The Rise Of The Thinfluencer: The Osmosis Of White Thinness On Instagram
Trigger warning: this article will be discussing diet culture, weight loss, diet products, and COVID-19.
In the past three months, I have been searching for new recipes that are more protein and plant based, and less carbohydrate-heavy. I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS), an ovarian condition that makes it hard for a person to lose weight, and generally doesn’t react well to a carb-heavy diet. So, as most people do nowadays, I took to Instagram to find some new food-inspo. You know the drill.
What I ended up finding was an epidemic of white “thinspo” reels that are crawling around Instagram at an increasing rate. My algorithm started showing me more and more of said reels, mainly labelled ‘What I eat in a day!’ followed by a montage of, well, a bunch of food that looks really boring.
These reels have a very fixed format. First, the creator shows their figure in a full-length mirror. 99% of the time, they have the exact same body type: petite, lean, at most a UK size ten, and white. The caption reads, ‘What I eat in a day to stay lean!’, or similar. They then proceed to film everything they eat on this particular day, which usually consists of: a mixture of super sugary “protein” breakfasts; some kind of meat with avocado, bagels, and eggs for lunch; snacks of hot chocolate or protein bars and a slightly more carbohydrate-based dinner.
I have a problem with this. Not only on a personal level but on a systemic level. This is another iteration of white supremacy; a patriarchal body ideal rearing its ugly head in a cute, consumable format, perpetuated by white women. We believe they have good intentions, because they’re women, and because these videos are meant to be helpful to others trying to achieve their “body goals”. This is not the case. Patriarchy exists in myriad forms.
Influencers have existed for years, so this is nothing new, right? Wrong. Influencers have always perpetuated a hyper-wealthy, vapid, robotic image of life, love, bodies, and regimes - but now they’re actually showing us their regimes. Before, the pictures were easier to ignore because we understood that they were almost all fake. Now they’re saying, ‘Look, you can be me, too. Just eat this. Eat this, and eat it every day of your life.’ This is sinister, and it is not to be underestimated.
Many people defend this type of influencing. Surely it’s better that they’re showing us their regimes, instead of just the end result? Sure, I think. I guess that could be better. Except for the fact that in order for this person’s regime to work for you, you need a number of truths to already exist: be able to diligently prepare three meals per day; have a personal trainer with whom you work out five days per week, and - here’s the kicker - already be thin in the first place. Most of these influencers are naturally petite. In the majority of the videos I see, their food intake is higher than mine. Am I broken? Or are they just naturally skinny, and selling the lie that they “worked” for their lean body?
I don’t need to give you the spiel about how bad these women’s videos are for the mental health of young people, or for those with eating disorders, or for individuals who work full time and therefore can’t be spending three hours per day in the kitchen, or, or, or. You’ve already heard it. I’m going to go deeper; I want to talk about how this actually affects our behaviour. Our everyday actions. And I say ‘our’ because even I have felt myself changing, just by being presented with these videos by my Insta algorithm. I’ve lost weight since looking at these videos non-stop. This is a process of osmosis.
Where’s my evidence that these influencers are actually “influencing” us to change? I did some digging. First: an Instagram stories poll for my followers to complete.
NB: Everyone quoted in this article has given permission for their views to be shared.
Question 1: Have you been suggested posts on Instagram that are about “... What I eat in a day!” or something similar?
70% answered, “Yes.”
Question 2: If you follow these accounts, do they make you feel inspired?
69% answered, “No.”
Question 3: Do influencers and their body image concern you, and why?
One person wrote, “Yes, they are using the language of body positivity and feminism to further their agenda of body ideals, that are rooted in racism and capitalism.” Another: “It concerns me more for them than for me, i.e, the pressure they are under to be perfect.”
So, we’re concerned.
Question 4: Do you feel like body positivity (in any form) has become toxic online?
“Depends on who you follow. There are some great and hilarious women who make me feel better.” Phew, so someone’s benefitting. But the responses were still largely negative.
“There’s a ‘bravery’ narrative about showing bodies that are anything other than thin and able-bodied.” The most shocking answer: “I saw one midsize influencer have to apologise for being ‘too-bo-po’ because she’d apparently upset others.” Ooooookay.
Question 5: Have you ever changed your diet or exercise based on something recommended by an influencer? (Not a dietician or doctor on the platform).
33% of people answered, “Yes.”
Question 6: Have you ever bought a diet product advertised by an influencer?
10% answered, “Yes.”
This tells me something crucial. Of the same demographic who were answering the previous questions negatively, criticising influencer culture, a third of them have still altered their lifestyles based on what influencers tell them, and one-tenth of them have spent money on a diet product pedalled by one of these people.
I want to be clear about something at this point: I have zero judgement towards anybody who has bought things from influencers, or has changed their lifestyle off the back of a recommendation. This isn’t about throwing consumers to the dogs, it’s about showing just how insidious this culture is. We know they’re bad, but we buy from them anyway. We consume them anyway.
At this point, you may be thinking, ‘Well, that’s just your Instagram followers. About 50 people took part in the poll, what does that really tell us?’ And you’re right.
… So I asked a doctor. About diet culture, and specifically, about those who promote a specific diet and lifestyle in order to promote thinness.
This doctor is a family friend, and her name isn’t going to be in this article, but a little background on her: she is a doctor with over thirty years’ experience, including in cosmetic treatments such as breast augmentation, facial cosmetic surgery, liposuction and similar. She has been working on a COVID-19 ward for the past year. I chatted to her for over an hour on the phone, but I’ll sum up our conversation for you here.
“With people who are posting body-centric work online all the time, it’s a vulnerability issue,” she says. “They are concerned with their value; what makes them important. But ultimately, weight related conversations like these are a distraction from the real things that drive you, and the real issues we all face.
On the other side of it, though, if you do want to lose weight for personal reasons, there’s no structured way to lose weight other than to engage with diet culture. You’re trapped.”
I ask her about the psychological effects of constant self-comparison, and what her thoughts are on this tirade of exposure young people face to white, thin bodies all over their feed.
“The impact of continual images on our brains is not actually healthy. We aren’t meant to remember how we used to look. We aren’t meant to compare photographs, our brains aren’t designed for that level of awareness. It makes us dwell on our image in a way that is psychologically unhealthy.
And none, NONE of their posts are to do with health. It’s a rebranding of old lies that have been fed to women forever.”
Her words set off alarm bells in my head. How many times have I scrolled through my phone to find selfies from years ago? For those of us with smartphones stacked full of images, both of ourselves and others, the ability to self-compare is an ever-present temptation. Then there’s the perpetrators of this culture: the thinfluencers. They are vulnerable, the doctor says, and I agree. But they are also responsible. For these agents of patriarchy - who hijack feminism and body positive movements and morph them into a commodified, white supremacist pseudo-feminism that only serves to make us feel worse - where are their consequences? Thinfluencers are actively participating in toxic diet culture, no matter how cute, or positive, or friendly, or “inclusive” they come across. Thinfluencers don’t have to face the consequences of this free-for-all; they are entirely immune to any and all ramifications. There is zero accountability for them.
There are some possible answers to the question that remains: ‘How can we sort this out?’ There have already been regulations introduced by Instagram that stop influencers from selling certain diet products. But it isn’t enough. They could go further - ban people from telling others what to eat unless they’re medically qualified - but of course, they would never do that. It would interrupt the cash flow. The more insecure consumers become, the more cash thinfluencers will have, so they can deck out their ugly homes in grey sofas, grey carpets, and white kitchen cabinets.
I don’t have the answers but I will say this: be vigilant. We need better filters to understand when we are being lied to. Understand how deep this stuff goes, and you’ll be able to equip yourself better when these insidious messages start sinking in.
The visual image is fragile, ephemeral. It means nothing, at the end of the day. On this, I’ll leave you with a story my doctor friend told me, breathing quietly down the phone, choked.
‘Last year I saw a family lose all three of their asthmatic children to coronavirus in one night. They did everything right. They got a degree, a house, they sent their kids to private school - they were the image of a perfect family - and it proved to me one thing: you don’t control anything. You can’t influence your way, or buy your way, out of a real situation. You can’t use your image, your wealth, your status, to bargain with. You can’t buy survival.’
Written by Madeleine Goode
Madeleine is a copywriter, poet, feminist in training and aspiring dog mother from Manchester. You can read her poetry and other writing work on Instagram at @goode_poetry!