; and don’t ask people why they’re not eating anything, because it’s not your business.
Dr Robin Hart

I love this. It may seem counterintuitive to abstain from questioning people’s habits, but the effect of intruding can be far more dangerous. Hart himself recognises that:

Obviously it is your business if you’re a close family member or you’re very fond of somebody who’s clearly having difficulties, it very much is your business, but it may not be the best time to raise it, because of all the stress that’s around Christmas anyway.
Dr Robin Hart

This, I think, is essential advice for those struggling, or who know people struggling, with food at Christmas. For many, the aim is simply to get through this chaotic and stressful time. With the upheaval of daily routine, it is easy to feel less stable and self-assured; particularly with the year’s end approaching and tendencies to self-reflect.

Within and outside of food, stress and emotion are high throughout the festive season, and it’s vital that we respect our own and others’ needs. For me personally, I have realised this year the importance of a self-care routine for my mental health. I use my journal to document my meditation, yoga, exercise, reading, etc. – all things that help me maintain a happy and calm mind. Whilst Christmas is of course a wonderful occasion for spending time with others, that doesn’t mean we should sacrifice those habits and that time that we have for ourselves throughout the year. Taking twenty minutes to yourself on Christmas day or choosing to do a few Christmas activities alone is a choice that should be more widely taken. That way, we can keep at least a fraction of our own normality and lesson the suffocation that can come from being overcrowded and overwhelmed. If we take time to understand ourselves, to respect our needs, and to cater to our state of mind, Christmas really can be the most wonderful time of the year.