Solving America’s Growing Obesity Epidemic—and Poverty While We’re At It
Melody Moezzi
October 18, 2006
A few years ago I moved from New Haven to Atlanta. Before the move, my husband and I easily decided that it wouldn’t be worth it to take our admittedly cheap furniture with us, so we placed an ad in a local paper to sell it all. About a week before the move, a man called saying that he lived in our building and that he was interested in coming to look at an armchair. Elated at his interest and the potential ease of the transaction, I immediately invited him to walk down the hall to come and see it.
When I opened the door, I was at once shocked by his sheer size, but as a member of polite society I tried, likely unsuccessfully, to hide my alarm. I’ve never been good at estimations, but my guess is that he was barely 6 feet tall and pushing 400 pounds. I couldn’t imagine how a man that big could live in one of the tiny apartments in our building—apart from being small, they were full of long narrow hallways that made it possible to pack the maximum number of tenants into the minimum amount of space.
At any rate, he managed to get through the doorframe. As he walked into the apartment, he immediately began explaining that he knew that he was really big and that it was hard finding good chairs in which he could fit. No kidding! He tested the armchair in question, and I almost cried for him when it became obvious that he couldn’t make it—at least not without a fight. But he seemed totally at ease. He then apologized for taking up my time, wished me the best of luck in Atlanta, and told me not to feel bad—he figured he wouldn’t fit anyway. He’s not alone. Many Americans are increasingly finding themselves in this position: they simply can’t fit. Ever the opportunistic savior, however, corporate America has seen the demand and come to the rescue: not just with bigger seats, bigger plates, and bigger pants, but with bigger scams to boot.
Nowhere in my earthly travels have I encountered anyone as literally massive as I have here in the US. It’s not just that we’re getting fatter overall as a nation, but we also house some of the fattest individuals on the planet. A good number of Americans boast a level of obesity largely unmatched around the world. Our culture of consumption, moreover, has happily accommodated this unprecedented expansion, helping us feel that we really aren’t that fat. Take vanity sizing, for example: somehow, despite the fact that I am certain that I have grown considerably since the age of 14, I still manage to fit into the same size jeans at the Gap as I did in 1993. Are people actually fooled by this? Am I really supposed to think that I’m the same size today as I was as an early adolescent, despite the higher numbers on the scale? It actually kind of weirds me out to be honest. I’m not flattered. I don’t like it when people play mind games on me—no matter how good I come out looking in the end. I know that all this is supposed to make me want to buy more jeans (in addition to that red tank-top I just have to buy to help fight HIV in Africa—and look as hot as Christy Turlington does in those ads), but it just makes me feel manipulated. Honestly, the whole thing ruins my appetite—but just one more Dorito . . .
Clearly, our consumption, or better-put our over-consumption, is not limited to food, but the results of the American love affair with food have been perhaps the most potentially harmful to our citizens. Buying too many jeans, tank-tops, belts, or hideous leggings may very well be a clear product of our consumer culture, but such purchases are not going to result in a public health disaster. At least not directly.
It’s no giant mystery that if you eat too much you’ll gain weight, and if you eat less you’ll lose it. Still, entire industries have been built around the concept of complicating, manipulating, and even defying this basic biological reality. Americans are constantly being encouraged to consume to their utmost capacities, regardless of the contradictions that entails. And let’s face it, most of us don’t bother to think about the dynamics behind the new L.A. Fitness popping up right in between the local Burger King and Taco Bell. I’m not suggesting that this is some grand corporate conspiracy or that individuals are incapable of exercising personal responsibility, but I am suggesting that the American public could wise up just a little bit when it comes to weight.
In my personal experience, I have found no diet to be more successful than responsible poverty. I say responsible poverty because there is increasing evidence to show that overweight and obese Americans are disproportionately poor. There’s no debate that fast food is cheap, but there’s even less debate that it’s pitifully nutritionally devoid. Poor Americans know just as well as rich ones that fast food is bad for you. Still, there is the simple unavoidable economic reality that the poor are more prone to consume fast food than the rich. Add to that the fact that corporations are capitalizing on this reality (note the trend of fast food restaurants popping up ever-increasingly in poorer neighborhoods as compared to that of the Whole Foods and Fresh Markets popping up all over affluent American neighborhoods), and it’s obvious that the cards are stacked against those living in poverty. But aren’t the cards always stacked against those living in poverty? Isn’t it always easier to fall victim to the cheap fix when you’re low on cash?
But there is such a thing as individual choice, and that’s where I think responsible poverty can be useful. Individuals consume according to their preferences, and despite many economists’ devotion to rational choice theory, the truth is that rational choices in spending are few and far between—at least among the human population and especially when you introduce credit cards into the equation. Responsible poverty, if adopted, could seriously impede the obesity epidemic by endorsing this simple maxim: Spend less money on food (which should be easy when you’re poor), but buy healthy foods. The fact that healthy foods are often more expensive than their unhealthy counterparts should in no way discredit this maxim, for it will lead to even less consumption of even healthier foods and hence, even more successful weight loss, of which so many Americans are in such desperate need. Problem solved.
By espousing responsible poverty, we can begin to escape the cunning trap of corporate advertising that encourages us to spend our money on junk food, get fat, feel bad about getting fat, eat more junk to make us feel better, and then ultimately spend what funds we may have left on gym memberships—because putting one foot in front of the other on a treadmill next to 15 other people doing the same thing and staring at the same giant television screen somehow yields more effective weight loss than going for a walk in the park? Furthermore, the question of how responsible poverty can be applied to rich fat people may seem problematic, but it is in fact quite easily resolved by encouraging them to redistribute their wealth among the poor through charity and to then pursue more modest living. Thus, the ultimate result of this grand utopian scheme of mine would be a total resolution to the ills of both poverty and obesity in the United States.
OK, perhaps this responsible poverty business isn’t as easy as it sounds, and perhaps it doesn’t even sound that easy to begin with, but I don’t think it would hurt to give it a try. Sure, it’s a hard thing to "sell" given the fact that it’s free or even cost-saving, on top of the fact that it fits into the world of conventional advertising about as easily as my New Haven neighbor fit into our old armchair. But contrary to popular opinion, not everything can be bought and sold. Naturally, however, if any of my precious readers should take a particular liking to this idea, please do contact me. I’d be happy to expand on it . . . for a reasonable fee of course.
When I opened the door, I was at once shocked by his sheer size, but as a member of polite society I tried, likely unsuccessfully, to hide my alarm. I’ve never been good at estimations, but my guess is that he was barely 6 feet tall and pushing 400 pounds. I couldn’t imagine how a man that big could live in one of the tiny apartments in our building—apart from being small, they were full of long narrow hallways that made it possible to pack the maximum number of tenants into the minimum amount of space.
At any rate, he managed to get through the doorframe. As he walked into the apartment, he immediately began explaining that he knew that he was really big and that it was hard finding good chairs in which he could fit. No kidding! He tested the armchair in question, and I almost cried for him when it became obvious that he couldn’t make it—at least not without a fight. But he seemed totally at ease. He then apologized for taking up my time, wished me the best of luck in Atlanta, and told me not to feel bad—he figured he wouldn’t fit anyway. He’s not alone. Many Americans are increasingly finding themselves in this position: they simply can’t fit. Ever the opportunistic savior, however, corporate America has seen the demand and come to the rescue: not just with bigger seats, bigger plates, and bigger pants, but with bigger scams to boot.
Nowhere in my earthly travels have I encountered anyone as literally massive as I have here in the US. It’s not just that we’re getting fatter overall as a nation, but we also house some of the fattest individuals on the planet. A good number of Americans boast a level of obesity largely unmatched around the world. Our culture of consumption, moreover, has happily accommodated this unprecedented expansion, helping us feel that we really aren’t that fat. Take vanity sizing, for example: somehow, despite the fact that I am certain that I have grown considerably since the age of 14, I still manage to fit into the same size jeans at the Gap as I did in 1993. Are people actually fooled by this? Am I really supposed to think that I’m the same size today as I was as an early adolescent, despite the higher numbers on the scale? It actually kind of weirds me out to be honest. I’m not flattered. I don’t like it when people play mind games on me—no matter how good I come out looking in the end. I know that all this is supposed to make me want to buy more jeans (in addition to that red tank-top I just have to buy to help fight HIV in Africa—and look as hot as Christy Turlington does in those ads), but it just makes me feel manipulated. Honestly, the whole thing ruins my appetite—but just one more Dorito . . .
Clearly, our consumption, or better-put our over-consumption, is not limited to food, but the results of the American love affair with food have been perhaps the most potentially harmful to our citizens. Buying too many jeans, tank-tops, belts, or hideous leggings may very well be a clear product of our consumer culture, but such purchases are not going to result in a public health disaster. At least not directly.
It’s no giant mystery that if you eat too much you’ll gain weight, and if you eat less you’ll lose it. Still, entire industries have been built around the concept of complicating, manipulating, and even defying this basic biological reality. Americans are constantly being encouraged to consume to their utmost capacities, regardless of the contradictions that entails. And let’s face it, most of us don’t bother to think about the dynamics behind the new L.A. Fitness popping up right in between the local Burger King and Taco Bell. I’m not suggesting that this is some grand corporate conspiracy or that individuals are incapable of exercising personal responsibility, but I am suggesting that the American public could wise up just a little bit when it comes to weight.
In my personal experience, I have found no diet to be more successful than responsible poverty. I say responsible poverty because there is increasing evidence to show that overweight and obese Americans are disproportionately poor. There’s no debate that fast food is cheap, but there’s even less debate that it’s pitifully nutritionally devoid. Poor Americans know just as well as rich ones that fast food is bad for you. Still, there is the simple unavoidable economic reality that the poor are more prone to consume fast food than the rich. Add to that the fact that corporations are capitalizing on this reality (note the trend of fast food restaurants popping up ever-increasingly in poorer neighborhoods as compared to that of the Whole Foods and Fresh Markets popping up all over affluent American neighborhoods), and it’s obvious that the cards are stacked against those living in poverty. But aren’t the cards always stacked against those living in poverty? Isn’t it always easier to fall victim to the cheap fix when you’re low on cash?
But there is such a thing as individual choice, and that’s where I think responsible poverty can be useful. Individuals consume according to their preferences, and despite many economists’ devotion to rational choice theory, the truth is that rational choices in spending are few and far between—at least among the human population and especially when you introduce credit cards into the equation. Responsible poverty, if adopted, could seriously impede the obesity epidemic by endorsing this simple maxim: Spend less money on food (which should be easy when you’re poor), but buy healthy foods. The fact that healthy foods are often more expensive than their unhealthy counterparts should in no way discredit this maxim, for it will lead to even less consumption of even healthier foods and hence, even more successful weight loss, of which so many Americans are in such desperate need. Problem solved.
By espousing responsible poverty, we can begin to escape the cunning trap of corporate advertising that encourages us to spend our money on junk food, get fat, feel bad about getting fat, eat more junk to make us feel better, and then ultimately spend what funds we may have left on gym memberships—because putting one foot in front of the other on a treadmill next to 15 other people doing the same thing and staring at the same giant television screen somehow yields more effective weight loss than going for a walk in the park? Furthermore, the question of how responsible poverty can be applied to rich fat people may seem problematic, but it is in fact quite easily resolved by encouraging them to redistribute their wealth among the poor through charity and to then pursue more modest living. Thus, the ultimate result of this grand utopian scheme of mine would be a total resolution to the ills of both poverty and obesity in the United States.
OK, perhaps this responsible poverty business isn’t as easy as it sounds, and perhaps it doesn’t even sound that easy to begin with, but I don’t think it would hurt to give it a try. Sure, it’s a hard thing to "sell" given the fact that it’s free or even cost-saving, on top of the fact that it fits into the world of conventional advertising about as easily as my New Haven neighbor fit into our old armchair. But contrary to popular opinion, not everything can be bought and sold. Naturally, however, if any of my precious readers should take a particular liking to this idea, please do contact me. I’d be happy to expand on it . . . for a reasonable fee of course.
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