HAPPILY EVER AFTER?
One writer examines the burden of expectation after a dramatic slim-down
For some people, they’re motivating; to others, they fan the flames of comparison culture. And regardless of your personal view on body transformations, the before-and-after format continues to captivate the liking, commenting and sharing public like little else. Here, one writer asks why we’re so obsessed with other people’s weight loss, and at what cost to our minds
On the morning of 6 May last year, I was scrolling through Instagram when my thumb froze on a picture of Adele. You know, the internet-breaking snap from her 32nd birthday celebrations. She might have been thanking healthcare workers on both sides of the Atlantic, but the content of her caption wasn’t the reason the post went viral. Clad in a form-fitting LBD, her speculated 100lb weight loss was clearly visible. She looked, to put it mildly, transformed. In the days that followed, praise was liberally served alongside speculation over how she’d done it (Pilates? The Sirtfood Diet?), while think pieces pointed out just how problematic it is to zero in on any woman’s body, not least a multiplatinum-selling singer who owes no explanation for her shifting size. Without a word from Adele, her transformation had become political, with people weighing in on all sides.
My own transformation didn’t make international headlines, but the reaction felt every bit as seismic. In 2017, after years of experiencing poor body image – characterised by overexercising and disordered eating – I’d managed to build a better relationship with my body, and I was settled at the UK’S average dress size, 16, when, aged 33, I was diagnosed with pancreatitis. I had surgery to remove my gallbladder and the gallstones that had caused it, and while I was no longer in agony, the surgery left me with acute pain and nausea whenever I ate. When doctors couldn’t help, I researched ways to manage it and found a solution in overhauling my diet. I cut out processed foods (no, I won’t tell you which ones), inadvertently leading to a 4st weight loss over eight months.
Suddenly, it felt as though someone had switched on a spotlight that followed me everywhere. That my weight loss had been prompted by health reasons seemed irrelevant to the well-meaning friends, colleagues, acquaintances and even the ex who commented on my body. ‘Wow! You look great! You’ve lost so much weight!’; ‘Keep up the good work!’; and, I kid you not, ‘You’ve always had such a beautiful face, but now you look amazing!’ Compliments on my weight loss left me feeling insulted over the body I once had, while also giving me a thrill – albeit a cheap and short-lived hit. In the comedown, I’d feel guilty, self-conscious and exposed. And as my body had become public property, the food-related anxiety and negative bodyimage issues I thought I’d put to bed came back to haunt me. I’d be ‘liking’ a post from a body-positive influencer one moment and restricting my meals to maintain my new weight the next. And while I celebrated body acceptance in the digital world, back in the real one, I knew it was far easier to accept the smaller version of myself than it had ever been as a size
16. Honestly, I felt held to ransom by my much-lauded transformation; every flame emoji comment on each picture I uploaded reminding me that the worst thing I could do would be to transform back. Then we went into lockdown last spring, and as my thumb hovered over that picture of Adele, it triggered a deep twang of guilt somewhere behind my navel as I contemplated my own 7lb weight gain. I’m a smart woman; I know my worth doesn’t come from the number on the scales. So why was it shaken by the visual evidence of one singer’s body transformation? And what can I do to stop it happening again?
Body politic
If I’ve found the ugly-duckling-to-swan narrative hard to shake, it’s not surprising. The before-and-after phenomenon is a marketing trick a century old, now baked into our culture. ‘As far back as the 1920s, adverts pushed products that promised major transformations, from “thinning” soap [a bar of the stuff claimed to wash away fat from the chin and ankles] to the promotion of smoking between meals to slim down,’ explains social historian Carol Dyhouse. The transformation concept was cemented in popular culture by the rise of slimming clubs in the 1960s, as well as 1980s aerobics DVDS and 1990s bikini-body competitions. By the turn of the millennium, the TV show The Biggest
Loser (which saw contestants lose over 100lb in 30 weeks) was among the most popular shows on air, and as recently as 2015, Geordie Shore star Charlotte Crosby’s Three Minute Belly Blitz – created off the back of her 3st weight loss – beat first-week sales of Disney’s Frozen, making it the biggest-selling workout DVD in the UK for 15 years.
In the years since, all signs have pointed to a culture in which the appetite for extreme weight loss is waning. Books that call on women to reject all aspects of diet culture top the book charts, plus-sized models grace magazine covers (including this one), and the transformation concept has been accused of fanning the flames of fat-shaming culture.
And yet, a cursory glance at Instagram reveals the format is as appealing as ever. Global stars like Kayla Itsines and
Joe Wicks have built their empires on jaw-dropping before-and-after pictures, some 15 million posts sit under the #transformationtuesday hashtag and a photo of a famous woman who’s lost a lot of weight has the power to slice through a bloated news cycle like little else.
Happily ever after?
For Sarah Lindsay, founder of boutique gym Roar Fitness, before-and-after photos are a useful marketing tool, and she regularly posts pictures of her clients to the Roar Instagram page. She suspects the reason they command triple the engagement of
The negative body-image issues I thought I had put to bed came back to haunt me
pictures of a honed body alone is because they’re motivating. ‘Most people come to my gym to lose weight, and before-and-after photos of people who have trained with me allow others to see that it’s possible,’ she tells me. She explains that while reaching your own personal healthy weight may well deliver a range of health benefits, it’s the visual change people respond to. ‘It’s not easy to showcase strength gains, improved gut health or increased energy,’ she adds. ‘But people respond to results they can see.’ According to Emilia Thompson, sports nutrition lecturer at Manchester Metropolitan University, those who smash the like button on the before-and-after pictures Lindsay posts are, in many cases, engaging in something called ‘upwards social comparison’ – comparing themselves with someone who they believe to be superior. She explains how, in people with good self-belief, this may be motivating, pointing to a 2015 study in the International Journal Of Obesity that found obesity treatments might benefit from harnessing social comparison processes. Her colleague at MMU, social psychologist Dr Jenny Cole, agrees: ‘For many people, transformational photos are an important way to motivate themselves to adopt and maintain a healthy lifestyle.’
However, my own experience tells me that maintaining a healthy level of self-confidence in the face of countless images of bodies you believe to be superior to your own is no mean feat.
While no studies have specifically looked at the impact of before-and-after images on mood, a study into body image conducted by the Centre for Emotional Health at Macquarie University in Australia found that when female participants viewed images on social media, comparisons they made between themselves and those they viewed as traditionally attractive (read: slim) made them feel worse about their appearance, thanks to the concept of self-objectification – viewing your own body from an external perspective. When I speak to the study’s lead author, Jasmine Fardouly, she tells me that the same effect may well occur with before-and-after images. Dr Cole notes, too, that using appearance alone as a motivator for weight loss (as opposed to other markers like improved cardiovascular health, greater strength and better sleep) can be dangerous; according to a study published in the journal Body Image, doing so can reduce the psychological benefits of healthy behaviours such as exercise, and can lead to negative effects on mental health and eating habits.
A closer inspection of the psychology at play shows this isn’t just about health, either. ‘When
you see images of others who have lost a lot of weight, you might feel respect and awe,’ says Dr Jane Ogden, professor in health psychology at the University of Surrey and author of
The Psychology Of Dieting. This is because, as a society, we’ve assigned other positive attributes to weight loss and slim bodies (like self-control and high moral character), while also assigning false negative attributes to someone who is larger. ‘It’s a product of learning across your lifespan due to images you’ve seen and scripts you’ve internalised.’ Like any unconscious bias, this belief becomes soft-wired into the brain (meaning it’s possible to dislodge it, but not without a concerted effort). This explains why the transformation from one to the other is so compelling, and why the praise is so effusive. You don’t just see a smaller body, you see a ‘better’, more worthy person. It also explains why I felt my lockdown weight gain so deeply. With those extra kilos, I worried I’d be viewed as a less valuable person. They didn’t fit into my transformative story, either. As Dr Ogden points out: ‘An “after” photo indicates that this is the end of someone’s journey, as weight loss has been achieved, but for most people this is merely the beginning of their next journey.’ Perhaps we’re so invested in the unworthy-ugly-duckling-to-worthy-swan narrative that we forget that real life doesn’t work like that. Dr Ogden’s insight is a reminder that before-and-after pictures are simply a snapshot in time; one that doesn’t offer genuine insight into that person’s eating or exercise habits, their health, their mindset, or what happened next.
Self-ref lection
I remember acquaintances commenting on how happy I looked a few months after I’d initially lost the 4st, when, actually, I was experiencing the worst anxiety I’d ever had. The fear of losing the slimmed-down version of myself – the one suddenly deemed worthy of praise and attention from all directions – triggered the development of orthorexic tendencies: avoiding eating out; obsessing over making my diet as healthy as possible; thinking, with everything that touched my plate, how will this affect my body? It’s hard not to feel bitter when I look back. I’d grafted – spending time, money, effort – to build up my selfesteem and confidence. And then comments from others – seconds in length, probably without much forethought – eroded it by, however inadvertently, equating my weight with my worth over and over again.
My real ‘after’ experience can’t be summed up by the images you see on my Instagram account, but rather by my reaction to that picture. A reaction that made it clear I’m still coming to terms with my own weight loss. It’s been an uncomfortable experience: forcing me to face up to how intertwined my weight and worth had become; making me realise how detrimental people’s comments on my body – however well-meaning – were to my mental health. But it’s been instructive, too. While I can admit that I’d like to return to my pre-pandemic weight, I understand that will be a hollow victory if I don’t work to rebuild my self-esteem, irrespective of my body weight.
If I can get there, perhaps I won’t even care about the number on the scales, as I’ll be more focused on how I feel, emotionally and physically, instead. As for you, the next time you see someone – online or in the flesh – who’s shed a significant amount of weight, it’s worth remembering that drastic weight loss isn’t always by design. While such a journey can be a positive step to better physical health, that’s not always the case. Nor is a slender body shorthand for a calm, happy and healthy mind. The most supportive thing you can do for that person is to let them own the narrative around their own body and the changes it’s been through. Please don’t impose one on them that’s probably inaccurate, possibly harmful and definitely long overdue a rewrite.
Transforming into someone with a slim body had set a standard for myself, which I didn’t want to fall below