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The government’s proposal endorses the stereotype that larger people without jobs are ‘just lazy’ and implies that a body that ‘works’ is measured by how much labour can be extracted from it.
These days, it’s almost too easy to compare ourselves as we binge episode after episode of fatphobic media like The Biggest Loser, or My 600-lb life, or Supersize vs Superskinny, watching as people told they’re unhealthily large struggle through weight loss journeys that will ‘save their life.’
At least their insecurities are bigger than ours (literally).
Maybe we even feel a little reassured that we don’t find ourselves in the same position: with our bodies trivialised for entertainment and deemed surplus because big = bad but slim = safe.
We’re supposed to feel proud of them, assured that the people on our screens – whose lives are soundtracked to sad music and presented against a cold, low-tone colour palette – aren’t being shamed and that their weight loss journeys are part of a lengthier one to self-rediscovery, to reconnecting with who they were ‘before.’
Most importantly, we’re supposed to take note that their ‘supersize’ body could be ours too. If we aren’t careful, of course.
These shows tell us that the people who go on them, those forced to endure restrictive, metabolism-damaging diets and over-vigorous workouts, aren’t losing weight to fit socially acceptable standards, but are doing so to ‘get their lives back.’
@entertaining.videos07
We’re instructed that, if people just make a bit more effort, spend more time working out, and eat less, they can have the body of their dreams.
The underlying message is that, ultimately, our weight is down to us, that how much we’re willing to invest into maintaining a healthy number on the scale is something we can use to empower ourselves and avoid sinking into a miserable cycle of eating and expansion.
But what if it’s not about personally reaping the rewards of this as these programmes advocate for?
And what if we stopped treating obesity like a solely individualistic issue, one that’s both a ‘physical characteristic’ and a form of ‘behavioural deviance’ that rejects conventional attractiveness?
What if, instead, we viewed the obesity crisis as class-related and directly linked to capitalism?
As academic Jonathon C Wells writes, historically ‘capitalism [has] contributed to the under-nutrition of many populations through demand for cheap labour.’
Put simply, as a capitalist looking to make as much surplus profit as possible, you’re not going to spend more money on producing high quality food beyond what your workers need to carry out the labour you require.
Especially when you can cut costs by selling high-calorie, low-cost food to people who don’t earn enough to buy anything other than what’s convenient and sustaining, or who don’t have hours to spend cooking.
And due to ‘the abundance of new and cheap goods that means there are many different and affordable products for people to buy,’ quality has declined but consumption has increased. Which brings us to today.
From the perspective of economic profitability, why worry about the long-term health effects for working-class people who are more likely to be overexposed to adverts for HFSS food if it doesn’t affect you?
