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Does paying people to lose weight work?
It denies the impact of the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones involved in our individual levels of hunger, cravings, and fullness. It denies the torrential current of our ultraprocessed and calorific food environment. It denies the constant push of food advertising and the role food has taken on as the star of even the smallest of events and celebrations. It denies the role of food as a seminal pleasure in a world that, even for those possessing great degrees of privilege is challenging, let alone for those facing tremendous and varied difficulties. And of course, it upholds the hateful notion that, if people just wanted it badly enough, they’d manage their weight, the corollary of which is that people with obesity are unmotivated and lazy.
Yet the notion that, if people want it badly enough, they’d make it happen, is incredibly commonplace. It’s so commonplace that NBC aired their prime-time televised reality show The Biggest Loser from 2004 through 2016, featuring people with obesity competing for a $500,000 prize during a 30-week–long orgy of fat-shaming, victim-blaming, hugely restrictive eating, and injury. It’s also so commonplace that studies are still being conducted exploring the impact of paying people to lose weight.
The most recent of these – “Effectiveness of Goal-Directed and Outcome-Based Financial Incentives for Weight Loss in Primary Care Patients With Obesity Living in Socioeconomically Disadvantaged Neighborhoods: A Randomized Clinical Trial” – examined the effects of randomly assigning participants whose annual household incomes were less than $40,000 to either a free year of Weight Watchers and the provisions of basic weight loss advice (exercise, track your food, eat healthfully, et cetera) or to an incentivized program that would see them earning up to $750 over 6 months, with dollars being awarded for such things as attendance in education sessions, keeping a food diary, recording their weight, and obtaining a certain amount of exercise or for weight loss.
Resultswise – though you might not have gathered it from the conclusion of the paper, which states that incentives were more effective at 12 months – the average incentivized participant lost roughly 6 pounds more than those given only resources. It should also be mentioned that over half of the incentivized group did not complete the study.
That these sorts of studies are still being conducted is depressing. Medicine and academia need to actively stop promoting harmful stereotypes when it comes to the genesis of a chronic noncommunicable disease that is not caused by a lack of desire, needing the right incentive, but is rather caused by the interaction of millions of years of evolution during extreme dietary insecurity with a modern-day food environment and culture that constantly offers, provides, and encourages consumption. This is especially true now that there are effective antiobesity medications whose success underwrites the notion that it’s physiology, rather than a lack of wanting it enough, that gets in the way of sustained success.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
It denies the impact of the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones involved in our individual levels of hunger, cravings, and fullness. It denies the torrential current of our ultraprocessed and calorific food environment. It denies the constant push of food advertising and the role food has taken on as the star of even the smallest of events and celebrations. It denies the role of food as a seminal pleasure in a world that, even for those possessing great degrees of privilege is challenging, let alone for those facing tremendous and varied difficulties. And of course, it upholds the hateful notion that, if people just wanted it badly enough, they’d manage their weight, the corollary of which is that people with obesity are unmotivated and lazy.
Yet the notion that, if people want it badly enough, they’d make it happen, is incredibly commonplace. It’s so commonplace that NBC aired their prime-time televised reality show The Biggest Loser from 2004 through 2016, featuring people with obesity competing for a $500,000 prize during a 30-week–long orgy of fat-shaming, victim-blaming, hugely restrictive eating, and injury. It’s also so commonplace that studies are still being conducted exploring the impact of paying people to lose weight.
The most recent of these – “Effectiveness of Goal-Directed and Outcome-Based Financial Incentives for Weight Loss in Primary Care Patients With Obesity Living in Socioeconomically Disadvantaged Neighborhoods: A Randomized Clinical Trial” – examined the effects of randomly assigning participants whose annual household incomes were less than $40,000 to either a free year of Weight Watchers and the provisions of basic weight loss advice (exercise, track your food, eat healthfully, et cetera) or to an incentivized program that would see them earning up to $750 over 6 months, with dollars being awarded for such things as attendance in education sessions, keeping a food diary, recording their weight, and obtaining a certain amount of exercise or for weight loss.
Resultswise – though you might not have gathered it from the conclusion of the paper, which states that incentives were more effective at 12 months – the average incentivized participant lost roughly 6 pounds more than those given only resources. It should also be mentioned that over half of the incentivized group did not complete the study.
That these sorts of studies are still being conducted is depressing. Medicine and academia need to actively stop promoting harmful stereotypes when it comes to the genesis of a chronic noncommunicable disease that is not caused by a lack of desire, needing the right incentive, but is rather caused by the interaction of millions of years of evolution during extreme dietary insecurity with a modern-day food environment and culture that constantly offers, provides, and encourages consumption. This is especially true now that there are effective antiobesity medications whose success underwrites the notion that it’s physiology, rather than a lack of wanting it enough, that gets in the way of sustained success.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
It denies the impact of the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones involved in our individual levels of hunger, cravings, and fullness. It denies the torrential current of our ultraprocessed and calorific food environment. It denies the constant push of food advertising and the role food has taken on as the star of even the smallest of events and celebrations. It denies the role of food as a seminal pleasure in a world that, even for those possessing great degrees of privilege is challenging, let alone for those facing tremendous and varied difficulties. And of course, it upholds the hateful notion that, if people just wanted it badly enough, they’d manage their weight, the corollary of which is that people with obesity are unmotivated and lazy.
Yet the notion that, if people want it badly enough, they’d make it happen, is incredibly commonplace. It’s so commonplace that NBC aired their prime-time televised reality show The Biggest Loser from 2004 through 2016, featuring people with obesity competing for a $500,000 prize during a 30-week–long orgy of fat-shaming, victim-blaming, hugely restrictive eating, and injury. It’s also so commonplace that studies are still being conducted exploring the impact of paying people to lose weight.
The most recent of these – “Effectiveness of Goal-Directed and Outcome-Based Financial Incentives for Weight Loss in Primary Care Patients With Obesity Living in Socioeconomically Disadvantaged Neighborhoods: A Randomized Clinical Trial” – examined the effects of randomly assigning participants whose annual household incomes were less than $40,000 to either a free year of Weight Watchers and the provisions of basic weight loss advice (exercise, track your food, eat healthfully, et cetera) or to an incentivized program that would see them earning up to $750 over 6 months, with dollars being awarded for such things as attendance in education sessions, keeping a food diary, recording their weight, and obtaining a certain amount of exercise or for weight loss.
Resultswise – though you might not have gathered it from the conclusion of the paper, which states that incentives were more effective at 12 months – the average incentivized participant lost roughly 6 pounds more than those given only resources. It should also be mentioned that over half of the incentivized group did not complete the study.
That these sorts of studies are still being conducted is depressing. Medicine and academia need to actively stop promoting harmful stereotypes when it comes to the genesis of a chronic noncommunicable disease that is not caused by a lack of desire, needing the right incentive, but is rather caused by the interaction of millions of years of evolution during extreme dietary insecurity with a modern-day food environment and culture that constantly offers, provides, and encourages consumption. This is especially true now that there are effective antiobesity medications whose success underwrites the notion that it’s physiology, rather than a lack of wanting it enough, that gets in the way of sustained success.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
‘Stop pretending’ there’s a magic formula to weight loss
Is there a diet or weight-loss program out there that doesn’t work for those who stick with it during its first 12 weeks?
Truly, the world’s most backwards, upside-down, anti-science, nonsensical diets work over the short haul, fueled by the fact that short-term suffering for weight loss is a skill set that humanity has assiduously cultivated for at least the past 100 years. We’re really good at it!
It’s the keeping the weight off, though, that’s the hitch. Which leads me to the question, why are medical journals, even preeminent nonpredatory ones, publishing 12-week weight-loss program studies as if they have value? And does anyone truly imagine that after over 100 years of trying, there’ll be a short-term diet or program that’ll have the durable, reproducible results that no other short-term diet or program ever has?
Take this study published by Obesity: “Pragmatic implementation of a fully automated online obesity treatment in primary care.” It details a 12-week online, automated, weight-loss program that led completers to lose the roughly 5% of weight that many diets and programs see lost over their first 12 weeks. By its description, aside from its automated provision, the program sounds like pretty much the same boilerplate weight management advice and recommendations that haven’t been shown to lead large numbers of people to sustain long-term weight loss.
Participants were provided with weekly lessons which no doubt in some manner told them that high-calorie foods had high numbers of calories and should be minimized, along with other weight-loss secrets. Users were to upload weekly self-monitored weight, energy intake, and exercise minutes and were told to use a food diary. Their goal was losing 10% of their body weight by consuming 1,200-1,500 calories per day if they weighed less than 250 pounds (113 kg) and 1,500-1,800 calories if they weighed more than 250 pounds, while also telling them to aim for 200 minutes per week of moderate- to vigorous-intensity physical activity.
What was found was wholly unsurprising. Perhaps speaking to the tremendous and wide-ranging degrees of privilege that are required to prioritize intentional behavior change in the name of health, 79% of those who were given a prescription for the program either didn’t start it or stopped it before the end of the first week.
Of those who actually started the program and completed more than 1 week, despite having been selected as appropriate and interested participants by their physicians, only 20% watched all of the automated programs’ video lessons while only 32% actually bothered to submit all 12 weeks of weight data. Of course, the authors found that those who watched the greatest number of videos and submitted the most self-reported weights lost more weight and ascribed that loss to the program. What the authors did not entertain was the possibility that those who weren’t losing weight, or who were gaining, might simply be less inclined to continue with a program that wasn’t leading them to their desired outcomes or to want to submit their lack of loss or gains.
Short-term weight-loss studies help no one and when, as in this case, the outcomes aren’t even mediocre, and the completion and engagement rates are terrible, the study is still presented as significant and important. This bolsters the harmful stereotype that weight management is achievable by way of simple messages and generic goals. It suggests that it’s individuals who fail programs by not trying hard enough and that those who do, or who want it the most, will succeed. It may also lead patients and clinicians to second-guess the use of antiobesity medications, the current generation of which lead to far greater weight loss and reproducibility than any behavioral program or diet ever has.
The good news here at least is that the small percentage of participants who made it through this program’s 12 weeks are being randomly assigned to differing 9-month maintenance programs which at least will then lead to a 1-year analysis on the completers.
Why this study was published now, rather than pushed until the 1-year data were available, speaks to the pervasiveness of the toxic weight-biased notion that simple education will overcome the physiology forged over millions of years of extreme dietary insecurity.
Our food environment is a veritable floodplain of hyperpalatable foods, and social determinants of health make intentional behavior change in the name of health an unattainable luxury for a huge swath of the population.
Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute. He reported serving as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health and receiving research grants from Novo Nordisk. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Is there a diet or weight-loss program out there that doesn’t work for those who stick with it during its first 12 weeks?
Truly, the world’s most backwards, upside-down, anti-science, nonsensical diets work over the short haul, fueled by the fact that short-term suffering for weight loss is a skill set that humanity has assiduously cultivated for at least the past 100 years. We’re really good at it!
It’s the keeping the weight off, though, that’s the hitch. Which leads me to the question, why are medical journals, even preeminent nonpredatory ones, publishing 12-week weight-loss program studies as if they have value? And does anyone truly imagine that after over 100 years of trying, there’ll be a short-term diet or program that’ll have the durable, reproducible results that no other short-term diet or program ever has?
Take this study published by Obesity: “Pragmatic implementation of a fully automated online obesity treatment in primary care.” It details a 12-week online, automated, weight-loss program that led completers to lose the roughly 5% of weight that many diets and programs see lost over their first 12 weeks. By its description, aside from its automated provision, the program sounds like pretty much the same boilerplate weight management advice and recommendations that haven’t been shown to lead large numbers of people to sustain long-term weight loss.
Participants were provided with weekly lessons which no doubt in some manner told them that high-calorie foods had high numbers of calories and should be minimized, along with other weight-loss secrets. Users were to upload weekly self-monitored weight, energy intake, and exercise minutes and were told to use a food diary. Their goal was losing 10% of their body weight by consuming 1,200-1,500 calories per day if they weighed less than 250 pounds (113 kg) and 1,500-1,800 calories if they weighed more than 250 pounds, while also telling them to aim for 200 minutes per week of moderate- to vigorous-intensity physical activity.
What was found was wholly unsurprising. Perhaps speaking to the tremendous and wide-ranging degrees of privilege that are required to prioritize intentional behavior change in the name of health, 79% of those who were given a prescription for the program either didn’t start it or stopped it before the end of the first week.
Of those who actually started the program and completed more than 1 week, despite having been selected as appropriate and interested participants by their physicians, only 20% watched all of the automated programs’ video lessons while only 32% actually bothered to submit all 12 weeks of weight data. Of course, the authors found that those who watched the greatest number of videos and submitted the most self-reported weights lost more weight and ascribed that loss to the program. What the authors did not entertain was the possibility that those who weren’t losing weight, or who were gaining, might simply be less inclined to continue with a program that wasn’t leading them to their desired outcomes or to want to submit their lack of loss or gains.
Short-term weight-loss studies help no one and when, as in this case, the outcomes aren’t even mediocre, and the completion and engagement rates are terrible, the study is still presented as significant and important. This bolsters the harmful stereotype that weight management is achievable by way of simple messages and generic goals. It suggests that it’s individuals who fail programs by not trying hard enough and that those who do, or who want it the most, will succeed. It may also lead patients and clinicians to second-guess the use of antiobesity medications, the current generation of which lead to far greater weight loss and reproducibility than any behavioral program or diet ever has.
The good news here at least is that the small percentage of participants who made it through this program’s 12 weeks are being randomly assigned to differing 9-month maintenance programs which at least will then lead to a 1-year analysis on the completers.
Why this study was published now, rather than pushed until the 1-year data were available, speaks to the pervasiveness of the toxic weight-biased notion that simple education will overcome the physiology forged over millions of years of extreme dietary insecurity.
Our food environment is a veritable floodplain of hyperpalatable foods, and social determinants of health make intentional behavior change in the name of health an unattainable luxury for a huge swath of the population.
Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute. He reported serving as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health and receiving research grants from Novo Nordisk. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Is there a diet or weight-loss program out there that doesn’t work for those who stick with it during its first 12 weeks?
Truly, the world’s most backwards, upside-down, anti-science, nonsensical diets work over the short haul, fueled by the fact that short-term suffering for weight loss is a skill set that humanity has assiduously cultivated for at least the past 100 years. We’re really good at it!
It’s the keeping the weight off, though, that’s the hitch. Which leads me to the question, why are medical journals, even preeminent nonpredatory ones, publishing 12-week weight-loss program studies as if they have value? And does anyone truly imagine that after over 100 years of trying, there’ll be a short-term diet or program that’ll have the durable, reproducible results that no other short-term diet or program ever has?
Take this study published by Obesity: “Pragmatic implementation of a fully automated online obesity treatment in primary care.” It details a 12-week online, automated, weight-loss program that led completers to lose the roughly 5% of weight that many diets and programs see lost over their first 12 weeks. By its description, aside from its automated provision, the program sounds like pretty much the same boilerplate weight management advice and recommendations that haven’t been shown to lead large numbers of people to sustain long-term weight loss.
Participants were provided with weekly lessons which no doubt in some manner told them that high-calorie foods had high numbers of calories and should be minimized, along with other weight-loss secrets. Users were to upload weekly self-monitored weight, energy intake, and exercise minutes and were told to use a food diary. Their goal was losing 10% of their body weight by consuming 1,200-1,500 calories per day if they weighed less than 250 pounds (113 kg) and 1,500-1,800 calories if they weighed more than 250 pounds, while also telling them to aim for 200 minutes per week of moderate- to vigorous-intensity physical activity.
What was found was wholly unsurprising. Perhaps speaking to the tremendous and wide-ranging degrees of privilege that are required to prioritize intentional behavior change in the name of health, 79% of those who were given a prescription for the program either didn’t start it or stopped it before the end of the first week.
Of those who actually started the program and completed more than 1 week, despite having been selected as appropriate and interested participants by their physicians, only 20% watched all of the automated programs’ video lessons while only 32% actually bothered to submit all 12 weeks of weight data. Of course, the authors found that those who watched the greatest number of videos and submitted the most self-reported weights lost more weight and ascribed that loss to the program. What the authors did not entertain was the possibility that those who weren’t losing weight, or who were gaining, might simply be less inclined to continue with a program that wasn’t leading them to their desired outcomes or to want to submit their lack of loss or gains.
Short-term weight-loss studies help no one and when, as in this case, the outcomes aren’t even mediocre, and the completion and engagement rates are terrible, the study is still presented as significant and important. This bolsters the harmful stereotype that weight management is achievable by way of simple messages and generic goals. It suggests that it’s individuals who fail programs by not trying hard enough and that those who do, or who want it the most, will succeed. It may also lead patients and clinicians to second-guess the use of antiobesity medications, the current generation of which lead to far greater weight loss and reproducibility than any behavioral program or diet ever has.
The good news here at least is that the small percentage of participants who made it through this program’s 12 weeks are being randomly assigned to differing 9-month maintenance programs which at least will then lead to a 1-year analysis on the completers.
Why this study was published now, rather than pushed until the 1-year data were available, speaks to the pervasiveness of the toxic weight-biased notion that simple education will overcome the physiology forged over millions of years of extreme dietary insecurity.
Our food environment is a veritable floodplain of hyperpalatable foods, and social determinants of health make intentional behavior change in the name of health an unattainable luxury for a huge swath of the population.
Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute. He reported serving as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health and receiving research grants from Novo Nordisk. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
It’s time to shame the fat shamers
Fat shaming doesn’t work. If it did, obesity as we know it wouldn’t exist because if the one thing society ensures isn’t lacking for people with obesity, it’s shame. We know that fat shaming doesn’t lead to weight loss and that it’s actually correlated with weight gain: More shame leads to more gain (Puhl and Suh; Sutin and Terracciano; Tomiyama et al).
Shaming and weight stigma have far more concerning associations than weight gain. People who report experiencing more weight stigma have an increased risk for depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, poor body image, substance abuse, suicidality, unhealthy eating behaviors, disordered eating, increased caloric intake, exercise avoidance, decreased exercise motivation potentially due to heightened cortisol reactivity, elevated C-reactive protein, and elevated blood pressure.
Meanwhile, people with obesity – likely in part owing to negative weight-biased experiences in health care – are reluctant to discuss weight with their health care providers and are less likely to seek care at all for any conditions. When care is sought, people with obesity are more likely to receive substandard treatment, including receiving fewer preventive health screenings, decreased health education, and decreased time spent in appointments.
Remember that obesity is not a conscious choice
A fact that is conveniently forgotten by those who are most prone to fat shaming is that obesity, like every chronic noncommunicable disease, isn’t a choice that is consciously made by patients.
And yes, though there are lifestyle means that might affect weight, there are lifestyle means that might affect all chronic diseases – yet obesity is the only one we seem to moralize about. It’s also worth noting that other chronic diseases’ lifestyle levers tend not to be governed by thousands of genes and dozens of hormones; those trying to “lifestyle” their way out of obesity are swimming against strong physiologic currents that influence our most seminally important survival drive: eating.
But forgetting about physiologic currents, there is also staggering privilege associated with intentional perpetual behavior change around food and fitness in the name of health.
Whereas medicine and the world are right and quick to embrace the fights against racism, sexism, and homophobia, the push to confront weight bias is far rarer, despite the fact that it’s been shown to be rampant among health care professionals.
Protecting the rights of people with obesity
Perhaps though, times are changing. Movements are popping up to protect the rights of people with obesity while combating hate.
Of note, Brazil seems to have embraced a campaign to fight gordofobia — the Portuguese term used to describe weight-based discrimination. For instance, laws are being passed to ensure appropriate seating is supplied in schools for children with obesity, an annual day was formalized to promote the rights of people with obesity, preferential seating is provided on subways for people with obesity, and fines have been levied against at least one comedian for making fat jokes on the grounds of the state’s duty to protect minorities.
We need to take this fight to medicine. Given the incredibly depressing prevalence of weight bias among trainees, medical schools and residency programs should ensure countering weight bias is not only part of the curriculum but that it’s explicitly examined. National medical licensing examinations should include weight bias as well.
Though we’re closer than ever before to widely effective treatment options for obesity, it’s likely to still be decades before pharmaceutical options to treat obesity are as effective, accepted, and encouraged as medications to treat hypertension, dyslipidemia, diabetes, and more are today.
If you’re curious about your own implicit weight biases, consider taking Harvard’s Implicit Association Test for Weight. You might also want to take a few moments and review the Strategies to Overcome and Prevent Obesity Alliances’ Weight Can’t Wait guide for advice on the management of obesity in primary care.
Treat patients with obesity the same as you would those with any chronic condition.
Also, consider your physical office space. Do you have chairs suitable for patients with obesity (wide base and with arms to help patients rise)? A scale that measures up to high weights that’s in a private location? Appropriately sized blood pressure cuffs?
If not,
Examples include the family doctor who hadn’t checked my patient’s blood pressure in over a decade because he couldn’t be bothered buying an appropriately sized blood pressure cuff. Or the fertility doctor who told one of my patients that perhaps her weight reflected God’s will that she does not have children.
Finally, if reading this article about treating people with obesity the same as you would patients with other chronic, noncommunicable, lifestyle responsive diseases made you angry, there’s a great chance that you’re part of the problem.
Dr. Freedhoff, is associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight management center. He is one of Canada’s most outspoken obesity experts and the author of The Diet Fix: Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work. He has disclosed the following: He served as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health; has received research grant from Novo Nordisk, and has publicly shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Fat shaming doesn’t work. If it did, obesity as we know it wouldn’t exist because if the one thing society ensures isn’t lacking for people with obesity, it’s shame. We know that fat shaming doesn’t lead to weight loss and that it’s actually correlated with weight gain: More shame leads to more gain (Puhl and Suh; Sutin and Terracciano; Tomiyama et al).
Shaming and weight stigma have far more concerning associations than weight gain. People who report experiencing more weight stigma have an increased risk for depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, poor body image, substance abuse, suicidality, unhealthy eating behaviors, disordered eating, increased caloric intake, exercise avoidance, decreased exercise motivation potentially due to heightened cortisol reactivity, elevated C-reactive protein, and elevated blood pressure.
Meanwhile, people with obesity – likely in part owing to negative weight-biased experiences in health care – are reluctant to discuss weight with their health care providers and are less likely to seek care at all for any conditions. When care is sought, people with obesity are more likely to receive substandard treatment, including receiving fewer preventive health screenings, decreased health education, and decreased time spent in appointments.
Remember that obesity is not a conscious choice
A fact that is conveniently forgotten by those who are most prone to fat shaming is that obesity, like every chronic noncommunicable disease, isn’t a choice that is consciously made by patients.
And yes, though there are lifestyle means that might affect weight, there are lifestyle means that might affect all chronic diseases – yet obesity is the only one we seem to moralize about. It’s also worth noting that other chronic diseases’ lifestyle levers tend not to be governed by thousands of genes and dozens of hormones; those trying to “lifestyle” their way out of obesity are swimming against strong physiologic currents that influence our most seminally important survival drive: eating.
But forgetting about physiologic currents, there is also staggering privilege associated with intentional perpetual behavior change around food and fitness in the name of health.
Whereas medicine and the world are right and quick to embrace the fights against racism, sexism, and homophobia, the push to confront weight bias is far rarer, despite the fact that it’s been shown to be rampant among health care professionals.
Protecting the rights of people with obesity
Perhaps though, times are changing. Movements are popping up to protect the rights of people with obesity while combating hate.
Of note, Brazil seems to have embraced a campaign to fight gordofobia — the Portuguese term used to describe weight-based discrimination. For instance, laws are being passed to ensure appropriate seating is supplied in schools for children with obesity, an annual day was formalized to promote the rights of people with obesity, preferential seating is provided on subways for people with obesity, and fines have been levied against at least one comedian for making fat jokes on the grounds of the state’s duty to protect minorities.
We need to take this fight to medicine. Given the incredibly depressing prevalence of weight bias among trainees, medical schools and residency programs should ensure countering weight bias is not only part of the curriculum but that it’s explicitly examined. National medical licensing examinations should include weight bias as well.
Though we’re closer than ever before to widely effective treatment options for obesity, it’s likely to still be decades before pharmaceutical options to treat obesity are as effective, accepted, and encouraged as medications to treat hypertension, dyslipidemia, diabetes, and more are today.
If you’re curious about your own implicit weight biases, consider taking Harvard’s Implicit Association Test for Weight. You might also want to take a few moments and review the Strategies to Overcome and Prevent Obesity Alliances’ Weight Can’t Wait guide for advice on the management of obesity in primary care.
Treat patients with obesity the same as you would those with any chronic condition.
Also, consider your physical office space. Do you have chairs suitable for patients with obesity (wide base and with arms to help patients rise)? A scale that measures up to high weights that’s in a private location? Appropriately sized blood pressure cuffs?
If not,
Examples include the family doctor who hadn’t checked my patient’s blood pressure in over a decade because he couldn’t be bothered buying an appropriately sized blood pressure cuff. Or the fertility doctor who told one of my patients that perhaps her weight reflected God’s will that she does not have children.
Finally, if reading this article about treating people with obesity the same as you would patients with other chronic, noncommunicable, lifestyle responsive diseases made you angry, there’s a great chance that you’re part of the problem.
Dr. Freedhoff, is associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight management center. He is one of Canada’s most outspoken obesity experts and the author of The Diet Fix: Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work. He has disclosed the following: He served as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health; has received research grant from Novo Nordisk, and has publicly shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Fat shaming doesn’t work. If it did, obesity as we know it wouldn’t exist because if the one thing society ensures isn’t lacking for people with obesity, it’s shame. We know that fat shaming doesn’t lead to weight loss and that it’s actually correlated with weight gain: More shame leads to more gain (Puhl and Suh; Sutin and Terracciano; Tomiyama et al).
Shaming and weight stigma have far more concerning associations than weight gain. People who report experiencing more weight stigma have an increased risk for depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, poor body image, substance abuse, suicidality, unhealthy eating behaviors, disordered eating, increased caloric intake, exercise avoidance, decreased exercise motivation potentially due to heightened cortisol reactivity, elevated C-reactive protein, and elevated blood pressure.
Meanwhile, people with obesity – likely in part owing to negative weight-biased experiences in health care – are reluctant to discuss weight with their health care providers and are less likely to seek care at all for any conditions. When care is sought, people with obesity are more likely to receive substandard treatment, including receiving fewer preventive health screenings, decreased health education, and decreased time spent in appointments.
Remember that obesity is not a conscious choice
A fact that is conveniently forgotten by those who are most prone to fat shaming is that obesity, like every chronic noncommunicable disease, isn’t a choice that is consciously made by patients.
And yes, though there are lifestyle means that might affect weight, there are lifestyle means that might affect all chronic diseases – yet obesity is the only one we seem to moralize about. It’s also worth noting that other chronic diseases’ lifestyle levers tend not to be governed by thousands of genes and dozens of hormones; those trying to “lifestyle” their way out of obesity are swimming against strong physiologic currents that influence our most seminally important survival drive: eating.
But forgetting about physiologic currents, there is also staggering privilege associated with intentional perpetual behavior change around food and fitness in the name of health.
Whereas medicine and the world are right and quick to embrace the fights against racism, sexism, and homophobia, the push to confront weight bias is far rarer, despite the fact that it’s been shown to be rampant among health care professionals.
Protecting the rights of people with obesity
Perhaps though, times are changing. Movements are popping up to protect the rights of people with obesity while combating hate.
Of note, Brazil seems to have embraced a campaign to fight gordofobia — the Portuguese term used to describe weight-based discrimination. For instance, laws are being passed to ensure appropriate seating is supplied in schools for children with obesity, an annual day was formalized to promote the rights of people with obesity, preferential seating is provided on subways for people with obesity, and fines have been levied against at least one comedian for making fat jokes on the grounds of the state’s duty to protect minorities.
We need to take this fight to medicine. Given the incredibly depressing prevalence of weight bias among trainees, medical schools and residency programs should ensure countering weight bias is not only part of the curriculum but that it’s explicitly examined. National medical licensing examinations should include weight bias as well.
Though we’re closer than ever before to widely effective treatment options for obesity, it’s likely to still be decades before pharmaceutical options to treat obesity are as effective, accepted, and encouraged as medications to treat hypertension, dyslipidemia, diabetes, and more are today.
If you’re curious about your own implicit weight biases, consider taking Harvard’s Implicit Association Test for Weight. You might also want to take a few moments and review the Strategies to Overcome and Prevent Obesity Alliances’ Weight Can’t Wait guide for advice on the management of obesity in primary care.
Treat patients with obesity the same as you would those with any chronic condition.
Also, consider your physical office space. Do you have chairs suitable for patients with obesity (wide base and with arms to help patients rise)? A scale that measures up to high weights that’s in a private location? Appropriately sized blood pressure cuffs?
If not,
Examples include the family doctor who hadn’t checked my patient’s blood pressure in over a decade because he couldn’t be bothered buying an appropriately sized blood pressure cuff. Or the fertility doctor who told one of my patients that perhaps her weight reflected God’s will that she does not have children.
Finally, if reading this article about treating people with obesity the same as you would patients with other chronic, noncommunicable, lifestyle responsive diseases made you angry, there’s a great chance that you’re part of the problem.
Dr. Freedhoff, is associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight management center. He is one of Canada’s most outspoken obesity experts and the author of The Diet Fix: Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work. He has disclosed the following: He served as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health; has received research grant from Novo Nordisk, and has publicly shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
‘This food will kill you, that food will save you’
Not sure if you’ve heard the news, but eating a single hot dog will apparently cost you 36 minutes of healthy life. My first thought when hearing this was of course the same as everyone else’s: Poor Joey Chestnut, multiyear winner of Nathan’s annual hot dog–eating contest.
He won this year’s contest with 76 hot dogs, which puts his total number of competition-consumed hot dogs at 1,089 – which cost him, it would seem, 27.2 days of healthy life. Unless, of course, every hot dog he inhaled came with a bun hosting two portions of sesame seeds, which in turn would buy him 50 extra minutes of life (25 minutes per portion, you see) and would consequently have extended his life by 10.6 days.
Clearly, the obvious solution here is to ensure that all hot dog buns have two portions of sesame seeds on them moving forward; that way, hot dogs can transition from being poisonous killers to antiaging medicine.
The other solution, albeit less exciting, perhaps, is for researchers to stop studying single foods’ impacts on health, and/or for journals to stop publishing them, and/or for the media to stop promoting them – because they are all as ridiculously useless as the example above highlighting findings from a newly published study in Nature Food, entitled “Small targeted dietary changes can yield substantial gains for human health and the environment.”
While no doubt we would all love for diet and health to be so well understood that we could choose specific single foods (knowing that they would prolong our lives) while avoiding single foods that would shorten it, there’s this unfortunate truth that the degree of confounding among food alone is staggering. People eat thousands of different foods in thousands of different dietary combinations. Moreover, most (all?) research conducted on dietary impacts of single foods on health don’t actually track consumption of those specific foods over time, let alone their interactions with all other foods consumed, but rather at moments in time.
In the case of the “hot dogs will kill you unless there are sesame seeds on your bun” article, for example, the researchers utilized one solitary dietary recall session upon which to base their ridiculously specific, ridiculous conclusions.
People’s diets also change over time for various reasons, and of course people themselves are very different. You might imagine that people whose diets are rich in chicken wings, sugared soda, and hot dogs will have markedly different lifestyles and demographics than those whose diets are rich in walnuts, sashimi, and avocados.
So why do we keep seeing studies like this being published? Is it because they’re basically clickbait catnip for journals and newspapers, and in our publish-or-perish attention-seeking world, that means they not only get a pass but they get a press release? Is it because peer review is broken and everyone knows it? Is it because as a society, we’re frogs who have been steeping for decades in the ever-heated pot of nutritional nonsense, and consequently don’t think to question it?
I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but one thing I do know: Studies on single foods’ impact on life length are pointless, impossible, and idiotic, and people who share them noncritically should be forever shunned – or at the very least, forever ignored.
Yoni Freedhoff, MD, is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight-management center.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Not sure if you’ve heard the news, but eating a single hot dog will apparently cost you 36 minutes of healthy life. My first thought when hearing this was of course the same as everyone else’s: Poor Joey Chestnut, multiyear winner of Nathan’s annual hot dog–eating contest.
He won this year’s contest with 76 hot dogs, which puts his total number of competition-consumed hot dogs at 1,089 – which cost him, it would seem, 27.2 days of healthy life. Unless, of course, every hot dog he inhaled came with a bun hosting two portions of sesame seeds, which in turn would buy him 50 extra minutes of life (25 minutes per portion, you see) and would consequently have extended his life by 10.6 days.
Clearly, the obvious solution here is to ensure that all hot dog buns have two portions of sesame seeds on them moving forward; that way, hot dogs can transition from being poisonous killers to antiaging medicine.
The other solution, albeit less exciting, perhaps, is for researchers to stop studying single foods’ impacts on health, and/or for journals to stop publishing them, and/or for the media to stop promoting them – because they are all as ridiculously useless as the example above highlighting findings from a newly published study in Nature Food, entitled “Small targeted dietary changes can yield substantial gains for human health and the environment.”
While no doubt we would all love for diet and health to be so well understood that we could choose specific single foods (knowing that they would prolong our lives) while avoiding single foods that would shorten it, there’s this unfortunate truth that the degree of confounding among food alone is staggering. People eat thousands of different foods in thousands of different dietary combinations. Moreover, most (all?) research conducted on dietary impacts of single foods on health don’t actually track consumption of those specific foods over time, let alone their interactions with all other foods consumed, but rather at moments in time.
In the case of the “hot dogs will kill you unless there are sesame seeds on your bun” article, for example, the researchers utilized one solitary dietary recall session upon which to base their ridiculously specific, ridiculous conclusions.
People’s diets also change over time for various reasons, and of course people themselves are very different. You might imagine that people whose diets are rich in chicken wings, sugared soda, and hot dogs will have markedly different lifestyles and demographics than those whose diets are rich in walnuts, sashimi, and avocados.
So why do we keep seeing studies like this being published? Is it because they’re basically clickbait catnip for journals and newspapers, and in our publish-or-perish attention-seeking world, that means they not only get a pass but they get a press release? Is it because peer review is broken and everyone knows it? Is it because as a society, we’re frogs who have been steeping for decades in the ever-heated pot of nutritional nonsense, and consequently don’t think to question it?
I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but one thing I do know: Studies on single foods’ impact on life length are pointless, impossible, and idiotic, and people who share them noncritically should be forever shunned – or at the very least, forever ignored.
Yoni Freedhoff, MD, is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight-management center.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Not sure if you’ve heard the news, but eating a single hot dog will apparently cost you 36 minutes of healthy life. My first thought when hearing this was of course the same as everyone else’s: Poor Joey Chestnut, multiyear winner of Nathan’s annual hot dog–eating contest.
He won this year’s contest with 76 hot dogs, which puts his total number of competition-consumed hot dogs at 1,089 – which cost him, it would seem, 27.2 days of healthy life. Unless, of course, every hot dog he inhaled came with a bun hosting two portions of sesame seeds, which in turn would buy him 50 extra minutes of life (25 minutes per portion, you see) and would consequently have extended his life by 10.6 days.
Clearly, the obvious solution here is to ensure that all hot dog buns have two portions of sesame seeds on them moving forward; that way, hot dogs can transition from being poisonous killers to antiaging medicine.
The other solution, albeit less exciting, perhaps, is for researchers to stop studying single foods’ impacts on health, and/or for journals to stop publishing them, and/or for the media to stop promoting them – because they are all as ridiculously useless as the example above highlighting findings from a newly published study in Nature Food, entitled “Small targeted dietary changes can yield substantial gains for human health and the environment.”
While no doubt we would all love for diet and health to be so well understood that we could choose specific single foods (knowing that they would prolong our lives) while avoiding single foods that would shorten it, there’s this unfortunate truth that the degree of confounding among food alone is staggering. People eat thousands of different foods in thousands of different dietary combinations. Moreover, most (all?) research conducted on dietary impacts of single foods on health don’t actually track consumption of those specific foods over time, let alone their interactions with all other foods consumed, but rather at moments in time.
In the case of the “hot dogs will kill you unless there are sesame seeds on your bun” article, for example, the researchers utilized one solitary dietary recall session upon which to base their ridiculously specific, ridiculous conclusions.
People’s diets also change over time for various reasons, and of course people themselves are very different. You might imagine that people whose diets are rich in chicken wings, sugared soda, and hot dogs will have markedly different lifestyles and demographics than those whose diets are rich in walnuts, sashimi, and avocados.
So why do we keep seeing studies like this being published? Is it because they’re basically clickbait catnip for journals and newspapers, and in our publish-or-perish attention-seeking world, that means they not only get a pass but they get a press release? Is it because peer review is broken and everyone knows it? Is it because as a society, we’re frogs who have been steeping for decades in the ever-heated pot of nutritional nonsense, and consequently don’t think to question it?
I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but one thing I do know: Studies on single foods’ impact on life length are pointless, impossible, and idiotic, and people who share them noncritically should be forever shunned – or at the very least, forever ignored.
Yoni Freedhoff, MD, is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight-management center.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Weighing children in school: No good can come of it
The United Kingdom’s National Obesity Forum has apparently decided that returning to school this fall in the middle of a pandemic isn’t stressful enough for kids, and is recommending that its National Child Measurement Programme be expanded to have 4- to 5-year-old and 10- to 11-year-old children weighed when they return to the classroom – and then weighed again in the spring – in a bid to tackle COVID-19–related gains.
It’s difficult to conceive a single plausible mechanism by which this recommendation could be helpful. Given that weight is, by a substantial margin, the No. 1 reported cause of schoolyard bullying, it’s certainly unlikely that children with obesity don’t already know that they have it. It’s also unlikely that they don’t know that obesity confers risks to health, given the near constant drumbeats of concern percussed by the media and public health authorities, and the fact that watching people with obesity be blamed, shamed, and berated for their condition has in the past 2 decades become a regularly repeated prime-time reality show spectacle.
It’s also unlikely, especially in younger grades, to be something within a child’s direct control.
What about the parents? Well, given that they dress their children and that changes in weight affect clothing sizes and fit, they’re already aware if their kids are gaining weight. And like their children, they have been exposed to constant public health alarms around obesity.
Many parents will have seen their time and resources, both real and mental, become significantly impaired during the time of COVID-19, which in turn understandably challenges change. Simply put, permanent intentional behavior change in the name of health requires tremendous privilege and is elusive for many people even during easier times. For non–evidence-based proof of this assertion, simply reflect on all of your own best-laid intentions and plans that might have been good for your health (fitness, relationships, CME, etc.) that you let slide despite probably having far more privilege than the average person.
Then, of course, there is the hugely inconvenient truth that we have yet to see the development of a parent- or child-based educational intervention or directive for weight gain that has shown itself to be beneficial on a population level.
Can something else be done instead?
At this point, we can only speculate about the potential risks associated with school room weigh-ins because randomized controlled trials, thankfully, have not been conducted to explore this area. But I can certainly tell you that I have met many adult patients in my office who traced their lifetime of yo-yo dieting – along with a history of teenage eating disorders, at times – to their well-intentioned physician, school nurse, gym teacher, or parent using a scale to measure their weights. And in doing so, they were teaching that scales measure health, happiness, success, self-worth, and effort.
If governments are concerned about weight gain in children, they need to look to initiatives that will help all children and parents. Weighing them will not somehow inspire parents or kids to discover an as-yet unknown effective childhood obesity treatment. Changes that would be helpful may include:
- Banning food advertisements to children.
- Reforming school cafeteria meals and then ensuring that school meals are made available to children during COVID-19–related school shutdowns.
- Bringing back home economics classes to teach children how to cook (and perhaps doing the same for parents during school off-hours or in community centers).
- Enacting sugar-sweetened beverage taxes and using revenues to fund aforementioned reforms and programs, along with others, which might include the subsidization of fresh produce.
- Reforming front-of-package health claims for foods with questionable nutritional quality.
Given that there is literally no age category in any country on the planet that hasn’t seen rising weights, this is clearly not a disease reflecting a pandemic loss of willpower. Rather, this is a disease of the world’s changing food environments and culture, and until we address both through systemic changes, schemes such as the one being proposed by the UK National Obesity Forum are far more likely to do harm than good.
Yoni Freedhoff is associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight management center. He is one of Canada’s most outspoken obesity experts and the author of “The Diet Fix: Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work.” A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.
The United Kingdom’s National Obesity Forum has apparently decided that returning to school this fall in the middle of a pandemic isn’t stressful enough for kids, and is recommending that its National Child Measurement Programme be expanded to have 4- to 5-year-old and 10- to 11-year-old children weighed when they return to the classroom – and then weighed again in the spring – in a bid to tackle COVID-19–related gains.
It’s difficult to conceive a single plausible mechanism by which this recommendation could be helpful. Given that weight is, by a substantial margin, the No. 1 reported cause of schoolyard bullying, it’s certainly unlikely that children with obesity don’t already know that they have it. It’s also unlikely that they don’t know that obesity confers risks to health, given the near constant drumbeats of concern percussed by the media and public health authorities, and the fact that watching people with obesity be blamed, shamed, and berated for their condition has in the past 2 decades become a regularly repeated prime-time reality show spectacle.
It’s also unlikely, especially in younger grades, to be something within a child’s direct control.
What about the parents? Well, given that they dress their children and that changes in weight affect clothing sizes and fit, they’re already aware if their kids are gaining weight. And like their children, they have been exposed to constant public health alarms around obesity.
Many parents will have seen their time and resources, both real and mental, become significantly impaired during the time of COVID-19, which in turn understandably challenges change. Simply put, permanent intentional behavior change in the name of health requires tremendous privilege and is elusive for many people even during easier times. For non–evidence-based proof of this assertion, simply reflect on all of your own best-laid intentions and plans that might have been good for your health (fitness, relationships, CME, etc.) that you let slide despite probably having far more privilege than the average person.
Then, of course, there is the hugely inconvenient truth that we have yet to see the development of a parent- or child-based educational intervention or directive for weight gain that has shown itself to be beneficial on a population level.
Can something else be done instead?
At this point, we can only speculate about the potential risks associated with school room weigh-ins because randomized controlled trials, thankfully, have not been conducted to explore this area. But I can certainly tell you that I have met many adult patients in my office who traced their lifetime of yo-yo dieting – along with a history of teenage eating disorders, at times – to their well-intentioned physician, school nurse, gym teacher, or parent using a scale to measure their weights. And in doing so, they were teaching that scales measure health, happiness, success, self-worth, and effort.
If governments are concerned about weight gain in children, they need to look to initiatives that will help all children and parents. Weighing them will not somehow inspire parents or kids to discover an as-yet unknown effective childhood obesity treatment. Changes that would be helpful may include:
- Banning food advertisements to children.
- Reforming school cafeteria meals and then ensuring that school meals are made available to children during COVID-19–related school shutdowns.
- Bringing back home economics classes to teach children how to cook (and perhaps doing the same for parents during school off-hours or in community centers).
- Enacting sugar-sweetened beverage taxes and using revenues to fund aforementioned reforms and programs, along with others, which might include the subsidization of fresh produce.
- Reforming front-of-package health claims for foods with questionable nutritional quality.
Given that there is literally no age category in any country on the planet that hasn’t seen rising weights, this is clearly not a disease reflecting a pandemic loss of willpower. Rather, this is a disease of the world’s changing food environments and culture, and until we address both through systemic changes, schemes such as the one being proposed by the UK National Obesity Forum are far more likely to do harm than good.
Yoni Freedhoff is associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight management center. He is one of Canada’s most outspoken obesity experts and the author of “The Diet Fix: Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work.” A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.
The United Kingdom’s National Obesity Forum has apparently decided that returning to school this fall in the middle of a pandemic isn’t stressful enough for kids, and is recommending that its National Child Measurement Programme be expanded to have 4- to 5-year-old and 10- to 11-year-old children weighed when they return to the classroom – and then weighed again in the spring – in a bid to tackle COVID-19–related gains.
It’s difficult to conceive a single plausible mechanism by which this recommendation could be helpful. Given that weight is, by a substantial margin, the No. 1 reported cause of schoolyard bullying, it’s certainly unlikely that children with obesity don’t already know that they have it. It’s also unlikely that they don’t know that obesity confers risks to health, given the near constant drumbeats of concern percussed by the media and public health authorities, and the fact that watching people with obesity be blamed, shamed, and berated for their condition has in the past 2 decades become a regularly repeated prime-time reality show spectacle.
It’s also unlikely, especially in younger grades, to be something within a child’s direct control.
What about the parents? Well, given that they dress their children and that changes in weight affect clothing sizes and fit, they’re already aware if their kids are gaining weight. And like their children, they have been exposed to constant public health alarms around obesity.
Many parents will have seen their time and resources, both real and mental, become significantly impaired during the time of COVID-19, which in turn understandably challenges change. Simply put, permanent intentional behavior change in the name of health requires tremendous privilege and is elusive for many people even during easier times. For non–evidence-based proof of this assertion, simply reflect on all of your own best-laid intentions and plans that might have been good for your health (fitness, relationships, CME, etc.) that you let slide despite probably having far more privilege than the average person.
Then, of course, there is the hugely inconvenient truth that we have yet to see the development of a parent- or child-based educational intervention or directive for weight gain that has shown itself to be beneficial on a population level.
Can something else be done instead?
At this point, we can only speculate about the potential risks associated with school room weigh-ins because randomized controlled trials, thankfully, have not been conducted to explore this area. But I can certainly tell you that I have met many adult patients in my office who traced their lifetime of yo-yo dieting – along with a history of teenage eating disorders, at times – to their well-intentioned physician, school nurse, gym teacher, or parent using a scale to measure their weights. And in doing so, they were teaching that scales measure health, happiness, success, self-worth, and effort.
If governments are concerned about weight gain in children, they need to look to initiatives that will help all children and parents. Weighing them will not somehow inspire parents or kids to discover an as-yet unknown effective childhood obesity treatment. Changes that would be helpful may include:
- Banning food advertisements to children.
- Reforming school cafeteria meals and then ensuring that school meals are made available to children during COVID-19–related school shutdowns.
- Bringing back home economics classes to teach children how to cook (and perhaps doing the same for parents during school off-hours or in community centers).
- Enacting sugar-sweetened beverage taxes and using revenues to fund aforementioned reforms and programs, along with others, which might include the subsidization of fresh produce.
- Reforming front-of-package health claims for foods with questionable nutritional quality.
Given that there is literally no age category in any country on the planet that hasn’t seen rising weights, this is clearly not a disease reflecting a pandemic loss of willpower. Rather, this is a disease of the world’s changing food environments and culture, and until we address both through systemic changes, schemes such as the one being proposed by the UK National Obesity Forum are far more likely to do harm than good.
Yoni Freedhoff is associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, a nonsurgical weight management center. He is one of Canada’s most outspoken obesity experts and the author of “The Diet Fix: Why Diets Fail and How to Make Yours Work.” A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.