“I’m helping people. I’m healing people!” These are the words of prolific health influencer Eddie Abbew.

I conveyed my concerns about his style of food evangelism in my 2023 article Messiah Syndrome in Nutrition at the time when Abbew was experiencing exponential growth in popularity. Other social media demigods have similarly sermonised to desperate scrollers eager to lap up tips from their idols.

If you’re like me, you might be feeling that we’re living through a period of rising conspiratorial thinking. Yet research has indicated that conspiracies are no more prevalent than at any time in the past [1]. Rather, what’s making conspiracism appear more rife is that existing views are being heavily reinforced and circulated in online echo chambers.

Even if it is true that the level of conspiratorial thinking is not dissimilar to that of previous eras, this fact itself is disappointing. With ready access to genuine experts literally in the palm of our hand and the ability to fact-check at our fingertips, such dogmatic worldviews should be on the decline. This implies that there’s something else going on.

I introduced the term “dietology” – a portmanteau of “diet” and “ideology” – in my book, Well Fed: How modern diets are destroying us (and what we can do about it), which I summarised in an article. Dietology refers to dietary beliefs that are born from ideology rather than evidence [2].

While dietary beliefs have been around for tens of millennia, what’s particularly striking at this moment is the prevalence of nutrition populism, the ardent commitment to specific dietologies – such as the carnivore diet, the shunning of seed oils and the performative chugging down of raw milk – and the mistrust of contemporary medicine. Why is this?

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When something is lacking in people’s lives, health conspiracism offers meaning, and heterodox social media influencers suggest an alternative form of faith.

Seeking Alternative Faith

The reasons behind the current wave of distrust in science and medicine are numerous. Of particular note is the way disease mitigation policies were communicated during the COVID-19 pandemic, which did a lot of harm. Then social media, polarisation, right-wing populism and left-wing postmodernism have all fed this lack of trust. Yet, fundamentally, health conspiracism stems from something deeper. With increasing levels of secularisation, in the absence of traditional religion, people will look elsewhere for meaning in their lives, allowing dietologies to step in to fill the void.

We’re living through a moment of profound spiritual and cultural upheaval marked by widespread secularisation. Data suggests that the share of Americans identifying as Christian dropped from 78 to 62 per cent from 2007 to 2024 [3]. While much of this shift is driven by the growth of the religiously unaffiliated, related measures of religious practice have also declined, including the share of Americans who pray daily or attend regular services.

These trends are not isolated to the US. Global secularisation affects Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism and Hinduism alike. A 2023 analysis of the World Values Survey data found that age and income are among the strongest predictors for decreasing religiosity, confirming that modern economic and demographic shifts correlate strongly with this decline [4]. The drop in traditional religious structures creates a spiritual void. This vacuum can then be filled by alternative spiritualities, existential searches or other belief systems that offer meaning, structure and a sense of the transcendent and nature mysticism.

As younger generations grow up without strong religious roots, their search for meaning might shift towards political, psychological or identity-based frameworks rather than centuries-old orthodox religions. While these new frameworks are influenced by contemporary cultural anxieties, they tend to be less stabilising and reassuring than traditional faith and wisdom. Studies of the culture wars indicate that, instead of offering equanimous guidance, these ideologies frequently contribute to an “us versus them” mindset, demanding allegiance to a specific side rather than fostering broad acceptance or spiritual integration [5].

Roots in Religion

While it’s intuitively plausible that alternative dogma can be found in things like nationalism, UFOlogy and the paranormal, why food? It’s quite a leap to go from praising a deity to worshiping a diet strategy! I suggest two key reasons why people are turning to online dietologies. Firstly, people are emotionally invested in their food choices. Human cultural evolution has given rise to a vast array of eating practices. Those food traditions that prevailed enabled social groups to flourish where they’d otherwise have struggled to acquire safe and sufficient protein and calories.

The second reason is even less obvious. As with other types of in-group thinking, people find solace in alternative ways of thinking about the world and in online groups. Being exposed to a narrative that suggests that you might not be responsible for your health can be comforting. When a health influencer with a compelling message and a high follower count pops up in your feed, you’re instantly presented with convenient answers to your ills. The brutal simplicity of their content makes their message highly convincing. Highly complex issues conveyed through simplistic but enticing narratives provide lots in the way of comfort but little in the way of reality.

Complicated and nuanced issues boiled down to bite-sized chunks tempt people into conspiratorial thinking. Yet this weltanschauung coddles a reduced dependence on intuitive judgement and common sense. Moreover, humanity’s immersion in the online world over the past couple of decades, coupled with political instabilities and increased polarisation, has amped up the sensational volume.

When bombarded with alternative and conflicting facts, people are left assuming that there’s more than one “truth” or, indeed, no such thing as truth. Thrown into the toxic information arena armed with precious few skills to discern what truth is, they’re increasingly likely to be pulled towards a heterodoxical narrative. When people lack the necessary tools to help them distinguish the credible from the fallacious, they tend to accept the alternative version of events primarily because of the accompanying powerful cultural and ideological framework. Ideology stamps out reality.

To some extent, this is understandable. Our ancestors developed heuristics to enable rapid decisions in uncertain environments. By spotting patterns and threats and navigating social hierarchies, these shared mental shortcuts allowed groups to act cohesively, for such tasks like identifying foods that are safe to eat, interpreting emotional cues and cooperating in collective tasks like hunting and gathering. Endowed with social cognitive tools, prehistoric humans could rapidly infer intentions, predict behaviour and synchronise their actions with others, often without conscious awareness. In this way, common knowledge is adaptive, providing a shared framework that increases survival, cooperation and cultural stability. As the psychologist Steven Pinker argues, common knowledge is foundational to human society because it enables social coordination and complementary decision making [6].

Information Avoidance

While it may seem paradoxical, people often engage in elaborate efforts to obscure, ignore or deliberately avoid acknowledging things that should be common sense. Moreover, they mostly do so without being aware. This tendency to bypass accepting widely shared knowledge is known as “information avoidance”. People do it because it’s comforting as it allows them to preserve existing beliefs, and might even bump up their social standing. Information avoidance acts as a coping mechanism in situations of uncertainty or threat, reducing cognitive dissonance and emotional discomfort [7].

Moreover, engaging in information avoidance does more than merely protect beliefs. It helps people align with a group ideology to secure a sense of belonging. According to Social Identity Theory, individuals derive meaning, status and self-esteem from the groups to which they belong [8]. By rejecting information that threatens their worldview, people set aside their personal instincts or empirical scepticism to be part of a community that claims to possess special insider knowledge. Aligning oneself with a group that asserts access to deeper truths or a more “awakened” understanding feels more meaningful and elevating to one’s identity than simply accepting the mundaneness of life. This might explain how online fitness ultracrepidarians, despite spouting tons of fallacistic bullshit, manage to amass millions of followers.

In addition, people often sidestep common sense by relying on cognitively unfalsifiable ideas preventing evidence from contradicting a claim. Epistemic shielding makes a claim immune to challenge: any lack of proof is simply reframed as what’s expected, since the phenomenon supposedly exists beyond mainstream thinking [9].

Although such admonitions as “wake up!” might appear useless to a rational thinker, they function as an end point, preventing the need for evidence to back up a claim. By setting aside common-sense reasoning and suspending rational doubts, individuals can fully engage with the group, strengthening both cohesion and commitment to shared beliefs. A claim that “aspartame causes cancer”, for example, is so broad that it’s unfalsifiable. The term “cancer” covers numerous diseases each with complex aetiologies. Aligning causality to one simple substance is ridiculous, but impossible to adequately falsify.

System Justification

A concept known as “system justification” offers another cogent explanation for why people override instinct even without empathy-driven motives. This psychological process leads individuals to defend and reinforce their worldview, even when it may run counter to their own interests [10]. No longer should institutional authority like governments, academia or the medical establishment be trusted. Rather, the conspiratorial standpoint becomes the only way of viewing the world. Distrust of institutions becomes the cultural status quo, and accepting the cover-up narrative functions as a way of justifying and maintaining the belief system [11]. Scientists and, consequently, science itself are not to be trusted. Believing that the medical establishment is either run by an elite cabal deliberately hiding knowledge or by incompetent “sheep” blindly adhering to their outdated methods aligns you with the modern order of suspicion and provides a kind of social intelligence. Trusting official explanations, on the other hand, appears naïve or irrational.

In some current Western contexts, where scepticism and distrust of institutions are amplified, psychologically normal people are more likely to accept conspiratorial explanations. Such an environment rewards suspicion, dramatic interpretation, assumes hidden motives and nurtures a psychological profile where certain stories are uniquely meaningful. You see this with online personalities who’ve been shunned by conventional medicine or have lost a high status they previously held. Armed with a new narrative – and a platform to spread their word to the masses – they can claim to be “in the know”. After all, they were once part of the establishment so they “know” how the system works. With a new mission, they have renewed relevance by exposing secrecy or ignorance.

Yet, this powerful way of restoring identity and meaning has a sinister side: it creates a blind spot for rational facts or instinct.

Faith in Food

Faith in something helps to fill the emptiness left by a lack of meaning. Without faith in a larger cosmic order – something greater than ourselves – younger generations are more likely to become attached to an ideology introduced to them on social media. This leaves them unattached to an embodied instinctual reality. As food culture is based on belief, nutrition conspiracism is particularly vulnerable to this style of reasoning.

This way of thinking might be ideological or it could merely be a yearning to see something formed from previous biases. People’s beliefs are part of their identity. We’re built with an almost infinite capacity to believe things because those beliefs have been advantageous for us to hold. Firm beliefs can come with a wilful disregard for facts that might change minds, simply because people fear having to change their worldview. This can be especially dangerous because conviction feels like a positive attribute. Communicating with nuance, on the other hand, can make you sound like you don’t know what’s going on.

When someone challenges a narrative by asking a question, it implies that they’re not a believer. Detached from reality, it might be that, deep down, these health ideologues and their disciples are aware that there’s no evidence for their claims.

When there’s no evidence for the thing you believe, the best strategy might be to invent your own epistemology.

Dietology is comforting.

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References:
1. (a) Uscinski, J. et al. (2022) ‘Have Beliefs in Conspiracy Theories Increased Over Time?’, PLoS One, 17(7), e0270429; (b) Osman, M. (2023) ‘Conspiracy Theories Aren’t on the Rise – We Need to Stop Panicking’, The Conversation, 19 June. Available at: https://theconversation.com/conspiracy-theories-arent-on-the-rise-we-need-to-stop-panicking-208033 (Accessed: 1 June 2026).
2. Collier, J. (2025) Well Fed: How Modern Diets Are Failing Us (and What We Can Do About It). London: Thorsons, p30.
3. Pew Research Center (2022) ‘1. How U.S. Religious Composition Has Changed in Recent Decades’, Modeling the Future of Religion in America. Available at: https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2022/09/13/how-u-s-religious-composition-has-changed-in-recent-decades/ (Accessed: 1 June 2026).
4. Jafarigol, E. et al. (2023) ‘Religious Affiliation in the Twenty-First Century: A Machine Learning Perspective on the World Value Survey’, Society, 60, 733-49.
5. (a) Castle, J. (2018) ‘New Fronts in the Culture Wars? Religion, Partisanship, and Polarization on Religious Liberty and Transgender Rights in the United States’, American Politics Research, 47(3). https://doi.org/10.1177/1532673X18818169; (b) Pew Research Center (2015) U.S. Public Becoming Less Religious. Available at: https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2015/11/03/u-s-public-becoming-less-religious/ (Accessed: 1 June 2026); (c) Hon, K. et al. (2022) ‘Culture Wars: The Divide’, OxJournal, 21 December. Available at: https://www.oxjournal.org/culture-wars-divide/ (Accessed: 1 June 2026).
6. Pinker, S. (2025) When Everyone Knows That Everyone Knows…: Common Knowledge and the Mysteries of Money, Power, and Everyday Life. New York, NY: Scribner.
7. Sweeny, K. et al. (2010) ‘Information Avoidance: Who, What, When, and Why’, Review of General Psychology, 14(4), 340-53.
8. Tajfel, H. and Turner, J. C. (1979) ‘An Integrative Theory of Intergroup Conflict’. In: Austin, W. G. and Worchel, S. (eds) The Social Psychology of Intergroup Relations (pp. 33–47). Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole.
9. Friesen, J. P. et al. (2015) ‘The Psychological Advantage of Unfalsifiability: The Appeal of Untestable Religious and Political Ideologies’, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 108(3), 515-29.
10. Jost, J. T. et al. (2004) ‘A Decade of System Justification Theory: Accumulated Evidence of Conscious and Unconscious Bolstering of the Status Quo’, Political Psychology, 25, 881-919.
11. Douglas, K. M. et al. (2017) ‘The Psychology of Conspiracy Theories’, Current Directions in Psychological Science, 26(6). https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721417718261

Share James Collier

Everyone looks so great. When I look around this room, I can’t but wonder, “Is Ozempic right for me?”
- Jimmy Kimmel [1]

Back in the 1990s, dietary support for weight reduction was typically “eat less: move more”. Simple!

I hadn’t long qualified as a dietitian. Patients would rock up at my clinic and jump on the scales. They’d leave with a tailored diet plan, three or four goals and a few words of encouragement. The expectation was for them to have lost some weight by their next appointment. If they hadn’t, that was … well … their fault.

Okay, this description might lead you to feel that the patient experience was more impersonal than it actually was. NHS dietetic outpatient clinics weren’t quite this insipid. A good dietitian would be understanding and sympathetic with a patient’s situation. Indeed, I would rarely, if ever, hold a patient to a specific weight target; with a few doable goals, the hope was for weight loss to be a positive side effect.

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Clinically Libertarian?

I purposely depicted the dietetic clinic setting this way to make a point: when it came to obesity and other diseases of lifestyle, the patient was seen to be in control of their own health outcomes. It was the kind of outpatient protocol I’d been taught in my training. No wonder dietetic intervention for weight management was seldom very effective. While a dietitian would fully acknowledge that some folk find it harder to control their weight, the onus was on the individual to do the necessary work. If this meant someone had to put in more effort than others, that was just tough luck. The dietitian’s role was to advise and, to an extent, motivate; that was it. The consultation strategy was somewhat clinically libertarian: work hard, and you’ll reap the rewards. If you don’t, that’s on you. After all, living with obesity is a choice, right?

Naturally, the majority of my patients failed to maintain much weight loss. While a good practitioner would be compassionate, success and failure were ultimately down to the individual. In fact, in one hospital where I worked, it became policy for clients who hadn’t lost weight for three consecutive visits to be discharged, with the exception being for psychiatric patients where the goal was to limit excessive weight gain.

These days, it’s widely acknowledged that, for the vast majority, living with overweight and obesity is not a choice. As obvious as it sounds, no one is responsible for their own genetics, physiologies, upbringing and social circumstances. Neither do we, to a large extent, have much of a say about our surrounding food environment.

There are a bunch of converging reasons why it’s harder for some people to control their weight and how much they eat. This includes the hormones involved in metabolism and appetite regulation, such as the more familiar insulin, glucagon and leptin, and, until recently, the less well-known ghrelin, peptide-YY (PYY), cholecystokinin (CCK) and the two incretins, glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) and glucose-dependent insulinotropic polypeptide (GIP).

Olde Physick

While laxatives and purgatives have been touted for weight loss for millennia, the first true weight-reducing medicine was likely thyroid extract in the 1890s [2]. Slimming drugs became more widely used during the 1930s initially with 2,4-Dinitrophenol (DNP) and amphetamine sulphate, the latter marketed as Benzedrine, which was originally licensed as a nasal decongestant [3]. Both were swiftly banned due to potential dangers but can still be found on the black market today.

When I first learned about medical treatment for type 2 diabetes at uni, there was insulin, of course, as well as sulfonylureas, such as gliclazide and glibenclamide, and metformin. Both insulin and sulfonylureas could cause weight gain, exacerbating the underlying problem. Metformin was first introduced in France in 1957 but wasn’t approved to treat type 2 diabetes in the US until 1994 under the brand name Glucophage. Metformin is a biguanide anti-hyperglycaemic agent which decreases liver glucose production and increases tissue insulin sensitivity [4]. When it comes to body weight, metformin is either neutral or might lead to slight fat loss. It’s still a popular prescription medicine today, not only for diabetes, but also polycystic ovary syndrome. Controversially and off-label, metformin is also used as a performance-enhancing drug and for its purported anti-ageing benefits.

For weight control, drugs like orlistat and sibutramine came and went. Orlistat inhibits lipase enzymes allowing undigested fat to pass through the body [5]. Sibutramine works by increasing serotonin and noradrenaline (norepinephrine) levels to curb appetite [6]. Although orlistat is still available, it’s unpopular due to unpleasant side effects like oily stools, urgency to open bowels, abdominal pain and headaches. Sibutramine, however, was withdrawn from European and US markets in 2010 due to increased risks of heart disease and stroke [7].

Skinny Lizards

For more than 170 years, scientists have been avidly exploring the physiology of blood glucose, appetite and weight gain [8]. During the second half of the 19th century, the mental framework for what’s now referred to as “the incretin effect” was first described [9]. The incretin effect is the observation that glucose taken by mouth triggers a much stronger insulin response compared to intra-venous glucose by increasing the production of pancreatic hormones. The gut senses food and produces the incretins GLP-1 and GIP to tell the pancreas to get ready to take care of the calorie hit that’s on its way. In type 2 diabetes, the incretin effect is blunted, leaving sugar to float around the bloodstream for much longer.

Initially, GIP received little interest because it doesn’t work well in diabetic treatment. GLP-1, on the other hand, was found to be very effective by stimulating insulin release, suppressing glucagon and slowing the rate of stomach emptying. There is, however, a major problem: GLP-1 is rapidly destroyed by the enzyme dipeptidyl peptidase-4 (DPP-4) [10].

The first drugs developed to control diabetes via this system were DPP-4 inhibitors known as gliptins, such as sitagliptin (band name Januvia) and saxagliptin (Onglyza). Taken orally, these medications allowed GLP-1 to last longer before being degraded. Although well-tolerated, their in vivo ability to lower blood sugar is modest, and they have little effect on body weight [11]. What was really needed was a way to engineer degradation-resistant versions of GLP-1.

In the 1980s, while observing hormone-like drugs, Dr John Eng discovered that the gila monster – a venomous lizard native to the American Southwest – had a hormone in its venom, exendin-4, that was remarkably similar to human GLP-1 [12]. What Eng found to be particularly interesting was that extendin-4 was able to resist breakdown by DPP-4. This was the revolutionary discovery that later gave birth to GLP-1 agonist drugs.

Incretin Mimetics

GLP-1 agonists – also known as “incretin mimetics” – are a group of drugs that mimic the effects of the natural GLP-1 hormone. They lower blood glucose, help regulate appetite and promote weight loss by telling the pancreas to release more insulin when glucose is high, slowing the rate of gastric emptying and signalling to the brain to promote satiety. The first GLP-1 agonist, exenatide (Byetta), approved in 2005, required twice-daily injections [13]. But there was an even cooler observation: not only was exenatide effective in controlling blood sugar, it also produced weight loss.

Sensing that they were on to something huge, researchers doubled down and the pharmacology rapidly evolved. Next came once-daily injection liraglutide (Victoza, Saxanda) in 2009 [14], then once-weekly dulaglutide (Trulicity) in 2014 [15] and semaglutide under the brand names Ozempic for diabetes in 2017 [16], and Wegovy for weight loss in 2021 [17]. The most recent injectable GLP-1 agonist to be approved is tirzepatide, marketed as Mounjaro for diabetes in 2022 [18] and Zepbound for weight loss in 2023 [19]. Semaglutide and its predecessors act on the GLP-1 receptor; tirzepatide also acts on the GIP receptor, making it considerably more effective. Ozempic, Wegovy and Mounjaro are pretty much household names these days.

And Next?

There’s an even more effective incretin mimetic on its way that’s likely to boost the popularity of these drugs even more. Retatrutide is a once-weekly injectable that, in addition to GLP-1 and GIP, also acts on the glucagon receptor. For this reason, it’s been termed a “triple-hormone receptor agonist” or “triple-G” [20]. Alongside reducing appetite and slowing digestion, by acting on glucagon, retatrutide also increases energy expenditure and fat breakdown. The expectation is for it to be superior for weight loss and metabolic control. Although still undergoing final stage trials, approval is expected by early 2027 at the latest.

Although not yet legally available for sale or prescription, retatrutide is easily obtained online under the guise of “research-grade”. There are obvious risks here. Not only is the safety and effectiveness of retatrutide unproven, but unlicensed counterfeits might be underdosed, overdosed or even contaminated. I have several friends who’ve obtained and seem to be successfully using retatrutide, claiming it to be way superior to tirzepatide.

Sticking a needle in yourself isn’t for everyone, so drug companies have an obvious incentive to create oral incretin mimetics. In late 2025, Novo Nordisk received approval in the US for a once-daily oral version of semaglutide, under the brand names Wegovy for weight loss and Rybelsus for diabetes [21].

And, as recently as April 2026, Eli Lilly got approval for a new compound called orforglipron under the brand name Foundayo [22]. Orforglipon is a once-daily pill that, like semaglutide, acts on the GLP-1 receptor alone. However, the drug’s chemistry is very different: it’s what’s known as a “small molecule” drug. Orforglipon’s low molecular weight means that it isn’t broken down by stomach acid, so, unlike oral semaglutide, it doesn’t need to be taken after fasting and with loads of water.

Other drugs under investigation, and possibly in the pipeline for the next couple of years, include CagriSema, based on cagrilintide (which suppresses appetite by targeting the amylin receptor) and semaglutide; survodutide, which targets the GLP-1 and glucagon receptors; and MariTide, a once-monthly GLP-1 and GIP agonist injection.

As the massive financial incentives for the drug conglomerates continue to entice, the weight loss drug market is set to continue its exponential growth trajectory. The multi-billion-dollar question is: what’s coming next?

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References:
1. O’Brien, S. A. (2023) ‘The Name on Everybody’s Lips at the Oscars: Ozempic’, The Wall Street Journal, 13 March. Available at: https://www.wsj.com/livecoverage/oscars-academy-awards-2023/card/the-name-on-everybody-s-lips-at-the-oscars-ozempic-YpUAWmnqxjCUAJOnfP0O (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
2. Bray, G. A. and Purnell, J. Q. (2022) ‘An Historical Review of Steps and Missteps in the Discovery of Anti-Obesity Drugs’. In: Feingold, K. R. et al. (eds) Endotext. Available at: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK581942/ (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
3. (a) Parascandola, J. (1974) ‘Dinitrophenol and Bioenergetics: An Historical Perspective’, Molecular Cellular Biochemistry, 5, 69-77; (b) ibid (2).
4. (a) Bailey, C. J. (2017) ‘Metformin: Historical Overview’, Diabetologia, 60, 1566-76; (b) Corcoran, C. and Jacobs, T. F. (2023) ‘Metformin’. StatPearls. Available at: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK518983/ (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
5. Bansal, A. B. et al. (2024) ‘Orlistat’. StatPearls. Available at: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK542202/ (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
6. Araújo, J. R. and Martel, F. (2012) ‘Sibutramine Effects on Central Mechanisms Regulating Energy Homeostasis’, Current Neuropharmacology, 10(1), 49-52.
7. (a) European Medicines Agency (2010) ‘European Medicines Agency Recommends Suspension of Marketing Authorisation for Sibutramine’, 22 January. Available at: https://www.ema.europa.eu/en/news/european-medicines-agency-recommends-suspension-marketing-authorisation-sibutramine (Accessed: 14 May 2026); (b) Lowes, R. (2010) ‘FDA Announces Sibutramine Has Been Withdrawn From the Market’, Medscape, 15 October. Available at: https://www.medscape.org/viewarticle/730515 (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
8. Karamanou, M. et al. (2016) ‘Milestones in the History of Diabetes Mellitus: The Main Contributors’, World Journal of Diabetes, 7(1), 1-7.
9. Rehfeld, J. F. (2018) ‘The Origin and Understanding of the Incretin Concept’, Frontiers in Endocrinology, 9, 387.
10. Holst, J. J. (2007) ‘The Physiology of Glucagon-Like Peptide 1’, Physiological Reviews, 87(4), 1409-39.
11. Cleveland Clinic (2025) DPP-4 Inhibitors. Available at: https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/treatments/dpp-4-inhibitors (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
12. ibid (10).
13. Bond, A. (2006) ‘Exenatide (Byetta) as a Novel Treatment Option for Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus’, Baylor University Medical Center Proceedings, 19(3), 281-4.
14. The British Journal of Cardiology (2009) ‘Liraglutide: Novel Drug for Type 2 Diabetes Launched’, July. Available at: https://bjcardio.co.uk/2009/07/liraglutide-novel-drug-for-type-2-diabetes-launched/ (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
15. Fala, L. (2015) ‘Trulicity (Dulaglutide): A New GLP-1 Receptor Agonist Once-Weekly Subcutaneous Injection Approved for the Treatment of Patients with Type 2 Diabetes’, American Health & Drug Benefits, 8, 131-4.
16. Dhillon, S. (2018) ‘Semaglutide: First Global Approval’, Drugs, 78(2), 275-84.
17. Drugs.com (2026) Wegovy FDA Approval History. Available at: https://www.drugs.com/history/wegovy.html (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
18. Drugs.com (2026) Mounjaro FDA Approval History. https://www.drugs.com/history/mounjaro.html (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
19. US Food & Drug Administration (2023) ‘FDA Approves New Medication for Chronic Weight Management’, 8 November. Available at: https://www.fda.gov/news-events/press-announcements/fda-approves-new-medication-chronic-weight-management (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
20. Bradshaw, R. (2026) ‘What Is Retatrutide (Triple G)?’, Oxford Online Pharmacy, 26 January. Available at: https://www.oxfordonlinepharmacy.co.uk/blog/what-is-retatrutide-triple-g (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
21. (a) Novo Nordisk (2025) ‘Novo Nordisk A/S: Wegovy® Pill Approved in the US as First Oral GLP-1 for Weight Management’, 22 December. Available at: https://www.novonordisk.com/content/nncorp/global/en/news-and-media/news-and-ir-materials/news-details.html?id=916472 (Accessed: 14 May 2026); (b) Morales-Brown, P. (2026) ‘New Ozempic Pill May Offer More Affordable Alternative to Injectables’, MedicalNewsToday, 5 May. Available at: https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/new-ozempic-pill-may-offer-more-affordable-alternative-to-injectables (Accessed: 14 May 2026).
22. Roy, S. (2026) ‘Lilly’s Obesity Pill Draws 1,390 US Prescriptions in Launch Week’, Reuters, 17 April. Available at: https://www.reuters.com/legal/litigation/lillys-foundayo-hits-1390-prescriptions-debut-week-2026-04-17/ (Accessed: 14 May 2026).

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You may have seen me banging on about how good fibre is and that we’re in a fibre crisis. Most of us underindex on fibre because it’s too often seen as a nice-to-have rather than the essential nutrient it is. Research has revealed its crucialness, and attitudes are set to change with the fibremaxxing trend. Indeed, some experts claim that fibre is the fourth essential macronutrient.

Although at least 30 grams of fibre daily is the baseline required for good health, most of us aren’t getting anywhere near enough. In the UK, the average person eats just 18-20 grams a day [1], which is 40 per cent less than the recommended amount. In the US, things are even more dire, with adults having as little as 15 grams a day [2], half of what they should be having.

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Fibre is found in plant foods like whole grains, beans, fruit, veggies, nuts and seeds. Essentially, dietary fibres are carbohydrates but those that the physiology and enzymes of the human digestive system can’t break down. Unlike other carbs, fibre passes through the digestive tract to the gut microbiome in the large intestine. Here, our gut microbes thrive on fibre, feeding on it, breaking it down. As they do this, they make special molecules that support your whole-body health.

But why is fibre so important? There are, in fact, several reasons why we should be chomping down more of the stuff:

1. Fibre Improves Digestive Health

Fibre adds bulk to stools, helping to prevent constipation and lower the risk of some digestive disorders, such as diverticular disease. By promoting digestion, fibre helps to keep food moving through your gut, with regular bowel movements.

2. Fibre Supports Weight Management

High-fibre foods are more satiating. Fibre physically stretches your stomach and encourages the release of gut fullness hormones. Feeling fuller longer helps to curb overeating.

3. Fibre Lowers Cholesterol

Certain soluble fibres can bind cholesterol in the gut. This helps remove it from the body, lowering levels of LDL – the so-called “bad” cholesterol – in the blood.

4. Fibre Regulates Blood Sugar

Fibre slows down sugar absorption, helping to prevent sharp spikes in blood glucose levels.

5. Fibre Boosts the Gut Microbiome

Fermentable fibres act as prebiotics, feeding the good bacteria in your gut, which is key to supporting immunity and mental health.

6. Fibre Helps Maintain Energy Levels

Fibre slows the release of sugar into your bloodstream, supporting more sustained energy levels.

7. Fibre Supports Cognition and Mental Health

By maintaining stable blood sugar levels, supporting a healthy microbiome and sustaining energy levels, a good fibre intake can help focus and mental wellbeing.

8. Fibre Helps Future You

Diets high in fibre have been linked to a lower risk of several diseases. In 2015, the UK’s Scientific Advisory Committee on Nutrition (SACN) found that every seven grams more fibre eaten a day lowers the risk of:

• Cardiovascular disease by 9%

• Stroke by 7%

• Colorectal cancer by 8%

• Rectal cancer by 9%

• Type II diabetes by 6% [3]

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Coming soon: Tips to Improve Your Fibre Intake. Subscribe to my Substack so you don’t miss out!

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References:
1. Public Health England (2020) NDNS: Results from Years 9 to 11 (2016 to 2017 and 2018 to 2019). Available at: https://www.gov.uk/government/statistics/ndns-results-from-years-9-to-11-2016-to-2017-and-2018-to-2019 (Accessed: 28 April 2026).
2. Cifuentes, L. and O’Keefe, S. (2024) ‘Analysis of 1999–2017 NHANES Data: Minimal Increase and Racial Disparities in U.S. Fiber Consumption Over 18 Years’, Nutrition and Cancer, 76(4), 345-51.
3. Scientific Advisory Committee on Nutrition (2015) Carbohydrates and Health. Available at: https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/445503/SACN_Carbohydrates_and_Health.pdf (Accessed: 28 April 2026).

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When people thought the earth was flat, they were wrong. When people thought the earth was spherical, they were wrong. But if you think that thinking the earth is spherical is just as wrong as thinking the earth is flat, then your view is wronger than both of them put together.
- Isaac Asimov [1]

Let me tell you about my first run-in with a nutritionist who was giving out shoddy information.

It was early in my career, back in the late 1990s, while I was working as a dietitian at Northampton General Hospital. Ignoring the warnings from my colleagues, I attended a local seminar by a “nutritionist”. Much of the information the nutritionist relayed was highly questionable, and her claims lacked evidence. Although I was a young, unconfident and inexperienced dietitian, I felt compelled to call her out. So, during the Q&A, I spoke up and raised my objections. Silence fell across the auditorium! The other delegates turned to glare at this young, cocky guy who’d dare to challenge the expert.

Her response was defensive, akin to “I know what I’m talking about”, providing no justification for her claims. And to shut me down, the event’s presenter interjected with a blunt assertion: “[she] is one of the UK’s top nutritionists!”, as if to validate everything her colleague had said. No further rationale required – accuracy and truthfulness weren’t up for debate. The presenter’s comment worked: I felt my cheeks flush and I said nothing further. I crept away shortly after. Back at work the next day, I explained what had happened to my colleagues and was met with: “We told you so!”

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At the time, I hated the altercation; I felt uncomfortable, embarrassed and alone. Yet, even then, I was glad I spoke out. Indeed, the incident might have been pivotal in my career. This was around the time I first started to really acknowledge the importance of being sceptical, staying true to one’s values and noticing that even the qualified and seemingly credible are prone to sharing crap advice.

On Being Qualified

We should be wary of people when they rely on their qualifications and credentials to reinforce their credibility. It’s known as “appealing to authority”. But, what does “being qualified” even mean? Take me: I’ve a mere undergraduate degree in Nutrition; no PhD and I don’t work in academia. Should people take me seriously when it comes to food, nutrition and related health topics?

First, let’s look at what I’ve got going for me. I’ve a recognised qualification in nutrition. I’m a Registered Nutritionist: a title that rightly affords trust. I’ve worked in nutrition, healthcare, fitness and food for more than 30 years, including several years as a clinical dietitian in the NHS. I’ve worked with pro bodybuilders, strongmen and athletes, some of whom were household names. I’m co-founder and the original nutritionist at Huel, a hugely successful nutrition brand. I’m also a published author; my book, Well Fed: How modern diets are destroying us (and what we can do about it), was backed by a major publishing house: HarperCollins. I’ve been in the press and on major podcasts. Do these factors mean people should take me seriously?

While all of the above should support my credibility, nothing there should imply that the advice I share should readily be accepted as correct. I lack experience in many areas of the vast subject of food and nutrition. It would be incredibly arrogant of me to assume people should accept my word just because I have a nutrition qualification, am a Registered Nutritionist, have years of experience, have worked with pros, am a food business co-founder, am a published author and have had a bit of media attention. Indeed, it would be dangerous for people to unquestionably accept my word as gospel. Sure, credentials, experience and portfolio are important, but each piece of nutrition-related information should be judged on its own merits. My credibility and trustworthiness should be based on people’s experiences of me through the authenticity of my information.

I’m no expert. Indeed, when it comes to nutrition as a whole, I’m not sure anyone can be. It’s just too massive a subject. True experts spend decades mastering one niche within nutrition science. My skill is in knowing quite a bit about a wide range of different areas of food and nutrition. True expertise takes years and requires thousands of hours of experience to acquire the depth of knowledge required.

Yet, there are “experts” – qualified nutritionists, dietitians and health advisors – who give highly questionable advice. Conversely, challenges made by unqualified people often lead to further examination of a line of enquiry, with experts later revising their position.

This perspective isn’t restricted to nutrition science; it applies to any discipline. One doesn’t need qualifications or even much experience to be able to contribute to any subject. Expertise and credentials are important, of course, but less so than intellectual honesty, integrity, humility and open-mindedness.

While I’ll continue to avidly urge people to heed the advice of true experts – I’ve previously lamented the loss of expertise which, after all, indicates considerable experience in a field – contributions from non-experts can also be taken seriously when their opinions are backed by a clear rationale and, where appropriate, evidence and references. Nevertheless, where I feel I can add value, I will share my opinions on topics outside of the realm of food and nutrition. While I hope a lot of what I share will be correct, I equally hope to get some things wrong.

Being Wrong

Conversation is a beautiful thing: a gift from evolution that’s enabled our species to share ideas and progress. While expressing opinions can be polarising – particularly in the current climate – sharing ideas encourages other perspectives. Disagreement shouldn’t be about one-upmanship or winning a debate. It’s about seeking clarification and urging others to elaborate. Reason and rationality are the road to truth. My goal is to promote broader thinking and to encourage others to think more critically, irrespective of whether they agree with another perspective.

People can be wrong in different ways and to different degrees: “wrongness”. We will all get things wrong. Assuming that we’re right about everything all the time isn’t being confident or bold; it’s arrogant and concerning. Refusing to accept when we’re wrong isn’t a virtue; it’s dangerous. Not acknowledging when you’re wrong in the face of evidence to the contrary in many ways is akin to the behaviour of a malevolent dictator. Autocrats refuse to be wrong, are self-deluding, expect their subjects to adhere to their rules, forbid disagreement and punish those who object. Pig-headedness might not be as consequential, but it still feeds polarisation.

When people disagree with my views, I want to know why. Naturally, a flippant “you’re wrong” comment will be readily dismissed. But if I were to state something that’s demonstrably false, I should be corrected.

Changing your mind as a response to new evidence is virtuous. Learn from your errors and embrace the quest for wrongness.

Knowledge Equals Four Times Pi Times Radius Length Squared

The more we learn, the more we realise just how much we don’t know. As scientific discovery progresses, there are things we now know that hadn’t even previously been considered. Not only did we not know them, we were unaware that they were things that could be known. This shows us that there’s even more out there that can be known.

Let’s use an analogy. Assume the surface area of a sphere is what you know: your current knowledge. The amount of knowledge could be represented by the following equation:

Knowledge = 4𝜋r²

Your current knowledge state is the surface area (𝜋) of a sphere. What you’re aware that you don’t know is what’s inside. Your learning line is the sphere’s radius (r). As you learn more, the radius gets longer, which expands the surface area by squaring it. Because by knowing more, the surface area expands, the increase in volume is cubed, and you realise that what you don’t know is bigger:

Awareness of Lack of Knowledge = (4/3)*𝜋*r³

Scale up this metaphor to all the knowledge that humankind has acquired. That’s one massive sphere: there’s a lot that we don’t know.

Knowledge can be the fear of the unknown. Some who fear knowledge instead leave ideas to faith. To quote the biologist and science writer, Richard Dawkins: “Faith is belief in spite of, even perhaps because of, the lack of evidence” [2]. People fear change. Not only does change bring uncertainty, but it also reveals an awareness of it.

But isn’t it better to embrace what we don’t know and use it to drive us to want to know more?

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Realise Your Biases

The act of writing and publishing an article forces me to carefully consider my ideas. It helps to hold me to account, forcing me to acknowledge my biases. We all have biases. All we can do is be aware of them and realise that we will fall foul of them.

Let’s combat bad ideas, not through censorship, but with better ideas. Let’s try to be more objective and question our own biases. Let’s use reason and rationality to increase our knowledge and accept that there will be more that we don’t know. Let’s share ideas and judge their credibility on their own merit. Let’s aim to value objective truth above all else but accept when we’re wrong. Let’s accept that being wrong can be beneficial and that there’s no such thing as “losing an argument”. Let’s embrace wrongness.

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References
1. Asimov, I. (1989) The Relativity of Wrong. Oxford: Oxford Paperbacks.
2. Dawkins, R. (2006) The God Delusion. London: Black Swan.

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Bread gets a bad wrap*. Back in the nineties, during the anti-carb era when the Atkins diet was the dominant dietary ideology, I’d often hear people slating bread. Then things seemed to die down a bit and bread enjoyed a brief boost in popularity. But just when I thought bread loathing had been relegated to the past, TikTok and Instagram reels introduced a new wave of conflicting dietologies – many of the nutrition populism persuasion – and bread was back on the slicing board. This time, however, bread hostility isn’t just being spread by starch sceptics, but by grain-shunning carnivores and paleo diet advocates too. As well as this, bread hesitancy stems from the fact that many modern loaves contain more than four ingredients, a feature that places them neatly into the category of “ultra-processed food”.

If you’re unfamiliar with my work, you may not have come across “dietology”. In Well Fed: How modern diets are destroying us (and what we can do about it), I introduce the term. A portmanteau of “diet” and “ideology”, “dietology” refers to particular dietary beliefs that are based on ideology rather than evidence [1]. (Read more.)

Is there any merit to these bread-bashing fashions, or is bread fearmongering simply dietology?

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More Than Four

Shop-bought breads, whether white, brown, wholemeal or seeded, are snubbed due to their long ingredient lists that include words that, it’s claimed, “your grandmother wouldn’t recognise”. On multiple podcasts and interviews, in several articles, like A Processed Mindset, Unprocessing the Ultra-Processed Mindset and Processing Terminology, and in Well Fed, I’ve voiced my objections to the flippant use of the term “ultra-processed food” and how the NOVA categorisation is used Bread provides a useful example to highlight the problem of classifying foods using labels.

Food conservatives assert that bread “should” be produced with just four ingredients: flour, water, salt and leaven (yeast). While the claim is a valid historical generalisation, most modern loaves include additional ingredients, such as preservatives, emulsifiers and added micronutrients. Preservatives boost a bread’s shelf life, allowing it to be stored for longer. This helps economies of scale in manufacture and efficiency in supply chains, helping to lower production costs, making bread cheaper to produce and more affordable for consumers.

Emulsifiers also help to prolong shelf life, but their key function is to aid the baking process enhancing the mouthfeel of the final product. Vitamins and minerals are added to make up for unavoidable losses from the grain during milling and baking, or because research-backed food policy recommends or mandates their inclusion, such as the fortification of flour with folic acid. These modern developments should be celebrated rather than demonised; being able to choose from a diverse range of pleasant and affordable breads with a longer shelf life is an all-too-often unappreciated marvel of modern science. While some brands add flavour enhancers, sweeteners and emulsifiers to enhance a loaf’s organoleptic qualities making it more enjoyable, there is a valid concern that encouraging overconsumption might contribute to weight gain with the associated health risks. Nevertheless, just because a loaf has more than four ingredients doesn’t mean that there’s anything unhealthy about it.

For some reason, sourdough breads seem to get a pass, successfully sidestepping much of the anti-bread fervour, at least from some dietological factions. Most sourdoughs only require an active starter, flour, water and salt in the baking process, and a sourdough loaf made with a strong flour and then covered and stored at room temperature can remain edible for a few days, negating the need for preservatives. Yet plenty of sourdough loaves are baked with more than four ingredients: some contain preservatives, vinegar and sugars. Such loaves might be referred to as “sourfaux”.

What History Tells Us

No one knows for certain when the first bread was eaten, but its essential role in society has existed since prehistoric times, predating farming. Evidence that our ancestors were grinding grains between stones – what we now call “milling” – dates back at least 30,000 years [2]. The oldest known bread has origins around 14,500 years ago, discovered in Jordan’s northeastern desert [3]. The first leavened bread – using yeast to make it rise – is credited to Mesopotamians as early as 6,000 BCE [4], though bread-making didn’t really take off until the ancient Egyptians started baking around 5,000 years ago [5]. Early breads were dense, rustic flatbreads, likely very different to the puffed-up loaves we enjoy today. By the peak of ancient Egypt and during the Roman Empire, bread was firmly a staple of most people’s diet.

Even the Ancient Greeks and Romans were making multiple varieties of bread by incorporating additional ingredients like honey, oils or seeds [6]. And during the Middle Ages, people were baking with more than the main four, such as eggs, milk, butter and a range of spices, to aid in flavour and shelf life [7].

Bread fortification began in the 1940s as a strategy to combat malnutrition [8], and the Chorleywood process in 1961 revolutionised mass production, by using emulsifiers, fats and enzymes to amplify production and extend shelf life [9].

What Language Tells Us

Early word lists compiled by Anglo-Saxon monks reveal a number of bread-related references. Breadru, for instance, translates Latin frustra meaning “bits, pieces, morsels”, and manna, found in the bible, is translated by the phrase heofenlic hlaf: “heavenly bread”. Today, the word hlaf would be recognised as loaf, as the h stopped being pronounced at the end of the Anglo-Saxon era, and the long “ah” sounds morphed into “oh” during the Middle Ages [10].

Bread’s importance is illustrated by Old English terms. The head of a household was known as a hlaf-weard (“bread-warden”), i.e. the individual who provides bread for everyone. A hlaf-œta (“bread-eater”) was the term for a dependent, and a hlœfdige (“bread-kneader”) was a lady – the -dige ending evolved into “dough”. During the 14th century, hlaf-weard morphed first into something that sounded like “lahrd”, then to “laird” in Scotland and eventually to “lord”, giving us a modern English term related to high status that has its origins in humble bread [11].

The prominence of bread is also demonstrated in religion. Hlaf, for instance, is found in a number of Christian settings, such as hlaf-mœsse (“loaf-mass” became Lammas, the first day when eucharistic bread was baked from the harvest), hlaf-gang (“bread-going”, walking to the altar to receive communion), and hlaf-hus (“house of bread”: Bethlehem, where Jesus was born) [12].

In modern English, the word “bread” is used for much more than foodstuffs, as reflected in a range of compound words and idioms, such as breadwinner and give us this day our daily bread. Cockney rhyming slang has supplied “bread” to mean “money” (from bread and honey) and “loaf” for “head” (from loaf of bread). It can identify a state of mind, as in knowing on which side one’s bread is buttered, or how we rate something: the best things since sliced bread. The term to break bread is to sit and share a meal and to reconcile past ill feelings.

What bread’s history and the etymology of bread-associated terms tell us is that the impact of bread as a staple in human diets has been so huge that its influence stretches to non-food-related language, religion and hierarchy. Bread has been crucial to human physical, social and cultural evolution for millennia.

What Genetics Tells Us

Another common claim made by bread bashers is that Homo sapiens aren’t evolved to digest large amounts of starchy carbs. But if humans aren’t supposed to consume much starch, how do we explain the AMY1 gene?

Starch digestion involves the enzyme amylase, secreted both in saliva and from the pancreas. Amylase breaks down the long polysaccharide chains that make up starch to the disaccharide maltose, which, further along the alimentary canal, is itself broken down into two molecules of glucose. Glucose is the form of energy preferred by our brains and bodies, and starchy foods are a predominant feature of the vast majority of people’s diets across the globe, whether from rice, corn, wheat, potatoes or other cereals.

The number of copies of the AMY1 gene – which codes for salivary amylase – varies across populations and individuals. The more copies of the AMY1 gene that are expressed, the more salivary amylase is present and the more efficiently someone is able to break down starch [13]. Populations who grew to depend more and more on growing their calories in the form of cereals and grains benefited from a mutation where more AMY1 was expressed. With more salivary amylase present, more starch can be hydrolysed in the mouth, making it easier to extract its valuable calories. This mutation proved beneficial for our forebearers as they became increasingly dependent on starch for nourishment. Those with the ability to digest starch more effectively benefited and had a reproductive advantage.

Fibre Opportunity

The health benefits of fibre are well-known [14], yet most of us aren’t consuming anywhere nearly enough. Only nine per cent of UK adults get the recommended 30 grams per day, with most failing to meet the amount a five-year-old needs [15]. In the US, only five per cent of men and nine per cent of women are getting sufficient amounts [16]. Moreover, studies have shown that fibre-rich wholegrains are associated with a lower risk of chronic disease [17].

Wholegrain breads can be really useful for bumping up your fibre intake. In the UK, bread contributes 17 to 21 per cent of daily fibre intake [18], and in the US, it makes up roughly 12 per cent [19]. I opt for wholemeal or seeded breads where possible. I do, on occasion, eat other types, but when the only breads available are white, I see it as a lost opportunity to consume beneficial fibre.

Food Fearmongering

Influencers whose content involves fearmongering foods – such as by claiming that a food “contains toxins”, “causes inflammation” or “spikes insulin” – seek only to prompt outrage through clickbait. Whether they do so for financial gain, to gain notoriety or to push their nutrition ideology, this type of content is potentially dangerous. These folk don’t care if they’re promoting disordered eating, pushing suboptimal diets, encouraging less sustainable eating or confusing their audience. And they’re oblivious to the fact that by posting scaremongering content, they’re displaying their lack of awareness of any historical, cultural and real-world significance of the foods they’re dissing. The bread example exposes this detachment from reality.

Bread is by no means essential in most modern societies, at least from a nutritional point of view. But, by exploring bread’s history and etymology, we can demonstrate the futility of bread fearmongering. Even my very brief summary reveals how the flippant denigration of bread fails to acknowledge the integral role bread has had in human cultural – and physical – evolution.

In the same way that anti-bread dogma is based on little more than ideology, we can apply this mindset to other foods and dietary patterns. When you come across someone vilifying any food, demand evidence for their assertion, and be mindful that the food in question might have a protracted history and significant cultural relevance. Rather than accepting what you hear, pause and ponder that there’s likely a lot more to the food. Use your loaf!

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* I couldn’t resist an early pun!

Notes & References:
1. Collier, J. (2025) Well Fed: How Modern Diets Are Failing Us (and What We Can Do About It). London: Thorsons, p30.
2. Revedin, A. et al. (2010) ‘Thirty Thousand-Year-Old Evidence of Plant Food Processing’, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 107(44), 18815-19.
3. Arranz-Otaegui, A. et al. (2018) ‘Archaeobotanical Evidence Reveals the Origins of Bread 14,400 Years Ago in Northeastern Jordan’, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 115(31), 7925-30.
4. Paulette, T. (2020) ‘Fermentation in Ancient Mesopotamia, Beer, Bread, and More Beer’, Fermentology, 18 June. Available at: https://fermentology.pubpub.org/pub/ae89zkf2/release/1 (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
5. Samuel, D. (1994) An Archaeological Study of Baking and Bread in New Kingdom Egypt. PhD thesis. University of Cambridge. Available at: https://www.repository.cam.ac.uk/items/900e5220-60cf-47b3-b640-3126121cf5cf (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
6. (a) Monaco, F. (2018) ‘Baking Bread with the Romans: Part IV – An Ancient Roman Recipe for Cato’s Grape Must Cakes (Mustacei)’, Tavola Mediterranea, 22 September. Available at: https://tavolamediterranea.com/2018/09/22/baking-bread-romans-part-v-grape-must-cakes/ (Accessed: 4 April 2026); (b) Chrysopoulos, P. (2026) ‘The 72 Breads of Ancient Greece You’ve Never Heard Of’, Greek Reporter, 31 January. Available at: https://greekreporter.com/2026/01/31/ancient-greek-bread/ (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
7. Medievalists.net (2024) ‘Bread in the Middle Ages’, 6 March. Available at: https://www.medievalists.net/2024/03/bread-middle-ages/ (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
8. BakeryBits (2023) ‘So What Is Flour Fortification in the UK?’, 25 January. Available at: https://www.bakerybits.co.uk/bakers-blog/what-is-flour-fortification (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
9. BBC News (2011) ‘Chorleywood: The Bread That Changed Britain’, 7 June. Available at: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-13670278 (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
10. Crystal, D. (2011) The Story of English in 100 Words. Profile Books, pp10-13.
11. ibid (10).
12. ibid (10).
13. (a) Perry, G. et al. (2007) ‘Diet and the Evolution of Human Amylase Gene Copy Number Variation’, Nature Genetics, 39, 1256-60; (b) Mandel, A. L. et al. (2010) ‘Individual Differences in AMY1 Gene Copy Number, Salivary α-Amylase Levels, and the Perception of Oral Starch’, PLOS ONE, 5(10), e13352; (c) Carpenter, D. et al. (2017) ‘Copy Number Variation of Human AMY1 Is a Minor Contributor to Variation in Salivary Amylase Expression and Activity’, Human Genomics, 11, 2.
14. Examples: (a) Chen, J.-P. et al. (2017) ‘Dietary Fiber and Metabolic Syndrome: A Meta-Analysis and Review of Related Mechanisms’, Nutrients, 10(1), 24; (b) Barber, T. M. et al. (2020) ‘The Health Benefits of Dietary Fibre’, Nutrients, 12(10), 3209; (c) Ramezani, F. et al. (2024) ‘Dietary Fiber Intake and All-Cause and Cause-Specific Mortality: An Updated Systematic Review and Meta-Analysis of Prospective Cohort Studies’, Clinical Nutrition, 43(1), 65-83.
15. (a) British Nutrition Foundation (2023) Fibre. Available at: https://www.nutrition.org.uk/nutritional-information/fibre/ (Accessed: 4 April 2026); (b) Kehoe, L. et al. (2023) ‘Food and Nutrient Intakes and Compliance with Recommendations in School-Aged Children in Ireland: Findings from the National Children’s Food Survey II (2017–2018) and Changes Since 2003–2004’, British Journal of Nutrition, 129(11), 2011-24; (c) Boyle, N. B. et al. (2024) ‘Increasing Fibre Intake in the UK: Lessons from the Danish Whole Grain Partnership’, British Journal of Nutrition, 131(4), 672-85.
16. ASN Staff (2021) ‘Most Americans Are Not Getting Enough Fiber in Our Diets’, American Society for Nutrition, 9 June. Available at: https://nutrition.org/most-americans-are-not-getting-enough-fiber-in-our-diets/ (Accessed: 4 April 2026).
17. Examples: (a) Aune, D. et al. (2016) ‘Whole Grain Consumption and Risk of Cardiovascular Disease, Cancer, and All Cause and Cause Specific Mortality: Systematic Review and Dose–Response Meta-Analysis of Prospective Studies’, BMJ (Clinical Research Ed.), 353, i2716; (b) Benisi-Kohansal, S. et al. (2016) ‘Whole-Grain Intake and Mortality from All Causes, Cardiovascular Disease, and Cancer: A Systematic Review and Dose-Response Meta-Analysis of Prospective Cohort Studies’, Advances in Nutrition, 7(6), 1052-65.
18. Lockyer, S. and Spiro, A. (2020) ‘The Role of Bread in the UK Diet: An Update’, Nutrition Bulletin, 45(2), 133-64.
19. (a) Hoy, M. K. and Goldman, J. D. (2014) ‘Fiber Intake of the U.S. Population’, Food Surveys Research Group Dietary Data Brief, 12. Available at: https://www.ars.usda.gov/arsuserfiles/80400530/pdf/dbrief/12_fiber_intake_0910.pdf (Accessed: 4 April 2026); (b) Ribet, L. et al. (2025) ‘The Nutritional Contribution and Relationship with Health of Bread Consumption: A Narrative Review’, Critical Reviews in Food Science and Nutrition, 65(28), 5698-725.

Ideally, we should be making rational decisions when choosing what to eat rather than being blindly led by food cues.

Having some understanding of the food-related issues outlined in my book Well Fed: How modern diets are failing us (and what we can do about it) will, for sure, be useful. But the level of knowledge required to make better choices doesn’t need to be in depth. You only need a basic awareness of the key health, sustainability and ethical issues.

The way our ancestors considered their nutrition was very different. Even up until recent decades, the acquisition of sufficient nourishment was the primary consideration. These days, when presented with an abundance of choice, it’s easy for us to be mindful of other factors.

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A sensible eating strategy addresses and provides solutions to the problems of the modern food system. As I introduced in Well Fed, this is contemplative nutrition:

Contemplative nutrition is a reasoned consideration invoking multiple perspectives of what you should include and what you should try to limit in your diet, prioritising important science- and moral-based issues, most notably those relating to nutrition and health, wellbeing, the environment and ethics.

Contemplative nutrition can be simplified into 20 golden rules:

1. Make choices that prioritise your own health

2. Plan meals ahead and don’t buy more than you need to

3. Buy in bulk; utilise a freezer

4. Eat a wide variety of foods

5. Have regular meals and try not to overeat

6. Base meals on tubers, wholegrains, pulses, nuts, seeds, fruit and vegetables

7. Include fibre-rich foods

8. Consume foods rich in omega-3s

9. Limit animal-derived calories to 10% by moderating your meat and seafood portions and including 2-3 days a week where you almost entirely stick to plants

10. Avoid meat, poultry and eggs from factory farms favouring produce from game or animals reared more humanely

11. Seafood may be included: opt for molluscs and sustainably sourced fish

12. Limit dairy: choose plant-based milks or organic milk and butter from grass-fed cows

13. Embrace food technologies, while watching out for junk processed foods with added sugar and hydrogenated fats

14. Where possible, favour products certified with ethical credentials

15. Try not to waste food; again, plan ahead

16. Fasting for prolonged periods may be worth trying to see how you get on

17. Hot drinks have feel-good effects

18. Enjoy alcohol in moderation and only occasionally

19. Watch out for quack influencers and approach food marketing claims with caution

20. Socialise: whenever possible, enjoy meals with others, sharing the meal prep

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A contemplative diet prioritises considerations grounded in science and ethics over those based on emotions, feelings and beliefs. Organoleptic (your senses’ preferences), cultural, religious, social (what those around you eat) and habitual (what you’re used to having) influences will still play a key part in your food choices, especially as these factors will impact what you deem to be ethical.

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It’s been almost 170 years since the German statistician Ernst Engel analysed the budgets of Belgian working-class families and came up with a fundamental economic principle. Now one of the oldest measures of economic development, Engel’s law tells us that as household income increases, the percentage of that income spent on food decreases, even if the absolute amount spent on food increases.

“As family income increases, the percentage spent for food decreases, that spent for clothing, rent, heat, and light remains the same, while that spent for education, health, and recreation increases” [1].

Engel identified his measure using data that had been pulled together by others in the 1850s. Édouard Ducpétiaux, a Belgian journalist, compiled household budgets from 199 families across all nine provinces of Belgium, and the French sociologist, Frédéric Le Play, collected comparable information from 36 families around Europe. Engel later remarked that Ducpétiaux and Le Play had “provided the pearls”, but not “the string” [2]. What connected their data, he revealed, was a reliable pattern between household income and spending on food. When this principle was revisited 150 years later, US economist Richard Anker found that the same relationship remained visible across more than 200 countries [3].

The United Nations (UN) uses the Engel coefficient – the ratio of food spending to total spending – as a measure of a nation’s standard of living. A high coefficient indicates a lower standard. From this, the UN categorises thresholds ranging from “wealthy” (less than 30 per cent of household expenditure spent on food), to “poverty” (over 59 per cent) [4]. Nigeria records the highest Engel coefficient: households doled out 59.3 per cent of their total income on food in 2023. Other big spenders include Myanmar, Bangladesh, Laos, Venezuela, Kazakhstan and Angola. At the other end, the US is the world’s lowest spender at just 6.4 per cent of income in 2023, followed closely by Singapore at 7 per cent. The UK sits at around 8.7 per cent; Ireland at 8.6 per cent [5].

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Digging Deeper

This widely accepted notion that, as wealth increases, the proportion of income spent on food decreases is worth a deeper examination. On a macroeconomic level, Engel’s law predicts that as countries grow wealthier, their agricultural sector will decline as a share of total economic activity while services and manufacturing expand. This implies that the income elasticity of demand for food is between 0 and 1, categorising it as a “necessity” rather than a “luxury”, which has an elasticity >1 [6].

On the one hand, this makes sense. As food takes up a smaller share of the budget, families can increase their spending on things like education, recreation and health. We buy food for sustenance and when we have enough, we shouldn’t need to spend much more on it. However, the reality of the modern world isn’t so simple. As income increases, mindsets alter with wealthier households shifting towards higher-quality, more expensive items, like swapping cheaper grains for protein-rich meats and fish or buying more convenience foods. And people tend to eat more.

Modern Limitations of Engel’s Law

With this in mind, the Engel coefficient has drawbacks when it’s used to compare the food spending of nations.

Inflation:
Engel’s law is vulnerable to inflation. Food constitutes the largest share of a low-income family’s budget, making them disproportionately affected by rising agricultural prices, which can cause the coefficient to spike even if their nominal income stays the same.

Dietary Shifts:
The law is sensitive to changes in dietary shifts. For example, an influx of expensive processed foods or fancy produce imported from abroad can keep the coefficient high even as real income rises, potentially masking improvements in wealth. Studies in some Central and Eastern European countries have shown a stabilisation or slight increase in food share despite rising incomes, likely due to the rapid adoption of Western-style diets [7].

Dining Out:
Another wrinkle in Engel’s law is dining out. When people eat at a restaurant, café or stall, they’re buying more than food: they’re also paying for the cooking, washing-up, being waited on and ambience. A recent article in The Economist reports on a US researcher who bought noodles and steamed buns in street markets in Xi’an, a city in western China, then visited McDonald’s and Outback Steakhouse in Massachusetts. He weighed their ingredients, estimated their cost and calculated that the Chinese street food cost up to 30 per cent more than a similar meal at home. McDonald’s cost 150 per cent more and the steak 233 per cent extra [8]. This tells us that when restaurant meals are included in calculations of Engel’s law, the weight of food spending may be overstated, yet excluding them risks the opposite danger.

How different countries report out-of-home food spending therefore adds unreliability to comparisons of Engel’s coefficients. This could only be solved by estimating the weight of food at restaurant and catering services to provide a more reliable coefficient comparison. Not an easy task.

Food Waste:
Then there’s the food that’s thrown away. People don’t eat all the food they buy. When it comes to food waste, the Maldives is the worst offender, with each household wasting a whopping 207 kg per year in 2024. Mongolians are way more frugal, wasting just 18 kg. The UK and US fair moderately at 76 and 73 kg a year, respectively. And considering that they spend a huge amount of their dosh on food, Nigerians waste a lot: 113 kg per household per year [9].

Reasons for the huge variation in food waste are numerous. Policies, prevailing industries (tourism wastes a lot of food, and the figures are reflected in per-household figures, which may explain the humongous Maldives figure), cultures and attitudes all play a role. The Engel coefficient doesn’t account for food waste and assumes consistency between nations, which is not the case.

Diet Quality:
The law says little about calorie consumption or overall diet quality. Americans may spend less of their income on food but eat way more calories than Nigerians. When people have plenty of money, they typically eat more, especially when food is readily accessible. Moreover, Engel’s law says nothing about protein and other nutrients in relation to income.

Food Satiety:
Another overlooked factor is how satiating food is. Americans might be used to wolfing down thousands of calories a day, but someone who’s not used to that amount of food will stick to smaller meals. Diets high in ultra-processed junk foods may be cheap on a per-calorie basis, but they are often way less satiating than those rich in wholefoods.

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An Engel Paradox?

Ernst Engel was definitely onto something when he tied all that 19th-century data together, yet his “string” is looking a little frayed by modern standards. His law has stood the test of time for good reason: it’s a handy way to assess the gaps between countries like the US, where food gobbles only a fraction of the budget, and Nigeria, where it’s the main event. But the math gets a lot wonkier in the real world. The paradox of modern development is that while we spend a smaller share of our income on food, the true cost of our diets – measured in wasted resources and the premium paid for convenience – has never been higher.

Engel’s law is a solid starting point, but to see how countries’ food spending is reflected in their diets, we have to look past the percentages and check out the prevailing policies, cultural quirks and lifestyle shifts that define modern diets. To get the full story, we should look beyond the receipt and consider the behavioural and industrial realities that define modern plates.

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References:
1. Merriam-Webster (2026) ENGEL’S LAW Definition & Meaning. Available at: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Engel%27s%20law (Accessed: 9 March 2026).
2. The Economist (2026) ‘Why Chinese People Spend So Much on Food’, 26 February. Available at: https://www.economist.com/finance-and-economics/2026/02/26/why-chinese-people-spend-so-much-on-food (Accessed: 9 March 2026).
3. Anker, R. (2011) Engel’s Law Around the World 150 Years Later. Political Economy Research Institute. https://peri.umass.edu/wp-content/uploads/joomla/images/publication/WP247.pdf (Accessed: 9 March 2026).
4. ROM Economics (n.d.) Engel’s Law Explained. Available at: https://www.romeconomics.com/engels-law-explained/ (Accessed: 9 March 2026).
5. Ritchie, H. (2023) ‘Engel’s Law: Richer People Spend More Money on Food, but It Makes Up a Smaller Share of Their Income’, Our World in Data, 19 January. Available at: https://ourworldindata.org/engels-law-food-spending (Accessed: 9 March 2026).
6. Houthakker, H. S. (1987) ‘Engel’s Law’. In M. Vernengo, E. P. Caldentey and J. Ghosh (eds) The New Palgrave Dictionary of Economics. London: Palgrave Macmillan.
7. Olipra, J. (2024) ‘Does Engel’s Law Work in Central and Eastern European Countries? The Role of Aspirations in Determining Food Expenditures’, Structural Change and Economic Dynamics, 71, 26-34.
8. ibid (2).
9. World Population Review (2026) Food Waste by Country 2026. Available at: https://worldpopulationreview.com/country-rankings/food-waste-by-country (Accessed: 9 March 2026).

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Do you have a favourite food and nutrition influencer? You’re spoiled for choice, with health-related content popping up whenever you scroll. But have you ever pondered what it is about your prized prophet’s material that draws you in? Crucially, have you considered whether the information they share is credible?

Sadly, much of what we watch is more pseudoscientific rhetoric than useful advice based on evidence. Online clickbait has made it easy to be lured in by creators who blurt out unrealistic, polarising or even dangerous information. When intellectual rigour is absent from someone’s agenda, they can rapidly create content. Why be bogged down with the burden of having to fact-check everything? Just whip out your phone, record yourself saying whatever’s in your head and upload it to your socials. Research ignored. Easy-peasy. Job done. But even worse than creators who don’t care about evidence are the charlatans who cite research but lazily or purposely misrepresent it, cherry-picking data to back up their narrative. This troubling trend makes it understandable that genuine experts and credible content-makers want to make their profiles stand out from the crowd.

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I used to include the phrase “evidence-based” in my social media profiles. I displayed the term to signal that the information I was sharing was based on sound research, to distinguish myself from the uninformed opinions doled out by quacks. Indeed, I’ve noticed numerous other accounts also include this descriptor. However, a while back I removed the term. Why?

Suboptimal Slogans

While attending the Nutrition Society Winter Conference in January, I noticed their slogan: “The home of evidence-based nutritional science”. I’m not sure how long the Society has had this tagline, but it was only during the event that it dawned on me that the phrase is a tautology.

The term science is defined by Google (via Oxford Languages) as:

the systematic study of the structure and behaviour of the physical and natural world through observation, experimentation, and the testing of theories against the evidence obtained [1].

By the Oxford English Dictionary as:

a branch of study dealing with a body of facts or truths systematically arranged and showing the operation of general laws, particularly obtained and tested through the scientific method [2].

And by Merriam-Webster:

knowledge or a system of knowledge covering general truths or the operation of general laws especially as obtained and tested through scientific method [3].

I opened a previous article with a description of science that I’m particularly fond of: “Science is the continual pursuit of the truth while being content in the knowledge that you’ll not find it”. I also cited Thomas Kuhn: “Science doesn’t march steadily towards truth, but advances through conceptual models – theories – that change, not only through evidence, but also through social forces” [4].

What all these definitions and descriptions have in common is that they include terms like “study”, “experimentation”, “testing”, “theories”, “truth” and “evidence”. There’s also reference to the scientific method, the tool that humans use to test hypotheses and draw conclusions (discussed in Nutrition and Enlightenment Values). Evidence is part of the scientific method.

The Nutrition Society’s slogan is tautological because it includes both “evidence-based” and “science”. The former is superfluous and devalues the latter. By its very definition, the scientific method requires empirical evidence to formulate, test and validate hypotheses. If something isn’t based on evidence, it simply isn’t science. I make this criticism as a member and ardent supporter of the Society and what it stands for – i.e. championing high-quality research in nutrition. But it’s an important point as science involves challenge, and this is, after all, just my opinion. The reason why institutions have slogans is to succinctly highlight their roles and values. A slogan should, therefore, be wholly resonant.

Tautologies are generally considered poor style because they are uninformative, provide no new information and violate communication norms. Granted, some folk might argue that they add strength to a statement when one part serves to affirm the other, and they can be integral to critical thinking [5]. However, this has more relevance to their use in assertions or debates. When a tautology is present in a snappy phrase, it risks devaluing it.

Devaluing Descriptions

In this era of persuasive health conspiracism, words like “truth” and “fact” don’t necessarily point to objective reality. Just because someone claims they’re sharing “the truth” or “facts” doesn’t mean what they’re saying is true or factual. Likewise, when someone describes himself as “trustworthy” or “honest”, it doesn’t prove that they are trustworthy or honest. After all, no influencer, whatever his experience or educational background, thinks he lacks credibility. Even the most confident, science-shunning zealot believes he’s a reliable source of information and will frequently use words like “truth” and “fact”.

The same applies to “evidence”. When qualified and experienced nutritionists and dietitians include “evidence-based” in their profiles, it risks making them appear to lack confidence, devaluing their credibility. It’s an unnecessary barrier that inhibits the bona fide from shining bright.

Science is opinion and opinions can be plucked out of thin air. But credible opinions are based on evidence. The acquisition of evidence is progressive, meaning that opinions will be formed via different routes. We are all subject to different information: we read different papers, articles and books and we watch different videos. Consequently, we may arrive at different interpretations of evidence. And when we add in our own real-world experience, opinions will be diverse. Even the most acclaimed expert will, at times, be wrong. It’s how they respond when they discover their error that’s testament to their authenticity. This is why, when confronted with a serious medical condition – as, sadly, many of us will be at some point – we should seek a second, or even third, opinion. Science is a fluid process: our quest for the truth is reliant on the synergy of opinions built from ongoing evidence and experience.

Anecdotes might hold little clout in scientific circles, but they can be incredibly useful tools, as real-life experiences often resonate better with audiences. The use of anecdotes should be embraced, as long as they’re conveyed honestly and transparently. Proclaiming to be “evidence-based” makes using them tricky.

Using the term “evidence-based” to describe one’s material is both nonsensical and devaluing. When someone’s content includes honest citations of research, the fact that they’re an evidenced-based creator will be self-evident, negating the need for the descriptor. Credibility will be apparent from the quality of the content and the honest way in which it’s communicated.

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Stand Out

I get it – credible health commentators are up against tough competition: those super-charismatic mountebanks who’ve amassed millions of followers by providing bite-sized, compelling content. It feels like we should utilise every means necessary to drown out their misinformation. If you’re a health commentator, this world of fake news and pseudoscience might tempt you to use “evidence-based” to double down on your credibility. Yet, proclaiming to be “evidence-based” risks opening you up to criticism when you later have to back-track as you discover new evidence; and, rest assured, if you’re someone who values evidence, there will be times when you’re forced to course-correct.

Ethical content makers have to be held to the highest of standards. I say this as I aspire to be a member of this select group. I share this criticism with the utmost respect and do so only because I champion those who produce high-quality content. I want them to stand out during a time when we need them more than ever. I want you to stand out.

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References:
1. Google and Oxford Languages (n.d.) Science. Available at: https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=define%3A+science (Accessed: 2 March 2026).
2. Oxford English Dictionary (2014) Science, n. Available at: https://www.oed.com/dictionary/science_n (Accessed: 2 March 2026).
3. Merriam-Webster (2026) SCIENCE Definition & Meaning. Available at: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/science (Accessed: 2 March 2026).
4. (a) Collier, J. (2025) ‘The Rise of Nutrition Populism - Part 2’, Substack, 26 November. Available at: https://substack.com/@jamescollierrnutr/p-179811958 (Accessed: 2 March 2026); (b) Kuhn, T. S. (1962) The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.
5. Patterson, S. (2015) ‘Tautologies Must Not Be Dismissed’, Steve Patterson, 13 December. Available at: https://steve-patterson.com/tautologies-must-not-be-dismissed/ (Accessed: 2 March 2026).

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To be clear: it’s not people having their mobile phones with them in the gym that pisses me off; it’s the lack of etiquette exhibited by some folk when they use them.

A couple of years ago, I posted a video on several social channels of me sitting in my car after a workout in one of the gyms I regularly visit. In the clip, I describe how someone had been using a piece of equipment I’d been wanting to use. I say “using”: essentially he’d been blocking others from using the machine, as his brief sets were separated by a few minutes of him staring into his phone. Peering over his shoulder, I noticed him mindlessly scrolling on social media. I created the video because, as a regular gym-goer, I found this behaviour somewhat frustrating, while acknowledging that, these days, bad phone-related manners are not uncommon.

My articles are usually about food and nutrition stuff, but I have previously warned that I’d be posting more gym-related experiences. My content is about urging people to pause and think about anything that influences their health. With this in mind – similar to when I write about, say, what influences your food choice or why calorie counting might not be as accurate as you think – I hope people will consider their behaviour when using their phones in the gym.

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Scrolling Social Media in Between Sets Is Not Okay

The guy had been sitting at the lat pulldown machine staring into his phone. I politely interrupted: “Excuse me, mate. Have you got much longer on there?” To which he replied, “Three sets,” and then proceeded to go back to scrolling Instagram. I’d no wish to stand waiting, so I moved on and trained with another bit of kit.

After he’d been made aware that someone was actively waiting to use the machine – bear in mind that he’d already been sitting there for a few minutes – he merely continued with his mindless scrolling. Aside from the fact that he seemed to care little about inconveniencing others, when someone’s focus is in Smartphoneland, are they truly putting any appreciable effort into their workout? If, as soon as someone puts down their weights, they grab their phone and stare into its screen, are they really focussing on their training?

Is looking mundanely into your phone in between sets of any use to your workout? Would your life be negatively impacted if you were to forgo social media for an hour? Is the endorphin buzz from exercise providing insufficient fulfilment so that an additional dopamine hit from social media is warranted? I’d argue that, if you’re training correctly, it isn’t. You’ve made the effort to go to the gym – which, by the way, is amazing as so many don’t get this far – so, while you’re there, why not put in a tad more effort for a lot more benefit?

I guess this social media addiction – “addiction” does seem to be the right word – speaks to a larger societal problem. So many people are so attached to their devices that they’re struggling to shun their phone for even a few seconds, instead choosing to eschew more fulfilling pastimes in favour of a mindless scroll.

What Does the Science Say?

While common sense suggests that anything that distracts your focus in the gym is going to be counter-productive, we should validate such a claim. Although research is scant, there have been a few papers. One study found that social media use before a set reduces lifting performance. Strength-trained men worked out to failure after either being on social media for 30 minutes or after a control condition. The researchers found that social media use led to a significant increase in mental fatigue and decrease in how many reps they could do, resulting in a 15 per cent lower volume load [1]. What’s also interesting is that the control condition was watching a NASA documentary, indicating that it matters what type of content you consume. Maybe educational content isn’t so fatiguing.

Another randomised crossover trial that assessed jump ability in male volleyball players showed that using social media on smartphones immediately before training sessions caused mental fatigue and impaired their attack efficiency [2]. However, a small trial on just 10 participants that assessed the effects of 30 minutes of social media use on reaction time, agility, anaerobic capacity and salivary cortisol was less conclusive [3].

Why might scrolling socials cause fatigue? Social media activity can be cognitively demanding. When your brain is blasted with intense stimuli to get your attention, you’re hit with negative stresses, such as being concerned about your social status, reputation and FOMO*. Political or ideological content that’s not aligned with your worldview is likely to get you all riled up causing you to think about what you’ve just watched, rather than working your muscles. As well as this, when you see the fake ultra-amazing lives of others on display or their aspirational physiques, it can be depressing, because these images can make your own body and life seem less appealing, at least to yourself.

Is It OK to Have a Phone in a Gym?

Of course it is. Some gym-goers log their workouts. Others view online routines. Some folk use the stopwatch to time their rest periods. Many people have their device at hand to listen to music through their headphones. The modern world, with its numerous pressures, is stressful. It can be therapeutic to don some headphones, listen to some tunes and shut off from the outside, and to signal that you’d rather not be disturbed. Music can be a great way to avoid distraction and to help you to “get in the zone”. A phone can be especially useful when using cardio machines: listening to or watching a podcast can help mitigate the tedium of a long zone 2 session. And a phone camera can be a useful tool when assessing your training form. Filming yourself performing a set to watch later can help you improve your form, build strength and reduce the risk of injury. Are you cheating when you squat?

It’s not just hogging the machines for unnecessarily lengths of time that irks me. Another impropriety that gets on my nerves – one that tends to be committed by more serious gym-goers – is this: when training in the free-weights area, why do some folk have their phone lying on the floor? After I’ve struggled to complete a set of stiff-legged dumbbell deadlifts and I attempt to re-rack a pair of 50k dumbbells, having to gingerly navigate an obstacle course as I step over a phone, towel, water bottle and sweaty hoodie – reminiscent of Challenge Anneka – is not something I want to be doing. It begs the question: who would be liable – legally and morally – if I were to accidentally stand or drop a weight on their phone?

And do I even need to rant about those vainglorious wannabe influencers who constantly snap selfies and film themselves, getting in your way as you push through a gruelling workout?

Personally, for weights sessions, I typically don’t have my phone with me. I leave it locked in the car so there’s no risk of it distracting me. I focus on my workout. I want my gym visits to be as constructive a use of my time as possible. Only on those rare occasions – maybe once every few months – when I’ve been expecting an important call do I have it with me. Otherwise, only during cardio or circuit sessions do I use my phone and earbuds to help distract me from the monotony.

During the late 1980s when I first frequented bodybuilding gyms, mobile phones weren’t a thing. We listened to whatever music was blasting out of the speakers, and we logged our workouts with a pencil in a notebook. And that was just fine. Make no mistake, I’m no luddite – you’re reading this on Substack, after all – and I’m well aware that the world has changed massively since the 80s. We live in a time that urges us to embrace modern technology even in the dingiest of spit-and-sawdust gyms. My gripe is born out of the lack of etiquette surrounding these useful technologies.

A Distracted Workout Is Never a Satisfying Workout

I posted the video on several social platforms and the range of responses is interesting. On Facebook, people tended to agree with my rant; not particularly surprising as many of my connections were made when I worked in the bodybuilding scene. The LinkedIn responses were also typically agreeable, possibly because professional people are more likely to be adverse to rude behaviour. Many on Instagram also concurred, although someone made a very reasonable comment: “Sometimes it’s actually a coping mechanism for anxiety … I feel awkward enough at the gym as it is, so when I’m taking a break, I will look down into my phone, pretending to be busy.”

Some of the comments on TikTok, however, are worth countering. Take “Am I supposed to look at the wall for 3 minutes between each set?” and “How about we let people do what they like when they’re resting?”, for instance. These comments are typical of the GenZ mindset, so as a wise GenXer, I should respond. Firstly, the guy had been blocking the equipment for an unacceptable length of time. Sure, anyone can rest for as long as they want. But it’s not okay if sitting on the machine for an excessive length of time precludes others from using it. I could have asked to “work in”, but the machine in question was a lat pulldown and I wanted to use a different handle, and changing it between each set would have further added to the ridiculously lengthy rest periods I’d have had to endure.

Secondly, why don’t people take advantage of these valuable seconds and grab some mindful moments? Pause, reflect, be in the now. Why is it that the urge to be preoccupied is so overwhelming? This is gym time, so focus on your next set; psyche yourself up: you’ll get a lot more out of your session.

Thirdly, all I’m doing is giving helpful advice, similar to when I share ideas about nutrition. I’ve more than 35 years of gym experience, so I don’t think it’s too arrogant to claim that I’ve gleaned a deal of wisdom along the way. (Yes, I know I’m always banging on about the importance of evidence and genuine expertise, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore the wise.) People follow my work to learn from my learnings, insights and experience. This is just me doing that, by sharing tips on how to train effectively. All I’m suggesting is that it’s probably suboptimal to scroll through social media while working out.

One response to the video was, “A distracted workout is never a satisfying workout.” This is spot on. If the first thing you do when you plonk your weights down is grab your phone, then you’re not being present, you’re insufficiently engaged and the mind-muscle connection will be absent. Without your phone, you can better focus on your next set and you can be in the moment. Or, at the very least, you can use this time to ponder all the wonderful things you’re going to do later on. When else might you be able to grab precious minutes of undistracted downtime?

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* FOMO = fear of missing out

References:
1. Gantois, P. et al. (2021) ‘Mental Fatigue from Smartphone Use Reduces Volume-Load in Resistance Training: A Randomized, Single-Blinded Cross-Over Study’, Perceptual and Motor Skills, 128(4), 1640-59.
2. Freitas-Junior, C. et al. (2025) ‘Effect of Daily Social Media Use on Smartphones Before Training on Attack Efficiency and Repeated Vertical Jump Ability in Young Male Volleyball Players: A Randomized and Crossover Trial’, European Journal of Sport Science, 25(3), e12258. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsc.12258
3. Stenson, M. C. et al. (2026) ‘Effects of Social Media Use Before Short, High-Intensity Exercise Tasks’, Exercise, Sport, and Movement, 4(1), e00057. https://doi.org/10.1249/ESM.0000000000000057

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Humans are fraught with biases. We are all prone to self-deception and have a tendency to look for the things that confirm our beliefs. This includes scientists, which is why the scientific method might just be the best thing that humans have ever invented. Its core premise is to remove that humanity from the process and stick to what we can prove. The problem is that science is done by people and people are inherently flawed.

The peer-review process is integral to the scientific method. The evaluation of research by others who have similar competencies acts as a form of self-regulation in order to maintain high standards and credibility. For the most part, the peer-review process works well, helping to minimise bias in a paper’s results and conclusions. However, it can be slow, which delays publication and the propulsion of ideas. Also, as it involves human behaviour, it’s fallible, prone to corruption and subject to bias, and ideas can be stolen.

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According to the epidemiologist Gideon Meyerowitz-Katz, one of the main issues in modern academia is the idea of correction. According to him, the claim that science is self-correcting – where horrifically flawed papers don’t make it past peer-review or are trashed immediately before being widely accepted – is a myth. The reality, he asserts, is far more depressing: “Scientific correction is a painful, years-long, opaque process that barely works at the best of times” [1].

Worse still, according to a paper published last year, things might be even more shocking than we thought.

Paper Mills

It’s not unknown for researchers to desperately try to eke out an interesting finding from a study where the data didn’t reveal much. Papers with tenuous findings are published for a number of reasons, such as authors needing their paper to be published following an expensive and lengthy bout of research so as to keep their job. Sadly, there are journals that will publish virtually anything as long as the money is good. One publisher, MDPI, has been heavily criticised [2].

Indeed, some publishers have been known to prepare fake papers full of made-up experiments and bogus data. These “paper mills” go on to sell authorship to academics looking to boost their publication numbers. This type of quackery has got worse since the onset of AI models that help to produce content at a far quicker pace. Some journal editors, it’s been revealed, may be knowingly waving through shoddy papers, and a subset of them might even be responsible for most of the dodgy papers their publications produce.

When Flawed Becomes Fraud

A paper published in August 2025 in the journal PNAS shows how rife scientific fraud is. The authors demonstrate that fraud in journals happens on a massive scale and is growing quickly [3]. According to an article in The Economist that discusses the paper’s findings and interviews one of the authors, Dr Luís Nunes Amaral, the number of scientific articles doubles every 15 years or so, yet, since 2010, the number thought to be fraudulent has doubled every 1.5 years [4]. If this troubling trend continues, the whole scientific enterprise risks being ruined.

The team looked at papers published by PLOS ONE, a reputable journal that identifies which of their more than 18,000 editors oversees each paper. Since 2006, the journal has published 276,956 articles, 702 of which have been retracted and 2,241 of which have had concerns raised by other academics. When the team looked closely, they found 45 editors to have aided the acceptance of retracted or flagged articles way more frequently than would be expected by chance. Despite only being responsible for the peer-review process of 1.3 per cent of PLOS ONE submissions, they were responsible for 30.2 per cent of retracted articles [5].

What’s more, over half of these editors were themselves authors of papers later retracted, and when they submitted their own papers, they tended to recommend each other as editors [6]. Papers can be retracted for a bunch of reasons, including honest mistakes. Yet, “these patterns indicate a network of editors co-operating to bypass the journal’s usual standards” [7].

The editors under surveillance aren’t named, but another journal, Nature, has subsequently tracked down five of the suspects [8]. PLOS ONE claims that all five have been investigated and were dismissed between 2020 and 2022 [9].

Why the Rise?

Although Amaral and colleagues’ findings don’t conclusively prove corrupt behaviour, they add to a growing body of evidence that indicates the rising tide of dishonest academics. For example, a 2024 investigation found that paper mills have been known to bribe editors [10].

But why this acceleration of faux science? The number of publications and citations that include a researcher’s name has become a powerful proxy for academic achievement, so much so that it’s often seen as necessary for building a career. This “publish or perish” culture is apparent in many universities. Academics are often judged by their publication records, leading to intense pressure to produce a high volume of work: a catalyst for researchers to resort to unethical practices, such as fabricating results, fudging figures or plagiarism. So intense is this competitive environment that it fosters a climate where some researchers feel it’s ok to commit fraud when it’s necessary to secure funding and recognition [11]. As well as this, some journals make more money the more articles they accept.

The rise of technology and data manipulation tools has made it easier for individuals to engage in deceptive behaviour. Software that enables researchers to manipulate datasets can be used to present misleading findings. The issue is further complicated by the anonymity of online publishing: it can be challenging to trace the origins of questionable research. Editors might use their powers to further their own careers, and some papers are co-written by close collaborators of those performing the research or those overseeing the peer-review: obvious conflicts of interest.

Calamitous Consequences

The consequences of allowing shoddy studies to cross the crucial peer-review and editorial check points are far-reaching. When research based on dodgy data is published, it can mislead other academics, skew policy decisions and ultimately harm public health. Fake papers can remain part of the scientific record where their spurious findings might be used to conduct systematic reviews and meta-analyses that go on to inform clinical guidelines. A recent paper in the BMJ found that 8-16 per cent of the conclusions in systematic reviews that included later-retracted evidence ended up being wrong [12]. This is hugely concerning as published research informs future science and guidelines, ultimately affecting the wellbeing of the public. Yet the incentives to commit fraud continue to outweigh the consequences of being discovered.

Thankfully, pressure to root out bad papers seems to be growing. Many journals are adopting stricter peer-review processes and utilising software tools to detect plagiarism and data manipulation. Institutions are also implementing more rigorous training programs on research ethics to instil a sense of responsibility among researchers. Databases of reputable journals, such as Scopus or Web of Science, de-list journals if they find them to be acting unethically, which can ruin their reputations. It’s up to the publishers to bring about a relisting, which means tidying up the journal. According to Nandita Quaderi, the editor-in-chief of Web of Science, “If we see untrustworthy content that you’re not retracting, you’re not getting back in” [13].

Yet, despite these efforts to combat scientific fraud, more extensive measures will be necessary to nurture a culture of integrity within the scientific community. It remains to be seen if publishers and their reputable editors are able to keep shady science out of their journals to combat the incentives of the paper mills.

Despite these scary findings, not all academics are equally concerned. In response to The Economist article, one letter noted that while we “must indeed weed out fraudulent ‘paper mill’ companies … both the original paper and [the article’s] coverage rely on language and a figure that greatly overstates the scale of the problem”. The critic noted that, in 2020, paper-mill products were estimated at just 0.7 per cent of all scientific articles, and added that, while emphasising that tackling misconduct is vital, “misleading representations and exaggerated projections risk undermining trust in science and lend weight to sceptics, rather than fostering effective reform” [14]. A valid point amid a time of growing distrust in science.

Stay Vigilant!

The study in PNAS helps to focus attention on unreliable scientific literature. Although it doesn’t distinguish between fraud and poor adherence to peer-review standards, it shows us that readers should always be on their guard. This kind of identification of the networks involved in such fraudulent practices is a service to science. Let it serve to remind us that rigorous standards are too often lacking.

The rise of scientific fraud threatens the foundation of research. By addressing the systemic pressures that drive unethical behaviour and instilling efforts to promote transparency, the academic community can work towards restoring trust and ensuring the validity of scientific inquiry. Combating research fraud is vital: we’re living through a time when populism and conspiratorial thinking is eroding trust in science. When fraud undermines the integrity of scientific literature, it’s not hard to understand why so many are increasingly finding scientists unreliable.

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References:
1. Meyerowitz-Katz, G. (2025) ‘Cinnamon for Diabetes and Vitamin D for COVID-19’, Gideon M-K: Health Nerd, 17 September. Available at: https://gidmk.substack.com/p/cinnamon-for-diabetes-and-vitamin (Accessed: 4 February 2026).
2. (a) Siler, K. (2020) ‘There Is No Black and White Definition of Predatory Publishing’, LSE Impact, 13 May. Available at: https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/impactofsocialsciences/2020/05/13/there-is-no-black-and-white-definition-of-predatory-publishing/ (Accessed: 4 February 2026); (b) Crosetto, P. (2021) ‘Is MDPI a Predatory Publisher?’, Paolo Crosetto, 12 April. Available at: https://paolocrosetto.wordpress.com/2021/04/12/is-mdpi-a-predatory-publisher/ (Accessed: 4 February 2026).
3. Richardson, R. A. K. et al. (2025) ‘The Entities Enabling Scientific Fraud at Scale Are Large, Resilient, and Growing Rapidly’, Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 122(32), e2420092122. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2420092122
4. The Economist (2025) ‘Fraudulent Scientific Papers Are Booming’, 6 August. Available at: https://www.economist.com/science-and-technology/2025/08/06/fraudulent-scientific-papers-are-booming (Accessed: 4 February 2026).
5. ibid (3).
6. ibid (3).
7. ibid (4).
8. Naddaf, M. (2025) ‘Exclusive: Retraction-Prone Editors Identified at Megajournal PLoS ONE’, Nature, 7 August. Available at: https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-025-02446-5 (Accessed: 4 February 2026).
9. ibid (4).
10. Parker, L. et al. (2024) ‘Paper Mill Challenges: Past, Present, and Future’, Journal of Clinical Epidemiology, 176, 111549. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jclinepi.2024.111549
11. Eisner, D. A. (2018) ‘Reproducibility of Science: Fraud, Impact Factors and Carelessness’, Journal of Molecular and Cellular Cardiology, 114, 364-8.
12. Xu, C. et al. (2025) ‘Investigating the Impact of Trial Retractions on the Healthcare Evidence Ecosystem (VITALITY Study I): Retrospective Cohort Study’, BMJ, 389, e082068. https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj-2024-082068
13. ibid (4).
14. The Economist (2025) ‘How Significant Is the Rise of Fraudulent Scientific Papers?’, 21 August. Available at: https://www.economist.com/letters/2025/08/21/how-significant-is-the-rise-of-fraudulent-scientific-papers (Accessed: 4 February 2026).

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In a video posted a few months after he’d been hospitalised with Covid, then UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson acknowledged that his being overweight may have contributed to the severity of his symptoms. He stated, “I’ve been doing a lot, in fact, everything I can, to lose weight and to feel fitter and healthier. The result is I actually have lost some weight, quite a lot by my standards, and I feel much more energetic, I feel full of beans and I thoroughly, thoroughly recommend it” [1].

The video was released as he announced the launch of a £100 million drive to help people lose weight. In typical libertarian style, the policies focused on encouraging people to make their own choices, including a concerted effort “to ensure people are able to make more informed, healthier choices when it comes to eating food out or ordering takeaways” [2]. So, in May 2021, the UK Department of Health and Social Care announced that from the following April, large businesses would be required to display the calorie information of the foods they offer on menus, food labels and out-of-home food.

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But how effective is calorie labelling as a means to reduce energy intake? A January 2025 paper explores just this [3].

Calorie Labelling and Food or Alcohol Consumption

The review, “Calorie (energy) labelling for changing selection and consumption of food or alcohol” – a meta-analysis published in Cochrane Systematic Reviews – updates an earlier 2018 Cochrane review [4]. It assesses how calorie labelling affects both selection (including purchasing) and consumption of food and drink, and explores whether effects vary by factors such as label type, setting and socioeconomic status – in short, whether calorie labelling actually changes what people choose and consume.

The authors systematically reviewed randomised and non-randomised studies comparing calorie labelling with no labelling across various real-world settings, such as in restaurants, cafes and shops. In particular, they looked at the amount of calories people chose, purchased or consumed by reviewing studies that compared situations where calorie information was shown with those where values were not. The main outcomes they assessed were how many calories people selected, such as what they ordered or bought, and how many they actually consumed.

The reviewers found that for food and non-alcoholic drinks, calorie labelling led to a small but statistically reliable reduction in the energy values individuals selected. This was evident across 16 randomised controlled trials (about 9,850 participants) and supported by high-certainty evidence. Of lower certainty, it was found that calorie labelling slightly reduces actual consumption (based on eight studies; around 2,100 participants). The effect sizes are modest: for an average meal of 600 kcal, labelling may reduce chosen calories by about 11 kcal (1.8 per cent) and consumed calories by about 35 kcal (5.9 per cent).

As only two studies examined calorie labels on alcoholic beverages and the results were inconsistent, no firm conclusions could be drawn about the effects of labelling on alcohol intake.

The review didn’t involve the calorie values listed as part of the common nutrition tables of the sort found on the back of packages. Its focus is on calorie amounts visible at the moment consumers make their food choices, e.g. as listed on restaurant menus, on the front of packaging or next to the product on store shelves. Findings indicate that labels on menus have a stronger effect than those on packaging.

Small Effects

While listing calorie values on labels can influence people’s decisions, the effect is small. A disappointing result, especially as the previous Cochrane review indicated a slightly more impressive 47 kcal (7.8 per cent) reduction per 600 kcal meal, albeit with lower certainty [5]. Either way, a much larger reduction would be required to have any meaningful effect as a single intervention. For example, it’s been indicated that weight gain is the result of eating 200 calories more than required [6].

What level of impact might the UK’s policy on menu and out‑of‑home calorie‑labelling have? We’ll need some rough stats to illustrate this. As, on average, UK folk eat out once or twice a week [7], and quite a few of us enjoy a takeaway meal once a week [8], it seems reasonable to assume that the average person could be influenced by this policy directly, maybe as often as three times a week. Let’s also bear in mind that it’s unlikely that the average diner eats a meal of just 600 kcal – the energy value used in the research – more likely people gorge on 900 calories’ worth of food. What this means is, all else being equal and using the higher certainty figure of 11 per 600 kcal, the impact would be a deficit of 50 calories a week (3 x 16.5 per 900 kcal); about 2,600 calories a year. Using the rough assumption that a deficit of 3,500 calories produces one pound of fat loss, the impact of this strategy alone equates to about ¾ pound weight loss in a year. That’s not much.

These back-of-a-fag-packet numbers are, of course, based on a bunch of assumptions. But, then again, the whole calorie labelling policy seems to have been born out of little more than finger-in-the-air attempts so that a government can be seen to be doing something about the obesity crisis. Consequently, on its own, the policy of calorie labelling is unlikely to make any notable difference to the energy intake of an individual. It may, however, have an application as part of a broader set of public health measures. More research is needed, especially on labelling the energy values of alcoholic drinks and on how calorie labelling affects different socio-economic groups.

There is, however, another possible upside to printing calories on menus and front-of-pack labels. As more customers react to the calories for each dish, over time, purchases may skew towards lower calorie choices. This could nudge restaurants and brands to increase the percentage of lower-calorie options in their range or on their menus. Then, as consumers are offered a greater number of lower-calorie options, a virtuous cycle could evolve. This could be further propelled as sellers see how a reduction in portion sizes boosts their profits; i.e. shrinkflation. Offering less food for a disproportionately smaller reduction in price means the use of fewer ingredients for a higher profit margin: a motivator for businesses to embrace the upsides of portion reduction.

While the touted benefits of sticking calorie values on labels and menus is likely mere virtue signalling, we shouldn’t discount the potential upsides as companies respond to consumer behaviour and offer more lower-calorie options.

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References:
1. (a) Nugent, C. (2020) ‘“I Was Too Fat.” Prime Minister Boris Johnson Says Brits Must Lose Weight to Fight Coronavirus’, Time, 27 July. Available at: https://time.com/5872175/boris-johnson-weight-loss-coronavirus/ (Accessed: 19 January 2026); (b) ITV News (2021) ‘“I’m Full of Beans”: What’s the Secret Behind Boris Johnson’s Weight Loss?’, 4 March. Available at: https://www.itv.com/news/2021-03-04/im-full-of-beans-whats-the-secret-behind-boris-johnsons-weight-loss (Accessed: 19 January 2026).
2. Department of Health & Social Care and Churchill, J. (2021) ‘Calorie Labelling on Menus to be Introduced in Cafes, Restaurants and Takeaways’, GOV.UK, 12 May. Available at: https://www.gov.uk/government/news/calorie-labelling-on-menus-to-be-introduced-in-cafes-restaurants-and-takeaways (Accessed: 19 January 2026).
3. Clarke, N. et al. (2025) ‘Calorie (Energy) Labelling for Changing Selection and Consumption of Food or Alcohol’, The Cochrane Database of Systematic Reviews, 1(1). https://doi.org/10.1002/14651858.cd014845.pub2
4. Wiley (2018) ‘Nutritional Labelling on Menus May Reduce Calorie Intake’, ScienceDaily, 27 February. Available at: https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2018/02/180227142111.htm (Accessed: 19 January 2026).
5. ibid (4).
6. Hall, K. D. et al. (2011) ‘Quantification of the Effect of Energy Imbalance on Bodyweight’, Lancet, 378(9793), 826-37.
7. WRAP (2023) Citizen Food Waste Attitudes and Behaviours Out of Home. Available at: https://www.wrap.ngo/resources/report/citizen-food-waste-attitudes-and-behaviours-out-home (Accessed: 19 January 2026).
8. Pramanik, P. (2025) ‘UK Study Shows “Takeaway Night” More Than Just Fast Food for Families’, News Medical Life Sciences, 4 June. Available at: https://www.news-medical.net/news/20250604/UK-study-shows-takeaway-night-more-than-just-fast-food-for-families.aspx (Accessed: 19 January 2026).

A nightmare before Christmas! On December 22nd, our cat, Twinkle, vomited profusely several times and was unable to keep anything down. By the end of the day, as she hadn’t eaten or drank anything and was hiding under the bed, we took her to the emergency vet. On examining her, the vet found no obvious pathology, but gave her an antiemetic and reassured us that she’d start eating and drinking again soon. The following evening, however, after she’d still had minimal water and no food, we took her back to the vet who prescribed antiemetic tablets and an appetite stimulant ointment called Mirataz that we were to rub into the pinna of her ear daily.

Although she was much better by Christmas Day evening, she still hadn’t pooed. So, on Boxing Day, the vet administered an enema. By the 27th – and after more than £850 in vet bills – you’ll be pleased to know that Twinkle had made a full recovery. She’s now very much back to her greedy self.

We were warned that we should administer the Mirataz ointment while wearing gloves so we wouldn’t absorb it transdermally. Did this mean that, if I were to get some on my hands, I’d be ravenously tucking into multiple Christmas dinners? It also crossed my mind: why, as a human nutritionist, had I not previously heard of this appetite stimulant?

I sought to learn a little more about Mirataz. An ideal excuse for a short article.

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Mirtazapine for Cats

Mirataz is a feline transdermal ointment with mirtazapine as the active ingredient. It’s the only FDA-approved medication for the management of unintended weight loss in cats, typically used when cats experience a poor appetite [1]. Applied topically to the inner surface of the cat’s ear (pinna), it’s an alternative to oral medications when it’s difficult to administer a pill, especially if your furry friend has been vomiting. We were to administer it once daily, wearing gloves, alternating between the left and right ears. An improvement in appetite was expected within a day.

Mirtazapine blocks specific neuroreceptors in the brain and gut to stimulate appetite and reduce nausea. It acts as an antagonist at several receptor sites in the central nervous system and gastrointestinal tract. Firstly, by blocking two serotonin receptors, it directs increased serotonin production to another receptor that’s involved in mood regulation. Secondly, mirtazapine is antagonistic to a specific histamine receptor, also contributing to a boosted appetite, but also causing drowsiness. It also blocks presynaptic alpha-2 receptors, which enhances the release of serotonin and norepinephrine (noradrenaline), both of which are involved in mood and appetite signalling in the brain. This combined action results in an orexigenic effect, i.e. mirtazapine encourages food intake and weight gain [2].

Mirtazapine for Humans

As we were warned to wear gloves for fear of us absorbing it through our skin, as an appetite stimulant, how effective is mirtazapine for humans?

Mirtazapine is prescribed under the brand name Remeron primarily to treat major depressive disorder. It is a tetracyclic antidepressant that increases levels and activity of serotonin and norepinephrine, and its strong antihistaminic effect also promotes appetite and sedation [3]. These effects can be beneficial for those who experience sleep disturbances or appetite loss with their depression.

Mirtazapine is available as a prescription medicine in numerous countries including the UK, EU and USA, and is available in both tablet and oral solution forms. It’s also used off-label to treat conditions like anxiety disorders and insomnia, and to stimulate appetite in patients experiencing significant weight loss [4].

Mirtazapine’s unique mode of action is characterised by a relatively rapid onset of action, high response and remission rates, a favourable side-effect profile and several unique benefits over other antidepressants, making it a very effective treatment. It has also shown promise in treating some medical disorders, including neurological conditions, and in ameliorating some of the associated debilitating symptoms of weight loss, insomnia and postoperative nausea and vomiting [5].

Side effects are generally mild and may improve as your body adjusts, but include drowsiness, dizziness, dry mouth, constipation, increased appetite and weight gain [6]. Its use as an appetite stimulant is secondary, and the results, it appears, can be mixed. A 2024 randomised controlled trial found no difference in appetite scores between those given mirtazapine or placebo, although the mirtazapine group did have a significant increase in energy intake through the four- and eight-week follow-up points, mainly from dietary fat intake [7]. Its effect as an appetite stimulant appears to be of most use for frail elderly adults and patients with cancer cachexia. A 2018 review found that people using mirtazapine were more likely to gain weight [8].

However, for many people with depression who are treated with mirtazapine, the weight gain might be undesirable. In this case, either mirtazapine might not be the best treatment, or the increased appetite and weight will need addressing by other means.

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Postscript:

This article is merely the result of a few short hours of “research” via Google and LLMs. In no way should it be read as a rigorous review of the evidence; inaccuracies are possible.

References:
1. Mirataz (2021) For Cats, A Little Weight Loss Can Be a Big Deal. Available at: https://mirataz.com/mirataz/for-cat-owners/ (Accessed: 6 January 2026).
2. Mirataz (n.d.) Mechanism of Action. Available at: https://mirataz.com/mirataz/mechanism-of-action/ (Accessed: 6 January 2026).
3. Drugs.com (2023) Remeron. Available at: https://www.drugs.com/remeron.html (Accessed: 6 January 2026).
4. Talha, N. et al. (2024) ‘Mirtazapine’, StatPearls. Available at: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK519059/ (Accessed: 6 January 2026).
5. Alam, A. et al. (2013) ‘A Review of Therapeutic Uses of Mirtazapine in Psychiatric and Medical Conditions’, The Primary Care Companion for CNS Disorders, 15(5), PCC.13r01525.
6. National Institute for Health and Care Excellence (n.d.) Mirtazapine. British National Formulary. Available at: https://bnf.nice.org.uk/drugs/mirtazapine/ (Accessed: 6 January 2026).
7. Arrieta, O. et al. (2024) ‘Mirtazapine as Appetite Stimulant in Patients With Non–Small Cell Lung Cancer and Anorexia’, JAMA Oncology, 10(3), 305-14.
8. Gafoor, R. et al. (2018) ‘Antidepressant Utilisation and Incidence of Weight Gain During 10 Years’ Follow-up: Population Based Cohort Study’, BMJ, 361, k1951.

Should governments step in to control dangerous online health content?

This question is worth serious consideration. While some support such legislation, others take a more relaxed view: people can simply ignore what they don’t like. In addition, there are those who stand resolutely in opposition to any form of mandatory restriction: the so-called “free speech absolutists”.

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How to deal with nutrition misinformation is something I’ve long pondered, and, up until Covid, I was typically a hard proponent of free speech. Now, in an increasingly polarised world, I’m on the fence: while legislation might be tempting, I equally support being able to hear alternative views that challenge the orthodoxy.

Recently, China’s government passed a law mandating that influencers hold a degree in the subjects they discuss in their online content [1]. According to reports, creators who wish to discuss “serious” topics, such as finance, health, medicine, law or education, will have to provide proof of relevant professional credentials.

Some of my peers who, like me, are very concerned about nutrition misinformation, have mused that the UK should adopt similar regulations. Ensuring that health-related content is only broadcasted by those suitably trained would certainly help to curb the problem, and a policy that restricts potentially dangerous content does seem like an ideal antidote to bad ideas.

Yet, while on the surface this sounds wise, I’m not sure this form of regulation would be a good shout. Several of my concerns and considerations are below. But I want to know how others feel about legislating online content. What are your thoughts? Please share them below.

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Nurturing Conspiracism

In authoritarian states, like China, this kind of policy is easier to enforce. But in democratic nations, amid the current era of increasing mistrust and trendy anti-establishment populism, I worry that legislation would further exacerbate conspiracism. While criminalising misinformation might promise control over the otherwise uncontrollable, anyone who champions the sharing of ideas shouldn’t be supportive of this style of regulation.

In The Rise of Nutrition Populism – Part 5: Levelling the Playing Field, I cautioned against legislation. Not only would it likely nurture conspiracism, but it’s impractical and unlikely to win trust. I cited the fears of the commentator Katherine Brodsky: “many will view the suppression of information as keeping the ‘truth’ from them, making them more likely to embrace falsehoods” [2]. Instead, Brodsky feels that we should seek “increased transparency, better education on how to analyze data with a critical mind, and [the fostering of] the growth of independent, fair and nonpartisan media”.

Setting the Boundary

If a democratic nation were to mandate that influencers hold a degree in the subject they wish to discuss, the first hurdle would be to define what constitutes a “subject”. This might sound obvious, but no discipline fits nicely into a single bucket. Nor should it. The essence of honest and effective communication involves a commentator being able to draw from all of her experiences and knowledge, and this includes her learnings from outside of the primary discipline on which she was educated. While this doesn’t require every influencer to be a polymath, a good food and nutrition communicator should be able to think laterally. Where would the line be drawn between different subjects?

Moreover, what a student learns doesn’t end the moment she graduates. Her quest to be an effective dietitian starts the moment she begins her career as she continually tries to keep up with emerging science. The food system is complex: even a modest understanding requires way more than a sound insight of human metabolism and nutrients. An effective nutritionist will need a reasonable grasp of things like food legislation and politics, economics, the neuroscience of appetite, endocrinology, molecular biology, food culture, food history, the mechanisms behind climate change, biodiversity, agricultural practices, aquaculture, human rights, animal ethics, etc. Being able to draw from an expanse of knowledge well beyond human nutrition science is crucial.

In fact, narrow-minded thinking is the problem; it’s what lies at the core of misinformation. The Dunning-Kruger effect helps to demonstrate how confident ultracrepidarians, armed with a nugget of truth, fail to accommodate broader considerations. Health influencers whose claims are based on perspectives garnered from their wide experience, alongside the science, are able to produce much more honest and effective content.

With the above in mind, what marks where a field begins and where it ends? Let’s use me as an example: would I only be permitted to create content relating to clinical dietetics? After all, that’s what I was trained in. Yet, as I’ve not practised clinically since 2002, I wouldn’t listen to me! I’m far from up-to-date when it comes to issues like enteral tube feeding and elemental diets. I never had formal education in sustainable food systems because the topic wasn’t part of the curriculum in the early 90s. Lacking a degree in environmental science, would I not be allowed to comment on food-related greenhouse gas emissions? Food politics is key to food system change, yet with no university training in social politics, would I be prohibited from sharing political insights? I’m certainly no philosopher, yet many of my ideas in my book, Well Fed, have philosophical considerations at their core. Peer-reviewed science alone often lacks real-life context. Without pulling from my experience outside of dietetics, my treatise would have lacked the required rigour to be taken seriously. Thus, when I discuss concepts from my book on social media, I draw from disciplines like philosophy, politics and environmental science.

If experts could only create content that fits into their nice neat subject zones, not only would this be very boring, but it would seriously hinder how effective they are. Nuance and complexity must be embraced. I fear that any law requiring that influencers hold a degree in their subject matter would be excessively limiting, and the public would suffer. I want to hear challenging questions and to encourage scepticism, albeit without cynicism.

Good Chefs & Bad Doctors

Online content relating to meals and cuisine is incredibly popular. Indeed, with 51 per cent of worldwide users [3], the single most popular form of influencer-produced social media content is based on cooking. People love online culinary creations.

Many acclaimed chefs and home cooking enthusiasts share their fantastic recipes on platforms along with a story about their creation. The narrative is often a key part of their handiwork and might include mentions of the nutritional content, where the ingredients were grown or sourced, environmental considerations or a cultural appreciation of what they’ve made. Granted, some claims might be a bit questionable, having been born out of beliefs rather than backed by evidence. Indeed, some may not view online cuisine as a “serious” topic, but this brings me back to the question, “Where’s the boundary?” Must we restrict culinary aficionados to presenting dull instructions on how to mix ingredients and at what temperature to set the oven? Surely, some discussion of the recipe’s story – which might include its history and nutrition – is a key part of its enjoyment?

And it’s not like being formally qualified stops content makers from sharing shoddy advice. Holding a PhD doesn’t stop you from being susceptible to the rapture of ideology, dollar incentives and audience capture. A quick scroll on Instagram reveals numerous quacks with “Dr” in front of their name dolling out highly questionable advice.

The Other Side of the Mug

Science is a continual, progressive process that involves revising our prior beliefs based on new evidence. An expert might not be aware of another perspective simply because there’s so much to know. This means that even genuine experts will sometimes get stuff wrong. Through the sharing of opinions we can revise our beliefs and improve our advice, and this may include listening to ideas from those with no formal qualifications. As honest communicators, we must remain open-minded and, while we will dismiss much of what we read, on occasion, we may be forced to pause to reassess our beliefs. This helps us to keep our biases in check.

Naturally, I’m an ardent supporter of opinions formed from evidence. However, I remain open to other perspectives. After all, lived experience offers invaluable insights, as illustrated by an analogy. A scientist and a bodybuilder sit at a table across from each other. On the table, in front of them both, is a mug. The scientist looks at the mug, observing the logo on it and the handle on the right-hand side. Sitting opposite, the bodybuilder sees the mug but with no logo and the handle on the left-hand side. As both attempt to describe the mug, a heavy and chaotic debate ensues. While they disagree, the mug sits on the table unchanged. Each individual has an equally valid opinion, yet each seems unable or unwilling to look at it from the other side [4].

While we amplify the voices of credible experts, let’s be cautious about shutting others down, as I certainly don’t think restricting influencers who lack the relevant degree is the right kind of rule. Instead, let’s encourage the networks to develop self-correcting mechanisms that reward truth-telling. I’m more open to legislation that pressures social media companies to be more responsible. With stronger oversight, we can hold the charlatans to account. When someone abuses the “Dr” in their title, there should be consequences, such as content removal and professional sanctions, and possibly further legal action for particularly pernicious cases. Any legislation should, however, be introduced with caution.

What do you think?

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Notes & References:
1. The Economic Times (2025) ‘No Degree, No Discussion? China Tightens the Grip on Influencers and Its New Law Has Sparked Massive Debate Online’, 30 October. Available at: https://economictimes.indiatimes.com/news/international/global-trends/us-news-no-degree-no-discussion-china-tightens-the-grip-on-influencers-and-its-new-law-has-sparked-massive-debate-online-check-details/articleshow/124929667.cms?utm_source=contentofinterest&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=cppst (Accessed: 2 January 2026).
2. Brodsky, K. (2024) ‘The Dangers of Misinformation (and of Suppressing It)’, Skeptic, 29(4), 4-9.
3. Feger, A. (2024) ‘Cooking Is the Most Popular Form of Influencer Content on Social Media’, EMARKETER, 12 April. Available at: https://www.emarketer.com/content/cooking-most-popular-form-of-influencer-content (Accessed: 2 January 2026).
4. Credit: Geoff Cornwell.

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Part 1: A Conspiratorial Food System?

• Nutrition populism is a conspiratorial worldview that sees the food industry as the cause of much of modern ill health.

• To health populists, information is a weapon used by institutions for power and control.

• It provides a simplistic narrative where complex things like chronic disease feel easy to understand.

• Populists claim to support science, but only when research supports their narrative.

• When people disagree with their ideas, they’re either incompetent or paid industry shills.

• In a functioning democracy, citizens trust that institutes are committed to the truth.

• The loss of trust in health institutions involves a zero sum contest between those who support institutions and those who distrust them.
  

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Part 2: Science vs. Conspiracism

• Science could be described as “the continual pursuit of the truth while being content in the knowledge that you’ll not find it.”

• Medical conspiracism is drowning out true expertise.

• Certainty is dangerous; it avoids other perspectives.

• While populists acknowledge expertise, they feel it’s subjective.

• Social media champions charisma over quality.

• Effective scientific communication involves multiple disciplines, respectful dialogue and recognising alternative views.

• Functioning correctly, scientific institutions reward self-scepticism.

Part 3: The Myth of The Noble Savage

• Conspiratorial narratives provide little information and leave lots to the imagination.

• Conspiracists misrepresent science and cherry-pick research.

• Health populists shun institutions while championing fitness demigods.

• Social media incentivises conspiratorial narratives that encourage outrage.

• Today’s populism shuns science-backed sensible health measures while promoting ideologies like ancestral eating.

• Thinking about health this way leaves people feeling that there’s something wrong with them.

• Wellness populists reject nutrition science while embracing faddy therapies.

• Shunning science harms children.

• Embracing nuance is crucial to understand the food system.

Part 4: An Unfair Fight

• Populists claim that many science-backed measures are designed to be unattainable.

• Some people hate those who hold a different idea.

• When it comes to health, people feel vulnerable and look to strongman influencers.

• We need fair debate, not an unfair battle of ideas that promotes conspiracy over science.

• Few people have the necessary skills to critically evaluate evidence.

• While we shouldn’t attribute to malice something that can be attributed to incompetence, often inaccuracy is intentional.

• Nutrition populism promotes blame; this serves no-one.

• Presume competence and goodwill among experts.

Part 5: Levelling the Playing Field

• Nutrition professionals should better understand why people hold different opinions.

• Be cautious of conspiracies, especially those that agree with your biases.

• Criminalising misinformation is unwise.

• A reliable civilisation uses shared intelligence and expertise to solve problems.

• Health institutions need self-correcting mechanisms that reward truth-telling.

• Encourage scepticism, not cynicism.

• More experts on social media will drown out conspiracists.

• Media literacy and critical thinking skills can be taught.

• Accept complexity and embrace nuance.

  

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More on Nutrition Misinformation

I discuss nutrition misinformation in other articles, including:

• Messiah Syndrome in Nutrition

• Nutrition and Enlightenment Values

• Bayesian Nutrition

• Nutrition Misinformation and Social Media

• Nutrition Bullshit

• Dietology

And there’s a whole chapter on the topic in Well Fed [1].

Influences

My ideas in this series have been inspired by perspectives I’ve encountered in numerous books, on social media and podcasts, and in articles on Substack and in Skeptic magazine. Three books, in particular, are worth mentioning. Yuval Noah Harari’s Nexus helped me define “nutrition populism” and highlighted key considerations. Tim Urban’s What’s Our Problem? A Self-Help Book for Societies eBook helped me frame my concerns about polarisation and explore the distrust of expertise and institutions. Lastly, a book on the subject of law proved notably influential. When, in Fake Law: The Truth About Justice in an Age of Lies, the anonymous writer discusses the problem of misinformation in journalism, I saw almost identical parallels with shoddy health and nutrition information. The author’s framing influenced some of my ideas in Parts 4 and 5.

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Acknowledgements

• Marco Travaglio for sense-checking.

• Nick Jones from Full Media for proofreading.

• Samantha O’Hara from Proofreading Works for helping to format the references.

• Jason Barnham for the images.

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References:
1. Collier, J. (2025) Well Fed: How Modern Diets Are Failing Us (and What We Can Do About It). London: Thorsons, pp29-47.
2. Harari, Y. N. (2024) Nexus. Edgware: Fern Press.
3. Urban, T. (2023) What’s Our Problem? A Self-Help Book for Societies. Available at: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Whats-Our-Problem-Self-Help-Societies-ebook/dp/B0BTJCTR58 (Accessed: 6 December 2025).
4. The Secret Barrister (2020) Fake Law: The Truth About Justice in an Age of Lies, New York: MacMillan.

The amount of energy needed to refute bullshit is an order of magnitude bigger than that needed to produce it.
- Alberto Brandolini [1]

So, we find ourselves in a war of facts against narrative. It can feel like we’re shoving a rock up a hill with a bunch of people on the other side pushing back. So why bother?

For me, writing is a responsibility. But I’d be lying if I said I never consider stopping. Creating honest content can be draining, and it rarely persuades the most entrenched critics. Yet, I remain driven. Writing articles helps me make sense of what’s going on. And it’s not about winning over those who object. My goal is to provoke thought and to share perspectives with people like you: if you’re reading this, it’s likely that you’re open-minded and will acknowledge the humility that I aspire to deliver, whether or not you agree with my ideas.

Anyone concerned about health misinformation should try to better understand why those who disseminate questionable advice hold the views they do. Through a better comprehension of others’ opinions, we can be better equipped to tackle dangerous views. Creating debunking videos is one thing, but we need broader initiatives to help regain trust in our health institutions. There is, of course, no quick and easy panacea. But those who possess a sound grasp of nutrition science can – and should – be doing more.

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In Part 1 of this series, I outlined what’s meant by “nutrition populism” and “information”, the lack of course correction by health conspiracists and the modern loss of trust in our institutions. Part 2 focused on how medical conspiracism is drowning out true expertise. Part 3 explored health populism from both ends of the political spectrum and the curious link between institutional distrust and a reliance on wellness therapies. Part 4 urged a fair debate and cautioned against blame. In this, the final instalment, I’ll share some ideas about what can be done to dampen the noxious effects of nutrition populism, conspiratorial thinking and the misinformation arising from it. What can be done to regain the lost trust?

What Level of Evidence?

When someone shares misinformation that is demonstrably false, attacking them is unlikely to be the best tactic. A better strategy might be to present a respectful challenge. A useful example comes from the seed oil controversy. In some circles, the idea that there’s something inherently hazardous about consuming seed oils has taken hold over the past few years. I’ve covered this extensively in The Exoneration of Seed Oils Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3. This controversy acts as a useful proxy for the challenges of combating nutrition misinformation because its premise stems from the populist narrative. Because these oils have undergone a large amount of processing, are deemed “unnatural” and are cheap, they’re a convenient target for food industry bashing. Moreover, protagonists can even present some mechanistic data in support of their claims. Yet the broader evidence – particularly trials replacing saturates with polyunsaturated fats – indicates the opposite: seed oils are not direct drivers of disease and, in some contexts, are linked with improved outcomes*.

The seed-oils-are-toxic perspective is an example of nutrition populism. The simplistic but emotionally satisfying story has spread far more easily than the nuanced reality, leaving many people unnecessarily fearing that consuming seed oils is harming their health.

To be clear, seed oils aren’t entirely innocuous in the aetiology of chronic disease – they’re easy to consume, contribute to calorie overconsumption and prone to oxidation – but they’re not directly culpable in the way the populist narrative would have you believe. (There’s a lot to this; please refer to the articles.)

So, how should you respond to someone who ardently holds the belief that there’s something inherently harmful about consuming seed oils or, indeed, any other tenuous claim? One tactic is to ask the question: “What level of evidence would it take to change your mind on this issue?” Someone who’s an honest communicator won’t want to be seen to be dismissive of evidence, so, while such a challenge is unlikely to change their mind, they might, at least, acknowledge that an alternative perspective exists. More importantly, it signals to others to question the credibility of what they’re being told.

An Actual Conspiracy?

I’ve suggested that the claim that seed oils are toxic has roots in nutrition populism. Now consider the opposite: what if the anti-seed-oil narrative itself was engineered?

A couple of years ago, I was told by someone credible that the anti-seed-oil narrative was made up by the dairy industry. Concerned about milk alternatives like oat and almond milk negatively impacting cow’s milk sales, the dairy lobby paid TikTok influencers to create content claiming that seed oils are toxic. Many of these milk alternatives have added seed oils as an ingredient, so this sort of challenge would damage their credibility as healthful alternatives to milk. According to my source, the content creators were provided with cherry-picked evidence to support the claims. The narrative gained traction through other, well-meaning, creators who picked up on the anti-seed-oil buzz. As a result, the meme was springboarded and went viral.

Here, I’ve presented a conspiracy. I’ve claimed that “Big Dairy” intentionally disseminated a false narrative with the goal of influencing people’s beliefs for economic advantage. Yet I can’t back up this claim with any evidence. I got the information from someone who I deem to be credible. But how do you know he’s credible? How do you know someone even told me this? You only have my word. But even if you accept I’m being honest, I only have his word. How do you know if I’ve fact-checked the claim? (I haven’t.) Consequently, you should take what I’ve said here with a huge pinch of salt. Sure, it sounds plausible and it might even be true. But neither you nor I can be reliably sure. The same approach should be applied to any conspiracy, including the seed-oils-are-toxic claim. If in doubt, always ask: “What is the totality of the evidence saying?” Any challenge to misinformation must be done with the utmost humility, and definitely without relying on counter-conspiracies. This is imperative if we want to earn back the lost trust in science.

Addressing Misinformation

Health misinformation can feel like a uniquely modern problem, amplified by podcasts and social media. But bad advice has been around for as long as people have been communicating, and books, magazines and conventional media have been similarly culpable in spreading bad information. Currently, however, we do appear to be going through a particularly worrisome period. According to several Gallup polls, trust in institutions has fallen dramatically: only 34 per cent of US adults were reported to have a “great deal” or “fair amount” of confidence in our institutions in 2022 [2].

Our food and health institutions have come to represent a sounding board for contemporary anxieties about modernity and globalisation. These concerns give rise to a potent moral critique of the “unnaturalness” of things like pasteurised milk, GMOs and ultra-processed food. Such narratives often crowd out any utilitarian risk/benefit evaluation. Spreading conspiracies with phrases like “Big Food is poisoning you” and “What your doctor doesn’t want you to know” further erodes trust.

Addressing misinformation will be critical for getting back to a healthy and trusting society, and how we address it is equally important. Many might be tempted by the idea of criminalising it, which is, after all, a solution that promises control over the otherwise uncontrollable. Whenever I criticise bad science, I do so as an ardent supporter of honest academia and the sharing of ideas. Therefore, the solutions do not exist in any form of state regulation, as not only would this nurture conspiracism, but it would also be impractical. Writing in Skeptic, the commentator Katherine Brodsky points out that censorship is “not likely to win that trust back”. Indeed, “many will view the suppression of information as keeping the ‘truth’ from them, making them more likely to embrace falsehoods” [3].

Instead, we need higher standards and changes elsewhere in the system, especially because nutrition science too often fails in its ideals. There’s plenty of space to argue over what we understand by nutrition science and what we expect future research to achieve. There’s a gap – a chasm, even – between the opinions of academics and the public they serve, and honest dietitians and nutritionists should never be so arrogant as to claim the debating turf as their own: it is shared. When living in an era of increasing distrust, Brodsky recommends “increased transparency, better education on how to analyze data with a critical mind, and fostering the growth of independent, fair and nonpartisan media”, and that we allow “experts in their fields to speak freely and engage in debate with one another”. This is especially important when they disagree. Then “we might regain trust in those who have dedicated their lives to studying complex, significant questions in medicine and science” [4].

In the meantime, in the absence of fair and open conversation, I will continue to stridently and unapologetically criticise and berate bad ideas of all shapes and sizes. Poor nutrition reporting is rife, pervasive and dangerous. But it is not universal. There are many brilliant communicators – academics, dietitians, nutritionists, personal trainers, journalists, influencers, bloggers, industry specialists – who understand their subject area and its principles, and who report and criticise fairly. As I have been at pains to reiterate, nutrition science should be the subject of fierce and frequent debate. It’s essential to healthy science that we never become complacent about how research evolves. We should constantly seek improvement and re-evaluation. The decisions taken both inside and outside of academia must be scrutinised under the brightest of lights and the professionals held to account.

The Academic Antidote

Through the shared principles of honesty and humility we can rediscover our shared humanity. In a polarised global polity, I worry that we will forget this. When we allow ourselves to be misled as to why our academic system is built as it is, we might fail to condemn the corrosion of honesty and, with it, the bonds that tie us together. Any remedy must involve the revival of trust in our sacred democratic institutions and public education. Democracy is, after all, a mechanism for managing conflict. But to make it work will require self-awareness: not only must we listen to our opponents, we must hear ourselves with equal clarity.

We want institutions that can reliably outsource reality testing. We need channels of information that we know are governed by incentives and processes that are reliably truth-discovering and truth-preserving, at least as far as that’s possible. There simply is no substitute for institutions that we can trust. Although many do fail, the answer is not to tear them down, but to strengthen them. We want universities that are not susceptible to ideological capture, and we want news institutions that are intellectually honest, all while accepting that they’ll sometimes get it wrong.

The common admonition “do your own research” is a waste of time. I don’t want to live in a world where I have to become an oncologist when I get cancer or where I have to become a mechanic when my car breaks down, as I suspect others don’t want to have to study to be a nutritionist when they’re unsure what to eat. We want a dependable civilisation that functions as a machine of shared intelligence and expertise that can solve our problems. So, how do we create mechanisms that are reliably error-detecting and error-correcting?

Overt political partisanship only leads to self-deception and the deception of others. Being parochial impels you to put a self-advantageous spin on a set of facts, to choose those you like and ignore those that are inconvenient to your narrative. We know that’s not the way to track the truth. Instead, we need institutions with inbuilt mechanisms to reduce the prevalence of bias. Science communication should do a better job of conveying the uncertainty associated with scientific claims without imposing values. We should cultivate a public that asks for evidence before reflexively accepting a reported consensus, and an academic culture with norms and heuristics we can rely on. We want to encourage scepticism, not cynicism. Yet, when, in recent years, we’ve stress-tested our institutions, many have not fared well.

To quote the author and blogger Tim Urban, “Academic research is supposed to be the ultimate genie – a marketplace of ideas unlike any other, with rigorous rules and standards, and processes like peer review that institutionalize collaborative thinking to create a hyper-efficient truth finding machine” [5]. When these institutions are shunned by ideology, processes like peer review struggle to filter out falsehoods which “cripples our sanctity’s ability to learn new things”. Urban laments: “Perhaps even worse, it cripples our society’s ability to trust in the new things we do learn. Trust is the lifeblood of a healthy society. But while it takes decades to build the public’s trust, it doesn’t take long to shatter it.” Yet, he notes that, despite the shortcomings, most published research papers continue to result from a high-integrity peer review process, cautioning that it might be hard to change minds because of much publicised corruption in some areas of academia: “When the mantra ‘trust the science’ is shown in some cases to mean ‘trust our ideology,’ it makes fewer people trust the science.”

The Ultimate Genie

Our health institutions must be set up to amplify the voices of credible experts and fund programmes that elevate factual nutrition content. Rebuilding trust starts with visibly and vocally confronting the misinformation crisis. To tilt the balance in favour of truth, networks must develop and maintain strong self-correcting mechanisms that reward truth-telling. These will be costly, but if you want to get to the truth, the investment is essential.

We need those with knowledge to speak out more. When nutritionists, dietitians and other health professionals share evidence-backed tips on platforms, it adds to the discourse. I encourage professionals to communicate in their own relatable style. When content is confidently relayed with humility, a message is more authentic. But professionals must remain open to changing their mind when presented with alternative perspectives that are convincing. If more of us create quality content, we can crowd out the simplistic conspiratorial narratives. When more people hear consistent facts from multiple reputable sources, they’re more likely to challenge the charlatans. More voices please.

We also need to focus on limiting the reach of the conspiracists and making them less influential, which means better rules championed by more reliable policy-makers. This could involve applying pressure to social media companies to motivate them to be more responsible. Through stronger oversight and public awareness campaigns, we can hold the quacks to account. When someone abuses the “Dr” in their title, there must be consequences, and those consequences need to be quick and proportionate. Start with content removal and professional sanctions, and maybe even consider legal action for particularly pernicious cases, albeit with caution.

As well as this, we need to inoculate the next generation. The antidote to bad ideas is better ideas. Media literacy and nutrition science are skills that can be learned, and this should start as early in life as possible. Critical thinking skills could be part of the curriculum; as fundamental as maths and reading. As well as this, let’s get students learning nutrition fundamentals, kitchen knowhow and how to shop healthily on a budget. By building critical thinking proficiency in kids, we can curb the next wave of diet fads and health hoaxes before they start.

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A Conspiratorial Food System?

Scholarly work traditionally views science as a group of technical disciplines that engage dialectically with the society in which they’re embedded. I want to be part of this discourse, so my door remains wide open to new ideas. I have, on occasion, been criticised for sitting on the fence. Maybe there’s some truth to this. But being open to changing one’s mind is not indecision; it’s humility. Although in Part 2 I cautioned against certainty, there’s one thing of which I am truly certain: we must always try to embrace nuance. Accepting uncertainty is something of which I am certain.

Part 1 of this series has the subheading “A Conspiratorial Food System?” This is the fundamental question. As I’ve shown, the cynical populist perspective might have you believe that the food system is full of bad actors who are only interested in garnering power. They’ll try to convince you that your food is toxic, your doctor isn’t there to help you and your health is seriously at risk. They’ll urge you not to trust the science, yet many will go on to promote wellness therapies.

Despite loud claims of nefarious behaviours; despite the all-too-frequent failures of our sacred institutions; despite the loss of trust in expertise; despite conflicting information and polarisation; despite the fact that, too often, we’re let down when it comes to what we cherish the most – our own health and the health of those we care about – despite everything, we can rebuild trust in our food system, health institutions and nutrition experts. But to enable this, four key values must lead the discourse: honesty, humility, rigour and, above all, compassion. And not just compassion for those who are suffering and less privileged; our compassion should extend to those with whom we disagree. Everyone – including the most cynical and conspiratorial shunners of science – has good reasons for holding their worldview. We must try harder to understand others’ perspectives. Only then can we present an effective challenge.

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* For more details and references, see the articles.

References:
1. Brandolini, A. [@ziobrando] (2013, January 11) The bullshit asymmetry: the amount of energy needed to refute bullshit is an order of magnitude bigger than to produce it [Tweet]. Twitter. Available at: https://x.com/ziobrando/status/289635060758507521 (Accessed: 28 November 2025).
2. Brenan, M. (2022) ‘Americans’ Trust in Media Remains Near Record Low’, Gallup, 18 October. Available at: https://news.gallup.com/poll/403166/americans-trust-media-remains-near-record-low.aspx (Accessed: 6 December 2025).
3. Brodsky, K. (2024) ‘The Dangers of Misinformation (and of Suppressing It)’, Skeptic, 29(4), 4-9.
4. ibid (3).
5. Urban, T. (2023) What’s Our Problem? A Self-Help Book for Societies. Available at: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Whats-Our-Problem-Self-Help-Societies-ebook/dp/B0BTJCTR58 (Accessed: 6 December 2025), p464.

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Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.
- Robert J. Hanlon [1]

As someone who spends too much time worrying about health misinformation, I’m not sure why I hadn’t stumbled on the concept of “nutrition populism” until late in 2024. Through a quick Google search, the earliest mention of the term I could find was in a 2021 report about reformulation strategies to reduce fat sugar and salt in daily products [2]. AI describes “nutrition populism” as “a descriptive term that has come into use in the late 2010s and early 2020s to describe a contemporary trend in health communication” [3].

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When I began to pay attention to the concept, I stumbled across the Gary McGowan Instagram post referenced in Part 1, and, as I commenced my research for this series back in February, I came across an article by Elise Hutchinson, in which she skilfully demonstrates how conspiratorial narratives can be constructed through a concept she calls “vertical framing” [4]. Think of a vertical axis with global institutions, such as governments and the WHO – the so-called “elite” – dictating policies from above in their private jets to the rest of us at the bottom. Sensible science-backed initiatives are framed as part of a cult reinforcing the top/bottom opposition. Using her example, sustainability goals are not just unattainable, they’re designed to be unattainable: “a mere scam designed to consolidate power, which can only remain at the top.” Such measures are, according to this mindset, a means of oppression. In Hutchinson’s words, “it creates a perfect and complete picture of opposition, reinforcing existing feelings of disconnect: that those in power do not truly understand the reality of people’s concerns.” A simple but extremely powerful narrative.

So far, in Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3, I’ve explained what nutrition populism is, discussed its appeal and problems, expressed concerns about the loss of trust in our institutions and genuine expertise, showed how both influencers and media platforms are culpable, compared the current right wing populism to leftist health populists of the past, and showed a link between medical conspiracism and faddy wellness therapies. I’ll get to how we might combat populist-driven nutrition misinformation in Part 5. Before that, however, I want to talk further about the misalignment of ideas and express concerns about the culture of blame driven by fitness populists, as well as raise some other general points on the topic.

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Strongmen Saviours

Holding an opposing view might not just be about disliking an alternative idea. It can even lead to a hatred of the people who hold the antithetical opinion: a concept known as “affective polarisation”. In a recent Instagram post, nutritionist Charlie Beestone noticed that this mindset isn’t limited to politics: we see it in food and nutrition, too. Advocates of the carnivore way of eating and plant-based diets can each be convinced that those with opposing dietary views are not just wrong, but idiots or, worse, evil. “Much like our politics,” Beestone states, “none of the actual issues are improving, many are getting worse” [5]. He’s not wrong: a 2019 UK-based study found that social media influencers with cult-like followings gave incorrect health advice 90 per cent of the time [6], and a 2024 study that examined nutrition-related content on influential Australian accounts found that nearly half the posts contained inaccuracies [7]. Moreover, an analysis of weight-loss, muscle-building, and cleanse and detox supplement videos on TikTok found that 97 per cent of them had no evidence to back up their claims [8]. Social media amplifies the problem by creating feedback loops that keep users immersed in extreme content. Pull out your phone and you’re just two taps from being sucked into the vicious cycle of extreme dietary beliefs, generating certainty about these beliefs and going on to discredit other voices [9].

When people struggle to make sense of the world, they can feel overwhelmed. When people feel their health is at risk, they feel particularly vulnerable. Desperate folk are easy prey for conspiracy theories and the charismatic. They seek salvation from strongmen leaders, archetypes who exploit this fear with the ambition of building a following, positioning themselves as brave truth-tellers against a “corrupt” medical system. In doing so, they create an “us vs. them” narrative that turns following bad advice into a badge of honour. People start to doubt real experts and dismiss public health guidelines, putting themselves at serious risk, instead looking to fitness authoritarians who provide the answers to all your health issues in bite-sized chunks. Reassurance and resentment are what they’re selling.

Yet, while charismatic leaders do have their appeal, no single human, however inspiring or brilliant, can single-handedly decipher the complexity of the world, let alone the modern technologies that are increasingly dominating our lives. Algorithms make decisions based on multiple data points, whereas humans find it hard to focus on, at most, a few data points at once. This is why, when faced with complex issues, we’re prone to seeking a single reason to take a particular course of action and to ignore all other considerations. This is known as the “single cause fallacy”. So, if reality is way more complex, who, then, should people listen to for health advice? And while we’re at it, why should people pay attention to my ideas?

An Unfair Battle of Ideas

While I stand resolutely by the facts in my writings, the opinions I express are not inarguable. Whenever I criticise, berate or offer an antithetic opinion, I do so as a polemic, not a gospel. Whenever I offer perspectives that run counter to others’ narratives, folk might, quite reasonably, disagree with my arguments, or my interpretations of the first principles on which they are built.

To be clear, my gripe is not that social – or, even, conventional – media amplifies views with which I disagree: for many reasons it’s vital that they do. Rather, it’s that debate is not fought on Queensbury rules. Misreporting basic facts, distorting context, making false promises and ignoring first principles only serve to exploit the knowledge gaps of the audience. The result is an unfair advantage in the battle of ideas. If the views that are contended for are meritorious, they will stand up on the facts. If they are weak, or have an agenda that runs counter to the best interests of the audience, they should not evade critical evaluation by virtue of rhetorical dishonesty. I want an improved debate: I have no wish to shut it down.

I emphasise this with acute awareness of the perilous waters that honest content makers across the world presently tread. When it comes to reporting on nutrition research, rigorous journalism is needed now more than ever, and it is under threat. Battles that we complacently assumed had been won are being refought on new fronts. Diatribes like “enemies of the people” have been invoked against scientists, and barks of “fake news” have undertones of a malicious desire to avoid scrutiny, evade accountability and ultimately cow the free press into silence.

There’s a reason that newspapers don’t run front-page stories about the flat Earth or alien abductions: both the media and its audience are well equipped to recognise them as bullshit. However juicy such yarns might appear, editors understand their absurdity, and know that their readers simply won’t buy it. There’s a commonly recognised floor of public education and understanding. This creates a filter, ensuring – for the most part – that stories that insult the intelligence of both writer and reader end up in the trash.

No equivalent floor exists when it comes to a general understanding of nutrition science, or at least it is set so low as to be miles underground. Precious few have the necessary skills to critically evaluate what is an intellectually honest account of the available evidence. While some media outlets still have specialist science correspondents, roles these days are less specific. Moreover, the absence of integrity is even more pronounced in many podcasts, especially those aimed at a more general audience. How can a host be expected to have even a basic understanding of such a wide range of subject matter to be able to sufficiently challenge guests from disparate fields? This abyss is exacerbated a million-fold on Instagram and TikTok when the content maker has almost complete control over what she puts out with no checks and balances, save the precious few, along with insufficient and often misguided fact checkers.

The accuracy of what we consume, therefore, depends on the knowledge, understanding and motivation of journalists, podcasters and influencers. Too often, complex stories are reduced to shallow or misleading narratives. Worse, facts are wilfully distorted in accordance with an agenda. While I’m not suggesting that the misreporting of nutrition science is always born of malevolence – Hanlon’s Razor, requiring that we should not attribute to malice something that can equally be attributed to incompetence [10] – more often than not the reckless disregard for accuracy can only be understood as deliberate. For many, their goal is to amass followers for financial gain or to be lauded with endorsements and popularity. Fearmongering fitness influencers have a great business plan: make content that involves demonising what people eat, making themselves sound like a health authority. These mountebanks don’t care about educating you; to them, it’s just a game. It’s all virality, views and likes. What results is sensationalist nonsense sprayed across the internet with impunity, with cynical influencers free to adopt a David Icke level of rigour, safe in the knowledge that the information gap will insulate them from any pushback.

A Culture of Blame

Health conspiracists, on the other hand, seem reluctant to accept Hanlon’s razor. In their cynical worldview, the more likely explanation for the increase in chronic disease is malevolence by bad actors. Of course, the many failures of business leaders or those in positions of authority shouldn’t be excused; their roles demand them being held to account when errors are made. Nor do I claim that there aren’t times when powerful figures do act out of malice. It’s just that, more often than not, the more likely explanation is accident or incompetence. What I reject is a blanket accusation of blame.

One of the most pernicious aspects of the populist mindset is that it resides within – as well as perpetrates – a culture of blame. I was raised to take personal responsibility for my life decisions. Where possible, I was encouraged to make choices that would support my own health and fitness. Yet, I’ve come to acknowledge that, when it comes to our own health, while there is much merit to personal responsibility, there’s also much to challenge about the perspective. We have no command over our own genes, nor do we have any say in what happens to us in our mother’s womb. We have no control of our upbringing, and, while, as we age, agency does (to some degree) increase, much of our environment, even as adults, remains beyond our control.

Taking all this into consideration, I accept that personal responsibility has its limits. However, even if I were to entirely reject the notion of personal responsibility, the default alternative need not be to blame others for our health issues. The food industry certainly does have an outsized influence on our choices, and, granted, systems such as food policy, marketing and availability all play an outsized role in shaping our beliefs. These are factors that require a much greater degree of oversight that’s sadly lacking. Yet, for most of us, the ultimate responsibility for what goes into our mouths lies with the individual*. Similarly, modern healthcare isn’t to blame for any adverse health issues we endure.

In fact, I’ll go as far to say that this blame culture among fitness personalities reeks of unrealised privilege. I see too many videos where an influencer is blaming their audience for things like not working out enough, making poor shopping choices or not preparing their own meals. Curiously, this mindset simultaneously blames the food industry and policymakers for the problems of healthcare and the food system. Kick the less fortunate while blaming the powerful.

My book: 'Well Fed'

A Presumption of Goodwill

The philosopher George Santayana once quipped, “Skepticism, like chastity, should not be relinquished too readily”**. When it comes to health information, a dose of incredulity is especially necessary because science and journalism are no less susceptible to humanity’s flaws than other endeavours. Yet, despite this, I’ll continue to advocate that the presumption of competence and goodwill among experts is the most fruitful and cognitively healthy way to proceed. A mature, flourishing mindset involves standing in toleration and acknowledgment of ambiguity, rather than greeting differences of opinion with disappointment and hostility.

Science is hard. It’s rigorous. It doesn’t conform to your deepest wishes or comfort you with simple answers. Made-up tenets, on the other hand, are easy. Wrapped in mystery and metaphor, they demand only faith. Accepting the fallibility of science and rejecting mythology in favour of evidence can be liberating. How can we accomplish this? The final part of this series is coming soon.

* Here, I’m referring to the majority of us in the West. In less wealthy regions, where adequate nutritious food is limited, a different debate is warranted. Moreover, I acknowledge that what I’m saying – and how I’m saying it – could be misrepresented, and, consequently, taken to be controversial. The limited scope of this article doesn’t permit me to adequately debate where personal responsibility begins and ends.
** Where Satayana said this is unclear; it’s generally considered to be a standalone quote [11].

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References:
1. Raymond, E. (2003) ‘Hanlon’s Razor’, The Jargon File. Available at: http://www.catb.org/jargon/html/H/Hanlons-Razor.html (Accessed: 6 December 2025).
2. DLG (2018) Reduction Strategies for Fat, Sugar and Salt. Part 4 – Focus on Milk, Dairy Products and Cheese. Available at: https://www.dlg.org/fileadmin/downloads/Expertenwissen/lebensmitteltechnologie/2018_13_Expertenwissen_Reductionsstrategien_Teil4_e.pdf (Accessed: 6 December 2025), p5.
3. AI through Google search.
4. Hutchinson, E. (2025) ‘How Populist Discourse on Social Media Impacts the Food Sustainability Debate’, Freedom Food Alliance, 23 February. Available at: https://www.freedomfoodalliance.org/unfork-the-food-system/how-populist-discourse-social-media-impacts-food-sustainability-debate (Accessed: 6 December 2025).
5. Beestone, C. [@cbnutrition_] (2025, October 30) I’ve long believed that curiosity is a key trait in nutrition [Post]. Instagram. Available at: https://www.instagram.com/p/DQbQcNeCAtC/?img_index=1&igsh=a3l0M3d3dHJ1Z3No (Accessed: 6 December 2025).
6. Forrest, A. (2019) ‘Social Media Influencers Give Bad Diet and Fitness Advice Eight Times Out of Nine, Research Reveals’, Independent, 30 April. Available at: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/health/social-media-weight-loss-diet-twitter-influencers-bloggers-glasgow-university-a8891971.html (Accessed: 6 December 2025).
7. Denniss, E. et al. (2023) ‘Quality and Accuracy of Online Nutrition-Related Information: A Systematic Review of Content Analysis Studies’, Public Health Nutrition, 26(7), 1345-57.
8. Raffoul, A. et al. (2024) ‘Diet Pills and Deception: A Content Analysis of Weight-Loss, Muscle-Building, and Cleanse and Detox Supplements Videos on TikTok’, Eating Behaviors, 55, 101911.
9. ibid (5).
10. ibid (1).
11. Peter, L. J. (ed.) (1977) Quotations for Our Time. London: Black Cat.

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It is useless to attempt to reason a man out of a thing he was never reasoned into.
- Jonathan Swift [1]

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Who doesn’t love the idea of aliens coming to Earth in their spaceships? You’re probably familiar with those grainy, ambiguous photos of unidentified objects in the sky. In UFO circles, this lack of image clarity is apparently known as the “low-information zone”. Accompanied by a brief but highly suggestive narrative – yet little in the way of evidence – these photos leave much to the imagination. Untrained viewers are lured into believing that the more likely “truth” of what they are witnessing is an alien flying saucer.

Similarly, conspiratorial narratives in books and articles and on podcasts and social media are often low-information zones. Woolly reports purposely leave much to the imagination, bolstered by partisan prompts that subtly push the audience towards “logical” conclusions without offering real evidence. The dialogist may even include veiled pronouncements like “I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusion”, uttered in such a way as to imply that anyone who fails to see “what’s going on” must be stupid. Humans are susceptible to believing stories: like it or not, the allure of a simplistic yarn that provides all the answers in a neatly packaged narrative can be highly influential.

So far, in The Rise of Nutrition Populism Part 1 and Part 2, I’ve outlined what’s meant by “nutrition populism”, made suggestions as to its appeal, explained the difference between “information” and “wisdom”, cautioned against certainty and bemoaned the erosion of trust in our institutions and the loss of reliance on experts. I even relayed an idea as to how to bridge the gap between nutrition science and conspiratorial narratives (more on this in the final instalment). Here, I’ll explain why both the influencers and the platforms have roles to play in pushing nutrition misinformation, discuss where on the political spectrum populists’ views originate, and share an interesting paradox when it comes to food conspiracism and wellness therapies.

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Idea Supremacy

Taking the antithetical position doesn’t mean you’re “doing critical thinking”: you’re just muddying the water. An alternative position to an incorrect one doesn’t make it correct; it’s just another perspective. Contrarian thinkers might claim to be open to changing their minds if they’re presented with evidence on a topic. Yet, often, the evidence is already there, freely available and highly convincing. Handicapped by a strong emotional attachment to their prior beliefs, advocates don’t seem to (want to) notice it, instead preferring to cherry-pick their narratives.

Of course, fitness influencers don’t need to be experienced at critically appraising health information, and ethical creators will acknowledge the limits of their abilities, instead choosing to defer to those who possess such skills. So, then, why don’t many high-profile pseudo-sages do this? Because doing so doesn’t make the kind of attention-grabbing content required to build a large following. Instead, online ultracrepidarians push science-hesitant narratives while insisting that they’re “just asking questions”. Charlatans have a tendency to pick out pieces of scientific data that help them tell a compelling story, rather than considering the broader perspective through a critical appraisal of available evidence, fearing that, otherwise, they’ll end up in a position that’s in stark contrast to their narrative. Misrepresenting research – deliberately or otherwise – is a key part of their agenda.

Take the Make America Healthy Again (MAHA) movement, spearheaded by Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the current US Secretary of Health and Human Services. RFK Jr. has found popularity in claiming to want to improve the food system and to reduce non-communicable disease (NCD) by, for example, increasing access to nutritious foods and decreasing the influence of sugary drinks; all goals that most of us generally agree upon. The problem is his inability or unwillingness to support evidence-based programmes that would meaningfully and measurably address these goals. It’s one thing to say that you want people to be healthy, but quite another to implement or promote means to achieve that in an honest and quantitative way.

In the populist worldview, power is the only reality; and the food industry, its corporations and the individuals who run them are seen to be abusing their excessive power and should be blamed. In some senses, it’s not hard to see why. It wasn’t that long ago that the tobacco industry was rightly buffeted with well-deserved attacks for pushing harmful products and obfuscating the damage they cause. According to the nutrition populist worldview, in a similar vein, large food companies are indicted as nefarious peddlers of addictive substances that compel us to polish off thousands of calories in a single sitting. Despite valid arguments in support of this*, the reality, of course, is way more complex.

Moreover, there’s a stark disconnect: while conspiratorially minded influencers and their followers rail against food and health institutions, they’ll hang their hat on their most adored fitness demigod, many of whom are just cowboys taking shots at the establishment. Someone who believes they have morality on their side may well feel that the ends justify the means. Yet, history has shown us, time and again, that just when we think we’re the most virtuous, we’re also at our most dangerous. When facing off against what we regard as a great evil, belief in our own righteousness can blind us to the very evils we ourselves are committing in response.

Idea Amplification

The incentives aren’t limited to the content makers. The platforms themselves incentivise misinformation to increase traffic, meaning that we see more of it. Conspiratorial health narratives encourage outrage which drives engagement up, while moderate and informative content tends not to. YouTube algorithms began recommending outrageous conspiracy theories to millions of viewers while ignoring moderate content. This instruction worked and rocketed watch time: by 2025 users were watching a billion hours of YouTube every day [2]. Content creators whose principal motivation is to gain views and likes noticed that when they posted outrageous videos full of dis- and misinformation, the algorithm rewarded them by recommending the video to others. When they dialled down the outrage and stuck to the truth, the algorithm tended to ignore them.

And it’s not just YouTube. A leaked Facebook document from December 2019 noted, “[virality] occurs because we intentionally encourage it for business reasons”, and that “ranking content about higher stakes topics like health and politics based on engagement leads to perverse incentives and integrity issues.” It went on to admit that “Unfortunately, research has shown how outrage and misinformation are more likely to be viral” [3].

From the Right or Left?

When trust in bureaucratic institutions like academia falls – as it has since the pandemic – an enhanced reliance on mythology might feel like the only way to preserve order, at least in the mind of the populists. This declaration of faith in tenets of the past helps to explain why today’s populism is coming from the political right. Yet the perspective that power is the only reality isn’t a modern phenomenon, nor is it limited to the right. Not long ago, a not-dissimilar worldview was coming from the left. Back in the 19th century, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels were warning of the power struggles between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie elite [3], and in the mid-20th century, postmodernists such as Michel Foucault asserted that scientific institutions like the media, hospitals and universities were not pursuing objective truths, but instead were using power to determine what counts as truth. These extreme leftist critiques even claimed that “scientific facts” are “nothing more than capitalist or colonialist discourse and that those in power can never be really interested in truth and shouldn’t be trusted to correct their own mistakes” [4]. Both the Marxist and postmodernist weltanschauung care little if something is true; rather, they ask “whose privileges does it serve?” [5].

Of course, today’s right-wing populists would never be seen to align themselves with Foucault or Marx, and their policies to curb power are quite different. Yet, their basic view of society has a surprisingly Marxist flavour: all human interactions as a power struggle between oppressors and oppressed. While originally this kind of framing came from the type of leftist progressives who believe things like GMOs, pesticides and “chemicals” have no upsides and are only harmful – both to us and the environment – now the power-is-the-only-reality perspective has veered firmly into the arms of medical conspiracists on the conservative right. These canonists typically assert that the way certain foods are grown or created are “poisoning us”, and that greedy Big Food is interested only in making money, caring little for our health. These communities would rather eschew science-backed technologies like pasteurisation, food hygiene, sunscreen and other preventive health measures, in favour of glugging raw milk, sun exposure, faddy supplements and “alternative” therapies.

Not only am I troubled by the shunning of science, but I can’t help but feel there’s something quite pernicious here, reminiscent of the Rousseauian idea of the “myth of the noble savage”. This idea infers that humans are naturally optimal when uncontaminated by civilization [6]. Aside from its racist undertones – in that those residing in traditional hunter-gatherer or subsistence societies somehow lack humanity, don’t feel pain the way westerners do or have some sort of proclivity to be able to jump out of bed in the morning and run an ultra marathon – this kind of perspective also risks leaving those born in western societies feeling like there’s something lacking or wrong with their lives. Maybe we should all shun everything “unnatural”, avoid modern healthcare and chomp down a paleo diet – then we can all be amazing athletes!

Embracing Wellness

This brings me to another health populist disconnect: many who typically reject scientifically validated biomedical advances and enthusiastically embrace faddy wellness products and technologies. Interesting research has revealed a direct link between medical conspiracism and wellness behaviours, such as consuming unregulated dietary supplements, herbal products and organic food [7]. The more medical conspiracies a person believes, it seems, the more wellness behaviours they participate in. While it’s often the case that these individuals are early adopters of the latest digital tech, they tend to shun evidence-based health measures such as wearing sunscreen, going to the dentist, getting preventive healthcare and getting vaccinated.

Health populists claim that institutions like the FDA and the WHO are waging a war on health. They falsely argue that policy-makers want to control you by implementing common-sense rules and guidelines that aim to keep society and the planet healthy. In doing so, they villainise doctors and academics when they align with the positions of public health and regulatory agencies. If a scientist says something that agrees with an institution, they are labelled a “corrupt shill” or accused of being paid off. Yet, these individuals enthusiastically endorse unregulated, alternative non-evidence-based therapies, tonics, fad diets and concepts like “biohacking”, potentially opening the floodgates to the Wild West of snake oil.

Historically, non-evidence-based wellness movements were more common among left-leaning progressives concerned with environmental and holistic living. Today’s populist influencers tend to promote unproven wellness products that claim to improve your health. Indeed, many of those who advocate these questionable supplements and therapies are shareholders in brands or are paid generously via sponsorship or commission. There’s big money to be made: in the US alone, the dietary supplement industry has been valued at $159 billion [8], and the global wellness industry, by some estimates, could be worth a whopping $6.3 trillion [9]. Of course, not everything in these figures is quackery – many products are science-backed foods, supplements and therapies that people would be wise to include – but the incentives are important to point out. Many faddy wellness behaviours overlap with medical conspiracism because they were cut from the same cloth.

Children Get Hurt

Sadly, the harm of nutrition populism can be illustrated when children start getting ill. Recently, a video by the (credible) nutrition PhD influencer Layne Norton showed a clip of a mother whose two-year-old son became seriously ill from drinking raw milk [10]. In the clip, the mother explained that she was pregnant with another child at the time, and that she went on to contract the pathogen from her son while caring for him, which led to her developing sepsis and miscarrying.

This horrific example demonstrates the hazards of listening to raw milk influencers who think they know better than actual scientists. The so-called “ancestral” diet (discussed in Part 2) and the type of mindset that yearns to “go back to the way things used to be” is unhelpful, privileged and outright dangerous. Content-makers who recommend raw milk should bear a large chunk of the culpability for what this poor family is going through.

I mention this to illustrate the problem when health populists feel that some random social media account is a better source of information than actual experts. When these people are presented with clear, factual evidence, they will, to quote Norton, “do Olympic level mental … gymnastics to convince themselves that the sky is polka dot when it’s actually blue”.

Embrace Nuance

MAHA lobbyist and wellness entrepreneur Calley Means recently tweeted, “Anyone who says ‘chronic disease is complicated’ has a vested interest in you being sick” [11]. The tweet has been met with much backlash with critics noting Means’ own vested interest in propagating a simplistic narrative for financial gain and to boost his political agenda. I reference the comment because it perfectly illustrates how populists unashamedly like to simplify the complexity of things like chronic disease.

Complex systems, such as ant colonies, beehives or modern human society, involve diverse, interacting and interconnecting parts that adapt to one another. The system is in constant flux. If you change one aspect of the system, other parts automatically adjust, creating something new altogether. If one person in a crowd stops to chat to someone else, people don’t just carry on, following a fixed trajectory. They adapt and move into a slightly different pathway. Chronic disease, climate change and malnutrition are examples of processes that are both immensely complex and incredibly complicated to understand.

Acknowledging complexity and embracing nuance is paramount for any credible understanding of human health and the food system. This core value underscores my book, Well Fed. How can we better embrace nuance and begin to revive the lost trust in our institutions? I have some ideas … stay tuned for Parts 4 and 5.

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* Widely attributed to Swift, this phrase has not been traced in any of his works: it may well be apocryphal [1].
** Many food corporations are likely guilty of (sensory, political, economic, philanthropic, logistic) manipulation for the sole motivation of profit. These are valid concerns that mandate an in-depth analysis, well beyond the scope of these articles.

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References:
1. Ratcliffe, S. (ed.) ‘Jonathan Swift’, Oxford Essential Quotations. Available at: https://www.oxfordreference.com/display/10.1093/acref/9780191826719.001.0001/q-oro-ed4-00010553 (Accessed: 24 November 2025).
2. Suciu, P. (2025) ‘YouTube at 20 – Billions of Hours of Content Now Viewed Daily’, Forbes, 11 February. Available at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/petersuciu/2025/02/11/youtube-at-20--billions-of-hours-of-content-viewed-are-now-daily/ (Accessed: 24 November 2025).
3. Amnesty International (2022) The Social Atrocity: Meta and the Right to Remedy for the Rohingya. Available at: https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/asa16/5933/2022/en/ (Accessed: 24 November 2025), p42.
3. Marx, K. and Engels, F. (2004) The Communist Manifesto. London: Penguin.
4. Bevir, M. (1999) ‘Foucault, Power, and Institutions’, Political Studies, 47(2), 345-59.
5. Harari, Y. N. (2024) Nexus: A Brief History of Information Networks from the Stone Age to AI. Edgware: Fern Press, pxxv.
6. Lovejoy, A. O. (1923) ‘The Supposed Primitivism of Rousseau’s “Discourse on Inequality”’, Modern Philology, 21(2), 165-86.
7. Oliver, J. E. and Wood, T. (2014) ‘Medical Conspiracy Theories and Health Behaviors in the United States’, JAMA Internal Medicine, 174(5), 817-8.
8. John Dunham & Associates (2024) 2023 Economic Impact of the Dietary Supplement Industry: Methodology and Documentation. Available at: https://nutrition.guerrillaeconomics.net/res/Methodology.pdf (Accessed: 24 November 2025).
9. Rappaport, S. (2024) ‘The Global Wellness Industry Is Now Worth $6.3 Trillion’, Bloomberg UK, 5 November. Available at: https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2024-11-05/global-wellness-industry-is-now-worth-6-3-trillion (Accessed: 24 November 2025).
10. Norton, L. (2025, November 7) Stop Drinking Raw Milk! | What the Fitness | Biolayne [Video]. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9o0wIus2keA&list=WL&index=11 (Accessed: 24 November 2025).
11. Means, C. [@calleymeans] (2025, November 1) Anyone who says “chronic disease is complicated” has a vested interest in you being sick [Post]. X. Available at: https://x.com/calleymeans/status/1984610861089243608 (Accessed: 24 November 2025).

The fundamental cause of trouble is that, in the modern world, the stupid are cocksure while the intelligent are full of doubt.
- Bertrand Russell

Science is, in many ways, humankind’s best attempt to identify truth. It could be described as “the continual pursuit of the truth while being content in the knowledge that you’ll not find it”. The phrase’s usefulness is underscored by its humbleness.

Recently, however, I came across an alternative perspective. In his 1962 book, The Science of Scientific Revolutions, Thomas Kuhn argues that to sufficiently understand revolutionary changes in science, we need to look outside of it. His view is that science doesn’t march steadily towards truth, but advances through conceptual models – theories – that change, not only through evidence, but also through social forces [1].

Through the interaction of different perspectives towards a synthesis, science shapes society and society shapes science. Yet, the work of academics is just a small part of the power of scientific discovery. It’s also necessary to chart the trajectories of the myriad other actors – policymakers, journalists, NGOs, investors, visionaries, educators and activists – whose values and beliefs interpenetrate with those of scientists and inventors, creating the conditions that help determine how scientific thinking becomes embedded in public life [2].

Those who follow my work will be well aware that concerns about nutrition misinformation keep me up at night. There’s a whole chapter on the topic in Well Fed [3], and I’ve ruminated on the issue in several articles, including Nutrition Misinformation and Social Media, Nutrition Bullshit and Messiah Syndrome In Nutrition.

In this series, I’m exploring health misinformation more through a political theory lens, because, like it or not, politics is tied to nutrition science. In The Rise of Nutrition Populism Part 1, I discussed populism in relation to health and fitness, outlined what’s meant by “information” and showed how those who wish to discredit institutions lack course correction themselves. I ended by lamenting the erosion of trust in our institutions. Here, in Part 2, as I mourn the loss of the reliance on experts and suggest the factors contributing to it, I’ll suggest how self-scepticism – and maybe even a greater acceptance of religion in scientific circles – might help to bridge the gap between nutrition science and conspiratorial narratives.

The Perils of Certainty

We live in a culture where uncertainty is penalised and certainty is rewarded. Health influencers with a high follower count all have one key thing in common: they’re convincing. The brutal simplicity of their content makes their message highly compelling. But there’s a massive downside to this: after being showered with a dizzying array of equally convincing but conflicting opinions, someone with little in the way of nutrition education is left confused and worried about their own health.

Social media might pretend to reveal alternative viewpoints, but the reality is that it mostly serves to underline those viewpoints that confirm what we’re already feeling. Limitations of time and bandwidth necessitate selectivity when honest communicators respond to misinformation. Too often, it’s easy to feel hopeless given the inaccuracy, misunderstanding and massive imbalance between power and reach between loud voices and the fact-checkers on the sidelines.

An experimental mindset doesn’t create fear; rather, it nurtures curiosity. On the other hand, those veiled in certainty feel no need to look for other perspectives; they “know” all they need to know. Certainty is particularly prevalent in fitness and nutrition. Someone so invested in their own dietary philosophy, such as the carnivore diet – a way of eating that consists almost entirely of animal products – might feel that he doesn’t need to explore how, say, meat-rich diets contribute disproportionately to climate change, let alone if his way of eating might be harming his own health. Instead, simply watching the latest Insta reel from his favourite meat-munching prophet amounts to a sufficient level of rigour, and reading bite-sized blurbs from carnivore advocates constitutes “doing my own research”. Taking advice from someone who shares your dietology is far less cognitively burdensome than reading a critical review of the pros and cons of meat-heavy diets. Seeking and understanding opposing perspectives takes time and can be emotionally draining: we don’t like it when we’re confronted with antithetical worldviews.

Feeling scared, untrusting and angry is especially likely when it comes to our health. Nutrition is a particularly polarising topic, and hearing different views can leave our emotions running riot. Consequently, the act of being open to other perspectives can be highly taxing. When a society is awash with people so steadfast in their opinion that they neither want or, they feel, need to waste precious time acquiring new information, what results is segmented groups of polarised opinions. Certainty is dangerous.

Loss of Trust in Experts

In recent years, a curious and concerning trend has emerged. People are turning away from genuine experts in their droves and, instead, placing their trust in self-styled “gurus”. From climate science to the food on our plates, this shift raises pressing questions: “Why is true academic expertise being ignored?”, “What makes non-experts so appealing?” and “Why are people placing their trust in online demigods over scientists?”

Most people, even conspiracy theorists, will agree that the concept of “expertise” exists and that it’s important. If this is the case, then, why are so many dismissive of genuine experts? The crucial point of difference seems to be where people believe the experts lie. Those who respect science will have some grasp of what it means to be an expert. They’ll acknowledge that true expertise involves an education in a specific subject followed by years of experience working within a relatively narrow field. Due to my 30-plus years working in nutrition and dietetics, I’m often referred to as an “expert”. I’m not. Despite me having a good deal of knowledge in a number of areas of food and nutrition, I’m an expert in none. In my role, I get to meet genuine experts and, because of my experience, I’m able to have quite high-level conversations that I (mostly) understand. Through these interactions, I recognise true expertise and am fully aware that I don’t possess it.

For populists, expertise is subjective. They seem to only acknowledge expertise when and where they deem someone to be an expert. Everyone, when they get on an aeroplane, wants the pilot to be a real pilot, not self-taught. But when an expert’s claims run counter to their own, the expert is not an “expert”. To make sense of this, we should look at how several cultural and technological factors have reshaped people’s sense of what an “expert” looks and sounds like.

An obvious reason for this loss of trust is the rise of social media and podcasts. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok and YouTube have democratised information sharing, allowing anyone with a smartphone and a heavy dose of charisma to build a large following. While this can be entertaining, it also means that someone with no scientific training can, in a few short minutes, disseminate highly questionable or even dangerous advice to millions. Their appeal lies more in their relatability than quality of their information. By speaking in everyday language and avoiding technical jargon, they offer seemingly easy solutions to complex problems. In contrast, many academic experts can come across as dry or inaccessible, despite having decades of experience in their fields.

Another factor is the mistrust of institutions (discussed in Part 1). Scandals, conflicting guidelines and corporate influence have led many to question the motives behind mainstream science. For example, shifting nutritional guidelines over the years – such as the demonisation and later redemption of dietary fats – have confused the public and made many understandably sceptical of scientific consensus altogether. This scepticism creates fertile ground for pseudo-experts to step in with messages that are emotionally satisfying. Consider, again, the popularity of the carnivore diet. This dietary strategy has been pushed by a few outspoken influencers, most – though not all – of whom lack any formal training in nutrition or medicine. Despite the lack of long-term studies validating the safety or efficacy of this style of eating, these wannabe authorities often cite personal anecdotes and cherry-picked data to support their claims. Meanwhile, trained dietitians and nutrition scientists who caution against such extremes, citing evidence of long-term risks like heart disease or nutrient deficiencies, are dismissed as part of a “broken system”.

Then there’s Covid, which seems to have exacerbated the district of expertise. It stripped us of scientific consensus. During the pandemic, scientists, who were supposed to be knowledgeable, disagreed. The disease was so fast-moving and, with new findings being revealed daily, academics were frequently forced to change their opinions, which, to some, looked like they were contradicting themselves. As well as this, despite the fact that many of the scientists who informed policymakers were aligned, others were politically driven. The lack of academic consensus during Covid led many who had previously trusted science to lose their respect for it.

As well as this, there’s the seduction of contrarian thinking. People enjoy the idea that they’ve “unlocked” a secret that the mainstream doesn’t want them to know. It’s an empowering narrative that can make scientific consensus feel more like dogma than a carefully vetted body of knowledge. Non-experts exploit this by presenting themselves as rebels exposing uncomfortable truths, rather than simply being uninformed. The allure of “uncovering truths” should not be underestimated; its appeal is often stronger than financial incentives: people feel good about themselves when they’re convinced that they’re right. Contrarian thinking lies at the core of nutrition populism.

Bridging The Ravine

When trust in science is low, people might instead look to history and mythology to provide comfort and to reassure themselves. This yearning for “the way things used to be” is evident in the popularity of the so-called “ancestral diet” phenomenon. This fashionable dietary philosophy is based on consuming whole, minimally processed foods similar to those eaten by our pre-agrarian human ancestors, while avoiding ultra-processed foods, refined sugars and seed oils. The ancestral diet is an example of the kinds of pronouncements of faith that help explain why today’s populism is coming from the conservative right.

Such beliefs suggest that any gatekeeping is inherently wrong, yet the alternative is to fling open the sleuthgates and let all the slurry in; and this is what’s happening. Yet, today’s populists suffer from the similar inconveniences that plagued the radical anti-establishment movements of previous generations. Many scientists, having aligned themselves on the political left, view religious orthodoxy as being associated with the right and contrary to Enlightenment values. Dan M. Kahan, whose work examines public perceptions of science, has explored how cultural backgrounds and beliefs affect the understanding and acceptance of scientific information.​ According to Kahan, scientific literacy is not just about knowing facts or methods, it’s also about how science is situated within broader cultural and ideological systems [4]. For a solid grasp of science, he argues, recognising its social, ethical and religious dimensions is especially important in diverse societies. Kahan promotes a more pluralistic view, where multiple ways of knowing can coexist [5]. He connects to the idea of critical scientific literacy – the ability to evaluate and apply scientific knowledge in social and ethical contexts – helping people to think critically about both science and belief systems, and how they influence decisions in areas like medicine, evolution and climate change [6].

Could scientific literacy and religious belief coexist in a way that helps the science-literate bridge the ravine between those who embrace science and those who mistrust it? Acknowledging cultural values is important when effectively communicating nutrition science to diverse audiences (something I’ve previously articulated, for example, in The Cultural Impulse). Scientific literacy is not just about knowledge; it’s also about cultural negotiation, especially in contexts where alternative beliefs are strong. Engaging in respectful dialogue, seeking understanding and recognising that science and religious views can be complementary, rather than contradictory, could be part of the antidote to polarisation.*

Self-Scepticism

As humans, we desire easy answers. Populists might be inclined to turn to would-be prophets who proclaim what seems to be the truth, rather than to scientists who know they have to do the legwork required to understand and address things. Yes, science provides imperfect knowledge and points to the difficulties we encounter when changing the world. But we live in a world of trade-offs, and there are seldom easy answers to social problems. We can’t create a perfect world – utopia isn’t possible – so any kind of protopic social justice rooted in reality must try to increase human flourishing while recognising that not all problems can be eliminated; certainly not easily or quickly.

As even geniuses suffer from confirmation bias, they shouldn’t be trusted to correct their own mistakes. Science is a team effort. It relies on institutional collaboration rather than individual scientists. Institutions are, of course, prone to error. However, scientific institutions reward self-scepticism. Conspiracy theorists tend to be extremely sceptical when it comes to the existence of a “consensus”, but when it comes to their own beliefs, they lose all their scepticism, readily falling prey to their own confirmation biases. The trademark of science is not merely scepticism, but self-scepticism, and at the heart of every scientific institution we find a strong self-correction mechanism. Academic institutions can, and often do, reach broad consensus about the accuracy of certain theories – such as cigarette smoking causing lung cancer and a calorie surplus leading to an increase in adipose tissue – but only because these theories have managed to survive intense efforts to disprove them, launched not only by outsiders but by members of the institutions themselves [7].

The antidote to poor science is not mythology, and it’s not the distrust of institutions; rather it’s better science and science done correctly. We must, of course, continue to hold our institutions to account and expect them – and those within them – to behave with the utmost honesty, rigour and humility. In fact, we should demand an even higher degree of integrity than we require from the rest of us. This is how we can curb the assault from nutrition populism and how we can earn back the lost trust in science.

The Rise of Nutrition Populism Part 3 will follow soon.

* While, personally, I’m not fully convinced, I’m open to the idea and find it interesting. I plan on exploring it in more detail.

References:
1. Kuhn, T. S. (1962) The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.
2. Krimsky, S. (2019) GMOs Decoded – A Skeptic’s View of Genetically Modified Foods. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp129-30.
3. Collier, J. (2025) Well Fed: How Modern Diets Are Failing Us (and What We Can Do About It). London: Thorsons, pp29-47.
4. Kahan, D. M. (2023) ‘Ideology, Motivated Reasoning, and Cognitive Reflection’, Judgment and Decision Making, 8(4), 407-24.
5. Kahan, D. M. (2011) ‘Cultural Cognition of Scientific Consensus’, Journal of Risk Research, 14(2), 147-74.
6. Kahan, D. M. et al. (2012) ‘The Polarizing Impact of Science Literacy and Numeracy on Perceived Climate Change Risks’, Nature Climate Change, 2, 735.
7. Harari, Y. N. (2024) Nexus: A Brief History of Information Networks from the Stone Age to AI. Edgware: Fern Press, p104.

Ignorance is strength.
- George Orwell [1]

“You’re being poisoned! Multinationals run by evil tyrants are manipulating you. ‘Big Food’, in collaboration with ‘Big Pharma’, wants to make you sick so, together, they can take your money and control you. Wake up!”

While some people dismiss such claims as conspiratorial codswallop, many find assertions such as these highly alluring. This kind of mindset has pervaded society increasingly in recent years, and we’re now firmly residing in an era partially defined by a misguided distrust – hatred, even – of genuine experts and professional institutions. Sadly, this ideology has eaten its way into the world of food and nutrition where it’s known as “nutrition populism”.

This worldview produces confusion and polarisation. When confronted with nutrition and fitness communicators who contradict each other, who should you trust to tell the truth? On the one hand, there are shirtless fitness demigods strutting around supermarkets shouting things like “Cornflakes are killing you!” And on the other hand, there are skilled academics sharing their lifelong learnings, playing an unsuccessful game of whack-a-mole in a vain attempt to debunk an ever-mounting pile of fallacistic bullshit.

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Over a series of articles, I’ll be discussing nutrition populism. I’ll attempt to unravel the narrative and show you how to recognise it. I’ll demonstrate why it’s both a hazard to your health and a dangerous threat to the environment. I’ll even have a stab at suggesting what we can do about it, both as individuals and as a society. However, to manage your expectations – unlike many of the personalities I’ll be describing – I won’t provide answers. Rather, my goal is to urge readers to take this belief system seriously and recognise its many guises, and hopefully I’ll go some way towards arming you with the tools to help you navigate the health misinformation thrown around by populist actors. Understanding why trust is eroding, despite an overflowing access to information, might just be the first step to reclaiming it.

What Is Populism?

Populism is a political ideology that presents a radical challenge to the way we view information, and it’s been making a comeback in a big way over the past few years. Proponents of the populist worldview argue that traditional institutions gain authority by claiming to gather information and uncover the truth – and that they do so through lies and deceit. Mainstream regulators, journalists, doctors and academic experts are, according to the narrative, either elite cabals or puppets of wannabe malevolent dictators who are deliberately spreading misinformation to amass wealth, gain power or garner privileges for themselves at the expense of “the people” [2]. In the populist view, information is a weapon, and in the wrong hands, it’s a potential weapon for control.

The term “populism” comes from the Latin populus, which means “the people”. In a true democratic society, “the people” are considered the sole source of legitimate political authority. Specific individuals or groups are assigned by “the people” to represent them when it comes to passing laws and regulations. This is a fundamental principle of a well-functioning society [3]. While populists may claim to cherish this basic democratic principle, they actually have a much more cynical perspective. Rather, they somehow conclude that a single group or leader of their choosing should have a monopoly on all power. There’s a glaring contradiction here: populists manage to base a totalitarian pursuit of unlimited power on a seemingly impeccable democratic principle.

The Dutch political scientist, Cas Mudde, provides a definition of populism as an “ideology that considers society to be ultimately separated into two homogenous and antagonistic groups, ‘the pure people’ versus ‘the corrupt elite’” [4]. Populists claim that scientific institutions like the mainstream media and universities spread misinformation to advance the interests of the corrupt elites at the expense of the people. In its extreme, advocates claim there to be no such thing as objective truth. Rather, everyone has their own truth which is used by some to control or subjugate others. The core tenet of populism is that power is the only reality and the majority of social interactions are power struggles. Humans, they assume, are primarily interested in power, and any claim to be interested in something like truth, objectivity or justice is nothing more than a tactic to gain power.

Here lies the crux of the issue: through the populist perspective, language is undermined. Words like “truth” and “fact” lack meaning and, consequently, don’t point to an objective reality. Rather, people see them as subjective and might ask “Whose truth?” and “Whose facts?”

Trustworthy Information

Why, when it comes to our health and the foods we choose, is populism so rife? To fully grasp how the populist mindset relates to nutrition, we need to look at what we mean by “information”. This is important, because it’s through the gathering and processing of information that we gain a better understanding of how humans can flourish. By gathering information from disciplines like medicine, physics, economics and nutrition science, healthcare providers can determine the causes of diseases enabling more effective strategies to be developed and health policy to be improved.

There are numerous attempts at defining “information”. They include: “facts provided or learned about something or someone” [5]; “knowledge obtained from investigation, study or instruction” [6]; and, from the Oxford English Dictionary website: “The imparting of knowledge in general. The shaping of the mind or character; communication of instructive knowledge; education, training” [7]. Yet, although these attempts include words like “facts” and “knowledge”, they all fall short of conveying whether the information provided is truthful. Another definition, “meaning assigned to data within some context for the use of that data” [8], gets closer to the mark because, by using the word “meaning”, it captures subjectivity. However, the Wikipedia definition seems to be the most satisfactory: “Information is an abstract concept that refers to something which has the power to inform. At the most fundamental level, it pertains to the interpretation (perhaps formally) of that which may be sensed, or their abstractions” [9].

Generally speaking, more information helps us to become wiser. However, not all the information we encounter will actually be factual. Many things can go wrong on the path from information to truth, and many honest mistakes will be made in the process of acquiring data. As discussed in Data vs. Intuition in Nutrition Science, we must be mindful of the shortfalls of relying solely on data when making decisions [10]. Often people will inadvertently misuse data through succumbing to their own biases or from a fear of being wrong. Others might simply make honest errors in the way they interpret data. Of greater concern, however, are malicious actors, motivated by greed or power, who intentionally manipulate data and hide important findings in their attempt to deceive. Too often, bad, insufficient or misused data will result in experts misidentifying how certain diseases are caused.

Even when the data is accurate, what we do with it depends on our values. And values – often disguised as “wisdom” – are shaped less by facts than by upbringing, ideology, and cultural norms. “Wisdom” is commonly understood to mean “making the right decisions”. But what do we mean by “right”? “Right” can be subjective. What one deems to be “right” is influenced by value judgements, and these differ between people, stemming from our varied backgrounds and life experiences.

There are numerous examples where an increasing amount of data has given rise to more information. This has enabled humans to course correct and to understand the world better. Yet, non-communicable diseases (NCDs) are on the rise, more of us are experiencing mental health problems, we’re continuing to spew greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, animals are being subjected to unnecessary suffering and millions of humans continue to be exploited. Moreover, some of these plights have become problems only in recent decades. This begs the question: why, despite having more information than ever before, are we still faced with these problems?

A fundamental difficulty we face is determining what information is to be trusted and what is misinformation. Who is to be the arbiter of truth, and by which criteria? Government bureaucrats? Appointed fact checkers? Panels of experts? Do we grant certain individuals or groups the authority to determine what’s true? What if they’re wrong or dishonest? There are, of course, always changing data and new analyses. This is understandable, especially during times of dangerous, ever-evolving, fast-moving situations, and we are constantly learning new information. During the COVID-19 pandemic, we saw plenty of contradictions from the official authorities. Face masks, for instance, we were informed were unnecessary, but then later we were told they were essential. The lab-leak hypothesis was considered conspiracy fodder, until it wasn’t. Public trust took a beating and not without good reason.

The Rise of Anti-Science Populism

If power is the only reality, and if information is just a weapon, what might this imply about the populist leaders themselves? Could it be that they, too, are interested only in power? Are they too lying to gain power?

Subtly, populists have created tactics to help extricate themselves from this potential paradox. Some advocates claim adherence to the ideals of modern science and to the traditions of sceptical empiricism. They might warn about trusting any institutions or figures of authority, and this might include self-proclaimed populist parties and politicians. However, by throwing around phrases like “They’re lying to you!”, “Wake up!” and “Do your own research!”, they mean to imply that you should trust only what you, yourself, can directly observe. While on the surface this appears to be an empirical position, it suggests that large-scale institutions like courts, the mainstream media, hospitals and universities shouldn’t be trusted. Individuals who make the effort, so the perspective goes, can still find the truth by themselves [11].

This approach might, on some level, sound scientific. Indeed, it’s very simple to understand, bringing with it significant appeal to free-spirited individuals. Yet it leaves open the question of how we can cooperate to build things like healthcare systems, conduct peer-reviewed research or pass environmental regulations, all of which demand large-scale institutional organisation. How can a single individual be capable of doing all the necessary research to decide whether and by how much the earth’s climate is heating up, the complexity of the multiple processes behind it and, crucially, what should be done about it? How would one person go about collecting past, present and future climate data from all around the world? To the casual eye, trusting only “my own research” might sound scientific, but in practice, it amounts to believing there is no such thing as objective truth. Science and the pursuit of the truth mandate a collaborative effort involving multiple institutions rather than a personal quest. Moreover, despite the demand to “do your own research”, the only conclusion permitted is one that’s in agreement with the narrative being presented. Otherwise, you’re either “stupid” or a dissenter.

Some populists don’t even bother with the modern scientific ideal of finding the truth via research. Instead, they revert to the pre-enlightenment perspective and look to divine revelation and mysticism. This radical worldview might involve a total shunning of modern institutions, instead declaring faith in tenets of the past. This goes some way towards explaining why today’s populists are mostly coming from the conservative right. These folk claim that what you read in mainstream newspapers and academic journals is a mere elitist ploy to gain power, yet the texts of yesteryear are the absolute truth.

A subtle variation on this theme is where people put their trust in charismatic fitness communicators, such as former professional bodybuilder Eddie Abbew, who are often depicted by their supporters as possessing a mystical bond with “the people” (as discussed in Messiah Syndrome In Nutrition), yet actual nutritionists, dietitians and academics are apparently either lying in order to gain power for themselves or are disillusioned or incompetent. Influencers like Abbew are larger-than-life communicators endowed with the role of being an infallible mouthpiece of the people, a leader who exposes all the lies: “They’re lying to you!”

Lack of Course Correction

Here we have a paradox. Populist supporters warn us that all human elites are driven by a dangerous hunger for power, yet they often end up entrusting all power to a few alluring individuals. One explanation for this is that populism offers simplicity. Democratic institutions like universities, courts, governments, hospitals and surgeries, and traditional media are complicated. They tend to be bureaucratic behemoths, and their complexity is the very reason why we need them. Few people understand how newspapers, healthcare, parliaments, courts and universities function, even those who work in them. It’s because they’re so hard to fathom, that populists attack them, instead claiming to offer an alternative “truth”.

Allegedly through their control of the media, academia and other institutions, the powerful are trying to deceive the working classes. A fundamental part of the populists’ credo is the belief that “the people” is not a collection of flesh-and-blood individuals with various interests and opinions, but a unified mystical body with a single “will” [12]. In a true free-thinking democratic society, many will agree that “the people” is the only legitimate source of power, but this notion is based on the understanding that the people is not a unitary entity and therefore cannot possess a single “will”. Through a plurality of opinions and wills, we have diversity at its best. Yet populists deny diverse opinions and instead insist that there is really only one will and that they alone represent this will. With only a single opinion, how can conversation occur? Populism empties society of meaning, claiming to be the sole legitimate source of all authority, seeking to establish a one-size-fits-all approach where any alternative viewpoint is dissent. Populists seek to monopolise all types of authority including media outlets, courts and universities. Conversely, a true democracy doesn’t deny the validity of alternative sources of authority in other spheres. The independent media outlets, courts and universities of a democratic society have in-built self-correcting mechanisms that aim to protect the objective truth even from the majority opinion.

Suspicious of institutions that claim to seek objective truths, populists instead see them as a smoke screen for elites in their quest for illegitimate power. This drives populists to be sceptical of the pursuit of the truth, to argue that “power is the only reality” and to seek to undercut or appropriate the authority of any independent institutions that might oppose them. The result? A grim, cynical jungle inhabited by human creatures obsessed only with power. All interactions are power struggles and all institutions are depicted as cliques promoting the interests of their members. Academia doesn’t care about facts – only about protecting the interests of the professors. Biologists, climatologists and epidemiologists are merely interest groups feathering their own nests at the expense of the people.

The key defining feature of a populist communicator is that they claim to represent your best interests and that anyone who disagrees with them either suffers from false consciousness, is stupid or isn’t part of the people. If an impartial academic disagrees with them, they’re either incompetent or an industry shill who takes payments to come up with their research conclusion. In a well-functioning democracy, citizens have confidence in the results of scientific research because they trust that these institutes are committed to the truth.

It’s important to note that, for many who hold this worldview, it’s a genuinely held belief. Many people embrace such narratives because they see them as honest accounts of reality. Indeed, many might not even think of themselves as politically minded, let alone even realise they embrace the populist mindset. If this is the case, how, then, can we tell if someone is of the populist persuasion? Most tellingly, they tend to assert unwavering support for populist leaders and influencers and act cynically towards mainstream institutions.

The Appeal of Health Populists

If populism presents such a dark worldview, why is it so appealing to so many? By reducing all interactions to power struggles, it simplifies reality and makes highly complex phenomena like obesity, NCD and climate change easy to understand. Another allure is that it occasionally hits the mark. Institutions are run by humans, and humans can be biased, flawed or even corrupt. There are journalists who do intentionally mislead the public. Academia is too often plagued by bias, backhand funding and nepotism. When these failings come to light, populist narratives are reinforced, lending credibility to broader claims of systemic deceit. However, it is for these precise reasons that institutions have self-correcting mechanisms as part of their core structure. In science, many an error will be made in the pursuit of the truth; making mistakes is a feature of the scientific method, not a bug.

Here we have an asymmetric phenomenon. If an academic or journalist makes a mistake, not only is it hard for them to confess their error and submit a retraction, but it’s nigh on impossible to get people to acknowledge their retraction. Since the populist worldview posits that power is the only reality, they can barely entertain the notion that a media outlet or an academic discipline would ever be inspired to course-correct. Conversely, when populists contradict themselves, as they frequently do, any mistakes are simply brushed under the rug.

Returning to Eddie Abbew, supporters often defend him with comments like “All he’s saying is to eat real food, what’s wrong with that?” Moreover, this is something Abbew himself does when challenged. As the medical doctor and personal trainer Gary McGowan points out in an Instagram post, this is known as the motte-and-bailey fallacy, a rhetoric characterised by someone conflating a more controversial, hard-to-defend position (the “bailey”) and a well-fortified, less controversial and easier-to-defend one (the “motte”). When challenged on the controversial claim, the individual strategically retreats to the safer, more defensible position, making it seem like their original point is still valid, even though they’ve shifted their argument [13]. McGowan cleverly illustrates nutrition populist behaviours with examples. Actors like Abbew use “they” to pitch “the people” against the “elite”, as in “You’re sick because they want you to eat grains so that you become ill and buy more medicines”; claim that those running institutions are “evil”, using phrases like “Nutritionists and doctors are all corrupt because they are trained by Big Pharma and Big Food!”; and invoke alarmism and threat, such as “It’s time to shut down these food corporations, they are poisoning our kids!” McGowan also shows how populist health influencers invoke oversimplification and single-cause explanations to simplify the complex aetiology of chronic diseases – for example, “We know why obesity has been increasing, it’s because of sugar!” – and how they avoid debate with scientists by outright claiming that they’re all corrupt [14].

My book, 'Well Fed'

Erosion of Trust

We might be living in a pivotal moment in history with populist movements eroding trust in large-scale institutions and dismantling cooperation during the very time when humanity is confronted by existential challenges such as ecological collapse and explosion in technology. Populists are often right to be suspicious of information, yet they are wrong to think that power is the only reality and that information is always a weapon.

We have a zero sum contest between those who want to maintain some degree of open societies involving democracies with functioning institutions versus those who want to build closed belligerent societies and who make it impossible to want to share space. Instead, we should be embracing debate and diverse views.

So, what can be done? Scientists and institutions need to engage more effectively with the public. This means communicating clearly, acknowledging uncertainty when it exists and being transparent about how scientific knowledge evolves and why that’s a strength, not a weakness. In a world overflowing with information, the challenge isn’t just fighting misinformation, it’s rebuilding trust in the people who have dedicated their lives to understanding the truth: the genuine experts. The stakes couldn’t be higher. This is what we’ll explore in Part 2.

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References:
1. Orwell, G. (1949) Nineteen Eighty-Four. London: Secker & Warburg.
2. Harari, Y. N. (2024) Nexus. Edgware: Fern Press, pxxiv.
3. ibid (2), p129.
4. Mudde, C. (2004) ‘The Populist Zeitgeist’, Government and Opposition, 39(4), 541-63.
5. Google Search.
6. Merriam-Webster (n.d.) Information. Available at: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/information (Accessed: 19 May 2025).
7. Oxford University Press (n.d.) Information. Available at: https://www.oed.com/dictionary/information_n?tl=true (Accessed: 19 May 2025).
8. Sheldon, S. (2024) Definition: Information. TechTarget. Available at: https://www.techtarget.com/searchdatamanagement/definition/information (Accessed: 19 May 2025).
9. Wikipedia (2025) Information. Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Information (Accessed: 19 May 2025).
10. Collier, J. (2025) ‘Data vs. Intuition in Nutrition Science’, Thought for Food, 10 March. Available at: https://jamescollier.substack.com/p/data-vs-intuition-in-nutrition-science (Accessed: 19 May 2025).
11. ibid (2), p133.
12. ibid (2), p129.
13. McGowan, G. (2024) ‘Revisiting One of the Most Interesting Phenomena of 2024 — The Continued Rise of Nutritional Populists Who Shout at Bread in Supermarkets’ [Instagram]. 31 December. Available at: https://www.instagram.com/p/DEP5RRuII2E/
(Accessed: 19 May 2025).
14. ibid (13).

You’re an incredible being. You have the necessary cognitive and physiological flexibility to easily adjust your diet to get all the nutrients and energy you need from a huge variety of sources. Through hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, you’ve learned how to successfully fine-tune your nutritional intake by leveraging the vast amount of food sources that have accompanied our existence. You are an adaptivore.

Nature prescribes no single diet, despite what your favourite online fitness demigod might tell you. The foods our ancestors ate varied dramatically over time and space, driven by what was available in their ecosystems. Forged by uncertainty, we have evolved the ability to survive and thrive on an impressive diversity of foods with different proportions of plants and animals.

I introduced the term “adaptivore” in my book, Well Fed: How modern diets are failing us (and what we can do about it) [1]. Here, I’ll summarise the concept and share a couple of further thoughts. You can learn more about the relevance of humans being adaptivores within the global food system in the book.

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What Is an Adaptivore?

An omnivore has the ability to process nutrition from both plant and animal matter. However, an omnivore might only acquire the sustenance it requires from a fairly narrow range of foods. An adaptivore, on the other hand, is an opportunistic omnivore with the ability to readily adjust its diet to glean nutrition from a wide range of foods – plants, animals, fungi and microorganisms – and is able to adapt under different conditions and circumstances. This ability to adapt occurs at the levels of the gene, the individual, its social groups and its species. The definition of an adaptivore is [2]:

An adaptivore is an omnivorous animal who, through adaptations that occur – or have occurred – at the level of the individual organism, its social group and the species, possesses the ability to readily adapt to be able to acquire suitable nutrition from a wide range of plant, animal, fungi and microbial matter.

As adaptivores, humans can obtain nutrition from a vast selection of foods from multiple different environments. This ability is the result of the countless combinations of physical and behavioural adaptations that have taken place by natural selection, social influences, cultural traditions and how we were raised. Moreover, what we eat also affects the microorganisms that reside symbiotically in our digestive systems. Not only do these microbes influence how we process food, but they can affect our emotions and behaviour, too. Consequently, adaptations also occur at the level of the microbiome: as the bugs adapt, so do we.

We should look at what makes human food habits different from other animals. How is it that we can consume so many other organisms to successfully sustain ourselves? What’s involved in being an adaptivore?

Optimal Foraging

This ability to acquire nutrition from a wide range of foods is a survival advantage absent in many other species. Cows, for instance, can only munch on grass, foliage, grains and some fruits*, while lions rely on their ability to catch prey for sustenance. Why then, if their physiologies limit their ability to process nutrition, are so many animals picky eaters? If you lived in a harsh environment with a scarce supply of food, why make things even harder for yourself by being finicky?

As Marvin Harris pointed out in The Sacred Cow and the Abominable Pig: Riddles of Food and Culture, few species consume all potentially accessible food sources, despite them possessing alimentary tracts able to support the digestion and absorption of the valuable nutrients and calories available from these shunned foods [3]. Wolves seek out and hunt only particular species, passing up on opportunities to consume many edible creatures present in their local habitat. Likewise, humans eschew potential food sources despite our ability to process nutrients from almost all the animals and a large amount of plants available to us. How often do you eat grasshoppers, caterpillars or other creepy-crawlies when you’re a little peckish and the bugs are at arm’s reach? And I’m betting you’ve a strong aversion to eating your pet dog, despite his carcass being a rich source of protein, fat and vitamins!

In these times of plenty, of course, we can freely pick pretty much whatever we want, as an abundant choice is just a short saunter to the kitchen. But, only recently has there been this abundance of food. The struggle our ancestors had to endure for their next meal might seem incomprehensible today, and many modern populations have to endure similarly arduous ordeals. Why, then, are convenient sources of protein and calories avoided in favour of potential acquisitions that involve considerably greater levels of hunting and foraging?

A concept known as “optimal foraging theory” describes how creatures adapt to potential food sources that are available [4]. The theory states that evolution favours the selection of behavioural strategies that maximise an animal’s net energy intake when compared to time spent foraging, hunting, handling and preparing food. For example, the potentially huge calorie and protein gain from hunting a big animal is worthwhile for a wolf pack, even if the energy cost, time spent and risk are high. Although it might be easier to hunt smaller animals, such as rabbits, there’s still some cost for a meagre net calorie benefit per hour of work. For similar reasons, certain human tribes typically shun many potential food sources, such as insects and snakes. However, if larger and more fruitful food sources become really scarce, then the smaller, lower net nutrition foods are more likely to be sought out.**

This might explain why, until recently, humans didn’t eat green leafy vegetables in any great qualities. It just wasn’t worth the hassle. Leafy greens provide very little energy and protein despite containing vitamins, minerals and fibre. Today’s intensive agricultural methods and diminished soil health have led to reduced levels of micronutrients, meaning it’s more beneficial for us to spend time chomping on salads, especially as foraging for veggies means little more effort than chucking a few extras in your supermarket trolley. Previously, when we were getting sufficient roughage and key micronutrients elsewhere, there was less need to bother with greens.

Opportunistic Omnivores

Few animal species share the fruits (or meats) of their forages, at least in any appreciable amounts. Humans are the only primates who share their acquisitions with others (to any notable degree), an act that’s provided significant evolutionary advantages. While some members of our social group were out hunting for dinner, others were gathering berries and digging for tubers. This division of labour helped to ensure a stable, dependable source of food for everyone in the tribe when the hunters had an unsuccessful day. Next time your partner goes shopping for ingredients to cook a meal or when you pull your smartphone from your pocket to order a pizza, consider how this incredibly flexible and adaptable strategy continues to be highly advantageous for our species. Our predisposition to sharing our food has been a major component to the development of human altruistic behaviour. Sharing is caring.

Our willingness to share our catchings and our flexibility to select or shun potential sources of sustenance helps to demonstrate that humans are adaptivores. Adaptations have allowed our ancestors to flourish amid highly challenging environments by developing the ability to acquire nutrition from a vast array of different foods. Evolutionary adaptations have furnished us with the ability to process proteins, fats, carbs, fibre, vitamins and minerals from numerous sources, permitting us to readily adjust the foods that make up our diets when mandated by external pressures.

These adaptations began to really take shape when our hominin ancestors split from our chimp and bonobo cousins. From the early members of our genus, through our ancestors acquiring the ability to manipulate fire and use tools, right up until recent millennia, multiple adaptations in human populations have enabled the evolution of physiological traits best suited to various environments. As observed by Herman Pontzer in his book Burn: The Misunderstood Science of Metabolism, “diet and metabolism are such strong evolutionary drivers that we can adapt to almost anything we have to eat” [6]. There are numerous examples from archaeological and genetic records, such as the ability for adults to digest the milk sugar lactose: a mutation that happened in two separate populations independently [7]. Another is how genes that relate to high-fat diets are more common in populations whose diets are seafood-rich, such as Inuit populations [8]. Or indigenous tribes living in Chile’s Atacama Desert who have adapted to the naturally high levels of arsenic in their groundwater, with natural selection favouring gene variants that help speed up the clearance of arsenic from the body [9].

Yet, a lot of the plants present in our environment aren’t suitable for human consumption. Despite us being surrounded by grass, leaves and foliage – sources of nutrition enjoyed by many other species – their metabolic cost of digestion is so high that it’s not worth it. Adaptation is bi-directional: just as we can acquire nutrition from a vast range of foods, we’ve adapted to not being able to process nutrients from costly flora. It benefited our ancestors to favour more nutrient-dense fruits, tubers and honey.

Humans are an adaptable and flexible species with the ability to eat a lot of what’s potentially available to us. To quote Pontzer, “we are opportunistic omnivores”: there’s no singular, natural human diet [10]. Our ability to garner sustenance from food, however, isn’t just about physically evolved mechanisms; it equally involves psychological, emotional, social and cultural influences.

Cultural Impulses

As well as selection processes that have benefited our lineage occurring at the level of the gene, cultural memes – ideas, traditions and behaviours that evolve in a similar fashion to genes – have also been responsible for adaptations. The memes that are advantageous for populations are selected for and subsequently spread across populations and societies, and include dietary preferences that have been built into cultural food laws and customs. These socially propelled mechanisms have been key in helping humans decide what to eat. Culture, through slow incremental processes linked to evolution, has helped humans reconcile our needs with what nature has had to offer during times when food was harder to acquire. From this, food culture has evolved into so much more.

In my article The Cultural Impulse, I outline the importance of culture in the evolution of our food choices. Food culture has been integral to our evolution as adaptivores. Some adaptations have provided a reproductive advantage – a concept known as “Darwinian gastronomy” [11] – as shown by children from tropical areas who’ve been raised on their tradition’s spicy cuisine and are therefore able to tolerate these strongly seasoned foods. Some spices have an antimicrobial effect, helping to prevent spoilage and providing some protection against food poisoning [12]. Spicy foods can also stimulate sweating, helping us to cool off in hotter temperatures [13]. Furthermore, as hot weather suppresses our appetite, adding spices to food can stimulate our biological responses to food cues by making meals more flavoursome and interesting, increasing our appetite for them.

Adaptive mechanisms that involve our physiologies, habits, cultural beliefs and emotional attachments to food help to explain why we have flavour preferences for certain foods and culinary customs. Reminded by our biologies, we remember which foods we ate were safe, nutritious and, above all, pleasurable.

Adaptivore Disadvantage

Does this mean, therefore, that, as adaptivores, we can get away with eating nothing but hamburgers, cookies and chocolate? Unfortunately, probably not! Constituents of food (such as sugar, salt and saturated fat) mean that if we consume these foods too much and too often, we put ourselves at risk of chronic disease. Plus, a good intake of fibre is important for optimal long-term health.

For our ancestors, being an adaptivore ensured they survived long enough to pass on their genes to their progeny, to raise their progeny and to provide support for their progeny’s progeny. Although it might not provide the same merits living in the West of Plenty as it did in the past – or, indeed, for those in less affluent regions today – being an adaptivore was how our ancestors – right up until as recently as a few decades ago – flourished. Even though we can consume all those delicious high-fat, high-sugar, low-fibre, calorie-laden foods in the quantities many of us do, there is, sadly, no adaptive reason why their regular consumption would support us living healthily to a ripe old age. Simply put, from a metabolic perspective, we have a reduced need for our adaptivore advantages than our ancestors did. In a modern food environment, being an adaptivore might be working against us.

Or is it?

Adaptivore Advantage

Being an adaptivore means humans have an advantage that will be fundamental for improving our food system. By utilising many of the new food technologies, such as precision fermentation, GMOs, food processing, novel ingredients and complete foods, we can adapt. We have the ability to continue to optimally and adequately nourish ourselves while simultaneously addressing the impact of what we eat on environmental destruction, the ethical concerns of the modern industrial food system and soaring rates of chronic diseases. Our adaptivore advantage will be crucial as we deal with these existential challenges.

Humans are complex biological systems, and the realisation that we’re adaptivores helps us embrace this underappreciated fact. I submit the concept more as an observation than a scientific theory. By acknowledging the biological, psychological and social rationale that demonstrate that we’re adaptivores – as presented in Well Fed – we can embrace new agricultural and food technologies – done correctly, of course – comfortably in the knowledge that humans can continue to obtain optimal nutrition from a huge range of food sources. Through behavioural change – both at the level of society and as individuals – our adaptivore advantage will be crucial in helping us to mitigate many of the challenges our food system faces. Embrace your adaptivore advantage.

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* Modern industrial farming practices include feeding cattle with other forms of nourishment, such as oils and fish remains, but these are not foods they’ve evolved to eat.

** Although optimal foraging theory has been challenged [5], its concept helps to explain the exclusion of readily available foods in animals’ diets.

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References:
1. Collier, J. (2025) Well Fed: How Modern Diets Are Failing Us (and What We Can Do About It). London: Thorsons, pp196-207.
2. ibid (1), p205.
3. Harris, M. (1985) The Sacred Cow and the Abominable Pig: Riddles of Food and Culture, New York: Simon & Schuster, p165.
4. (a) MacArthur, R. H. and Pianka, E. R. (1966) ‘On Optimal Use of a Patchy Environment’, The American Naturalist, 100(916), 603-9; (b) ibid (1), p165.
5. Pyke, G. H. (1984) ‘Optimal Foraging Theory: A Critical Review’, Annual Review of Ecology and Systematics, 15, 523-75.
6. Pontzer, H. (2021) Burn: The Misunderstood Science of Metabolism, London: Allen Lane, p205.
7. (a) Tishkoff, S. et al. (2007) ‘Convergent Adaptation of Human Lactase Persistence in Africa and Europe’, Nature Genetics, 39, 31-40; (b) ibid (4), p204.
8. Mathieson, S. and Mathieson, I. (2018) ‘FADS1 and the Timing of Human Adaptation to Agriculture’, Molecular Biology and Evolution, 35(12), 2957-70; (b) ibid (6), p205; (c) Rutherford, A. (2020) How to Argue with a Racist, London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, p56.
9. Malyarchuk, B. A. et al. (2021) ‘Adaptive Changes in Fatty Acid Desaturation Genes in Indigenous Populations of Northeast Siberia’, Russian Journal of Genetics, 57, 1461-6; (b) ibid (6), p205.
10. ibid (6), p206.
11. Sherman, P. W. and Billing, J. (1999) ‘Darwinian Gastronomy: Why We Use Spices: Spices Taste Good Because They Are Good for Us’, BioScience, 49(6), pp453-63.
12. Billing, J. and Sherman, P. W. (1998) ‘Antimicrobial Functions of Spices: Why Some Like It Hot’, Quarterly Review of Biology, 73(1), 3-49.
13. (a) Westerterp-Plantenga, M. et al. (2006) ‘Metabolic Effects of Spices, Teas, and Caffeine’, Physiology & Behavior, 89(1), 85-91; (b) Whiting, S. et al. (2012) ‘Capsaicinoids and Capsinoids. A Potential Role for Weight Management? A Systematic Review of the Evidence’, Appetite, 59(2), 341-48.

'Well Fed' by James Collier