A few days ago, I came across a word I hadn’t heard before: healthism.  I was curious, so I looked it up.  The word describes a kind of philosophy I’ve noticed in recent years.  It’s ubiquitous on social media, and it most often rears its head in the form of fat shaming.  Healthism refers to several related ideas:

1. Health is a virtue in and of itself, something that should be an ultimate goal, rather than a means to other ends;
2. To be unhealthy, or to practice unhealthy behaviors or habits, is a character flaw; and
3. The state of a person’s health can be determined from their appearance.

It is a not-so-distant cousin of orthorexia, a term used to describe an unhealthy obsession with healthy eating.  As regular readers know, I’m all about self-improvement and well-being.  But the ideas that underlie healthism are problematic for a number of reasons.

Number 3 above is provably false.  There are many healthy-looking people in the world who are far from healthy, physically or mentally.  Medical conditions strike people of all shapes and sizes.  A heavy-set person who exercises regularly, refrains from smoking and drinking, and eats fresh produce at every meal may be far healthier than a thin person who is sedentary, smokes, drinks alcohol to excess, and eats a nutritionally poor diet.  A person of slender build who runs many miles a week be suffering from an eating disorder.  We simply cannot tell what is happening inside a person’s body or mind from their external appearance.

Moreover, not all diseases are caused by lifestyle, and it is unfair to assume in every case that a person’s choices with respect to diet or exercise have caused whatever ails them. It is likewise foolish to think that we can disease-proof ourselves or guarantee longevity by following a rigid set of rules.

There are undoubtedly good reasons to eat well and take care of our bodies.  Of course, there is some disagreement about what comprises the healthiest diet, the most advantageous eating schedule, or the best form of exercise.  As Matt Fitzgerald argues in his book Diet Cults, there is not one right way to be healthy.  Scientific research in the field of nutrition is underfunded and imperfect.  Randomized controlled studies are hard to do.  Nevertheless, the available evidence suggests that adopting certain habits — moving our bodies regularly, eating a lot of whole plant foods, minimizing our intake of added sugars, and avoiding cigarettes — can certainly improve our chances of feeling good and avoiding some kinds of illnesses.  Yes, lifestyle diseases are costly, and our overall economy might benefit if people changed their ways and reduced their risk.  But no one has an obligation to be healthy.  No one owes it to you to live their life in a specific way.  Aside from close family members or loved ones, another person’s health is none of your business.

If you write people off because you perceive them as unhealthy, if you approach with hostility those whose lifestyles are different from your own, you risk missing out on some kind, smart, fascinating people.  Consider the man who told me a few years ago that he skipped over the online dating profiles of women who described themselves as “foodies” because he thought that meant they liked to eat a lot, which he found disgusting.  I know a number of incredibly fun, engaging, creative people who would call themselves foodies.  They’re adventurous and appreciate life’s pleasures.  Unfortunately, that man likely passed up the opportunity to meet many of those women.

Health is about more than the physical, and eating is about more than physical health.  The ways in which we consume food can bring about social connection, stress relief, and pleasure, nourishing our spirits as much as our bodies.  Last evening, I celebrated a friend’s birthday with tacos, homemade chocolate cake, and margaritas.  I had several helpings and thoroughly enjoyed them, along with the companionship.  I watched my friends’ children playing in the yard, stopping by the picnic table occasionally for a tortilla chip or a bite of cake.  I’m glad I was able to experience this dinner without worrying the whole time about what I could eat or counting the calories in every bite that entered my mouth.  How drastically would that have changed the way I experienced the event?  My attention would have been diverted from the joy of the moment.  Which scenario is really healthier?  I know which one I’d choose.

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