There is no point denying that we are officially back in the throes of diet culture that, as a 20-something woman, I struggled to ignore in the late 2000s and early 2010s. From the runways of global fashion weeks and the red carpets of film premieres, to sell-out pop tours and Instagram carousels, we are once more living in what has been termed a ‘skinny apocalypse’ with the sight of a shrinking starlet becoming borderline expected in 2026.
It was a realisation that came to me when a video of a certain singer crossed my feed, with her much slimmer appearance compared to previously, enough to stop me mid-scroll. I made the mistake of heading to the comments section, which was filled with the kind of wildly diverse opinions that feel par for the course right now. ‘She looks sick!’ wrote some. ‘She looks stunning,' declared others. 'We shouldn't be commenting on the way people look,' came a third viewpoint. 'Are we just supposed to pretend this is normal?' asked another.
It raises the question of if, how and when are we supposed to discuss the dangers of diet culture – which includes normalising an unhealthily slim ideal through restrictive eating – in a space where nuance, kindness and thought are lost? Is there a right way to express concern with the return of the size 0, or is it better to log off, be quiet and mind our own business? Because the problem isn’t that people are disagreeing. It’s that we’ve become incapable of discussing extreme thinness without falling into one of two camps: intense scrutiny or total silence.
And that tension feels familiar to me, because I spent years living with an eating disorder, when diet culture was last at its apex, while witnessing people struggle to find the language to talk about what was happening. I don’t know whether it was a lack of understanding, particularly around mental health during this period, but the term ‘eating disorder’ was straight up ignored by those around me in a culture that normalised being very thin. My phone background was Kate Moss’ infamous interview quote: ‘Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels’, and I came of age during the peak of Tumblr ‘thinspiration’.
Then there was a significant shift in the mid-2010s towards body positivity with the growth of the strong-not-skinny wellness space. For a while, it seemed as though society had genuinely broadened its definition of what a healthy and desirable body could look like. Ashley Graham walked for the likes of Fendi and posed on the front cover of Vogue, while Lizzo’s vocals topped the music charts and celebrated curves in her lyrics. Suddenly, an array of women in the public eye were vying to share their unapologetic love for their bodies.
However, in recent years, there has been an unceremonious retreat from what, certainly in the rear-view mirror, seemed like progress. Amidst a backdrop of the rise of weight loss medications, those who were once relatable and championed body diversity in their respective public-facing industries have been stepping out smaller and smaller, with shrinking waistlines and prominent bones sparking many a newspaper think piece or Substack post.
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It’s hard not to be shocked – and, yet, acknowledging this 180 has become surprisingly difficult. There are those who believe we shouldn’t be talking about a person’s size at all – not least because we likely don’t have all the facts. That was the lesson we took from Chadwick Boseman, who passed away in 2020 after a private colon cancer battle. In the run-up to the actor’s death, aged 43, his sudden weight loss had been the subject of much discussion.
The problem is that, somewhere along the way, learning not to make assumptions about individuals based on their shrinking appearance morphed into a culture of silence surrounding worrying changes to bodies in the public eye. Bodies which, as stars may or not want to accept, influence cultural norms that shape the lives and aspirations of the millions who witness them through their screens.
But to pretend like it isn’t happening before our very eyes is to ignore that a worryingly thin frame can be a visible sign of an eating disorder – rates of which have increased since the pandemic to a current estimated 1.25 million in the UK.
In fact, it's an illness that even the most famous aren’t immune to – including its tragic consequences. Karen Carpenter was one of the most celebrated musicians in the world when she died from anorexia-related complications aged 32 in 1983. Then, in 2021, ex-Big Brother favourite Nikki Grahame passed away from the same condition at 38 years old.
I know only too well how all-encompassing an eating disorder can be – from the restriction in my school years to the fact that clambering out of its depths was no simple task in my early 20s. It took years of constant therapy, countless relapses and the tough love of my support system to reach a state of recovery.
It’s uncomfortable to think about now, but I often relished in the experience of being told I looked ‘unwell’, and would flaunt low-calorie snacks to ensure people knew I was restricting. I likewise posted photos that emphasised my body and wore clothes and jewellery that highlighted my bones. But, at the same time, I also wanted to get better and looking sick felt bad.
Now, on the other side, I believe it's irresponsible not to recognise the impact that a societal normalisation of ultra-slim bodies can have on promoting eating disorders. While it is true that eating disorders are serious mental illnesses, they can also come about socially – through friendship groups, workplaces, online communities and certainly celebrity culture.
There is also a distinction between zoning in on a certain high-profile person’s appearance and discussing wider cultural trends, with the latter being where the focus should lie. ‘People are constantly exposed to messages about which bodies are valued and celebrated,’ says Kerri Fleming, head of services at eating disorder charity Beat. ‘When those messages become increasingly narrow and focused on one body type, it can contribute to body dissatisfaction and significant distress.'
Indeed, eating disorders do not exist in a vacuum – particularly in an age of social media-driven connectivity – and this is why the conversation surrounding what we are witnessing on those runways and red carpets still matters. ‘The goal should never be to scrutinise or speculate about an individual's body,’ notes Fleming. ‘But public conversations can help challenge harmful cultural messages and appearance ideals.’
Because when we are inundated with alarming visuals, with no acknowledgement that they are likely unhealthy, it doesn’t protect vulnerable people. While no one truly knows what any celebrity or even the woman next to you in Tesco might be going through – and neither should we be party to their medical history – it simply leaves those most at risk alone with the message that thinner is still better, while everyone else pretends not to notice.
If you’re worried about your own or someone else’s health, you can contact Beat on 0808 801 0677 or at beateatingdisorders.org.uk
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Isabelle Knevett is the Fashion Features Editor at Women’s Health, bringing a wealth of experience in media and fashion since 2019. She has led high-impact PR campaigns for global giants like Adidas and Reebok and has reported on everything from fashion analysis and shopping trends, to deep dive features and investigative reporting. A former professional dancer, she understands the value of quality gym and activewear, making her a true expert in the field. Her work has been featured in Marie Claire Australia, ELLE Australia, Australian Women’s Weekly, WHO and more. When she’s not buried in a fashion magazine or sweating it out the gym or dance studio, you’ll find her reading or writing about fashion, feminism and global politics.
