Liquid Diet

There’s something very appealing about the idea that liquids could “not count” when it comes to reducing one’s caloric intake. The lack of bulk suggests that there is no correlation between what you drink and the physical fat you want to lose.

The juice diet might therefore seem like an easy, and easy to maintain option: don’t chew anything; just slurp away. And you can get all your nutrients if you mix it up with milk, juice, a shake, sodas and a bevvy or two as a reward at the end of the day.

Often, “juicers” take this a step further by simply reducing solid foods into liquids by tossing them in a blender. Sure — you might drink it down, but make no mistake about it: you’re eating, not drinking, or at least your stomach is.

This handy little chart from 1968 means well. It wants to remind the dieter that alcohol has calories too, and does it by providing tasty, fat-laden equivalents to popular drinks. Certainly, it aims to act as a diet fairy sitting on the shoulder of the lady who will whisper in her ear “that Daiquiri is like eating 3 tablespoons of cream cheese!”

But how effective is it, really?

If I want a glass of wine with dinner, I’m not going to be put off by seeing that it’s equivalent to two teaspoons of butter. Whatev. It could also backfire by making one salivate at the thought of snarfing back peanuts or bacon, but knowing these are off-limits, reach for a beer instead.

Of course, it’s not just calories at stake here: it’s fat. There isn’t any in the drinks, but loads in the foods. The fat which will be produced by the body converting all that carbohydrate will come later. This too is the hidden problem with juice diets: they’re loaded with carbs.

Better to eat that avocado with a glass of wine. Because we all know that the peanuts are going to make you want a beer and vice-versa. And that there’s nothing that works as well as taking your mind off your fat than getting drunk.

Salut! 

Eat and Stay Slim, Better Homes and Gardens, 1968

Also from this book: Life's A Bitch

Afternoon Delight

Where to begin?

Diet advertising has always gone for the jugular: willpower. This plays into the idea that obesity is caused by that most insidious of all mental failings: lack of control. If the assumption is that a fat person can’t help themselves when it comes to succumbing to foods they should avoid eating, then food companies try to make eating it seem like it’s part of your “diet.”

A problem at the heart of this is the duality of the word “diet.” It is used both to refer to one’s diet in general — the totality of what we consume on a regular basis — and a diet, meaning a specific reduction in what we consume in order to lose weight.

The word diet is from old French, diete, meaning “a pittance,” which is in turn from the Latin dieta, meaning both “parliamentary assembly” and “a day’s food allowance.” This can be traced back to the older term diaita, meaning “prescribed way of life,” in Greek. The duality of meanings stems from a common point: the word’s The Proto-Indo-European (PIE) root is ai — “to give, allot” which also gives us the Latin dies, “day.” The daily offices of the Church took this root, leading to the idea of assembly. The consumption of food — eating one’s daily bread — is thus inextricably linked to the daily activities of consumption and communing. The Diet of Worms is perhaps the most familiar remnant of the use of the word Diet in this sense.

1521: Martin Luther defends his 95 Theses before Emperor Charles V in Worms, Germany

Being able to say “my diet” allows the brain to cheat when it comes to making decisions about what to put in your mouth. Hence the stunning confusion of images and text you see on the cover of every women’s magazine stacked at the supermarket checkout, which are extensions of what you see in this ad for sugar. Pornographic images of high-calorie sweets such as seasonally decorated cakes are presented alongside headlines that promise you can “Lose weight by eating all you want!” or “Drop 50lbs by Thanksgiving!” These covers are pornographic because they are designed to appeal directly to the id and stimulate deep-seated libidinal appetites — in short, they inspire a physical response (salivation, hunger) that overrides your better judgment. It’s part of your “diet,” after all, so what’s the harm, right?

A band which started out with the name "Fat City" on a show presented by someone named Burt Sugarman on his show "Midnight Special," singing a song about having sex in the (gasp!) daytime. 

The wording of this sugar ad also strikes at the place where words excite us. This is a “diet dodge,” a loophole you can exploit to fulfill your desires. In 1970, when this ad appeared in women’s magazines, the word “dodge” had other, more political connotations, most often heard in the phrase “draft dodgers.”

The word “undereat” is also no accident. It is the dearest wish for those with no willpower to be able to undereat (as opposed to overeat). This ad suggest that the dodge will allow them to attain this ability — perversely by overeating (who needs an ice cream and lunch?)

The word “need” appeals to your sense of entitlement: we all have needs, and want them fulfilled. Acknowledging a consumer / dieter’s personal need (for satiation) is a selling point. The ad says you need sugar to achieve your goals.

Finally, let’s not overlook the obviously sexual nature of the imagery: that is not an innocent ice cream cone, is it? It’s what you hope to do unselfconsciously once you lose the flab and become attractive to men once again. At long last, you’ll have the energy to enjoy some Afternoon Delight.

Forgive Me Doctor, For I Have Sinned

One of the things that is lost with electronic books and readers is the physical page, and all that it can provide. It’s not just that writing is printed on the page; it’s that the page has margins, gutters, corners and numbers. You can interact with a page, decorating its borders with marginalia, turning down its dog-ears, and staining it with your life. Even a very roughed-up book is still a book that can be read. The page can become a palimpsest of layers forming a more complex narrative for having been read.

Sometimes, a found book can carry with it the detritus of someone else’s life — a forgotten bookmark or recipe hiding within the  pages waiting to be released.

Tucked into the page of Dr. Stillman’s disastrous diet book that offers his response to common excuses for those falling off the diet wagon is a slip of paper bearing dense, penciled notes on Latin vocabulary acting as a bookmark. The page it marks bears this confession:

“I’ve been a bad girl, I ate like mad.”

Was the girl bad because she ate like mad, or did she eat like mad because she had been a bad girl? The possibilities are intriguing. It’s an intimate confession that ties behavior — possibly sinful behavior — with consumption, loaded with guilt. This is a very old chain of events: the Eucharist acts as a form of redemption through the consumption of bread, the transubstantiated body of Christ. At the alter rail, you are only allowed one meltingly thin host, which must suffice for all the bad behavior you can think of.

This confession also reeks of the idea that the eating itself was bad. The girl didn’t simply overeat or fall off her diet; she “ate like mad,” implying a loss of control with which her rational mind could not compete. Eating like mad is akin to bingeing, which only serves to stuff the eater with anything to push the guilt out.

Perhaps the girl was simply ravenous, having only consumed 600 calories all day on her liquid diet, and was playing catch-up to survive. Perhaps she bristles when she reads Dr. Stillman call her kind “heavies,” and “overweights.”

comedamus et bibamus cras enim moriemur

The Doctor’s Weight Loss Diet, Irwin Maxwell Stillman, MD, and Samm Sinclair Baker, 1969

Also from this book: Little Drummer Girl

Little Drummer Girl

Karen Carpenter and John Bonham Hash It Out: Heaven, 1983

KC:  Hey! Fancy running into you up here!

JB:  Oh, it’s you.

KC:  Why, are you surprised to see me? This is the drum club, right?

JB:  I’m not surprised to see you in the least. Actually I’m shocked it took this long.

KC:  Why is that?

JB:  You looked half-dead in ’75. How much did you weigh back then?

KC:  More than I do now! I was a whopping 91 lbs!

JB:  And you’re what — 5’5”?

KC:  So?

JB:  I never understood how a girl like you could manage to hit a drum and stay on your stool.

KC:  Typical. I can play the drums as well as any man. Are you still mad at me for the Playboy Poll?

JB:  Hell yes. “The Best Rock Drummer of 1975.” You ranked number one? Really? Over me? I just don’t get it.

KC:  I'm a darn good drummer. Don’t be mean.

JB:  Lady, I’m just sayin’. I was such a badass rhythm man I got a nickname. They don’t hand those out at reader’s polls.

KC:  You’re proud of being called “Bonzo”?

JB:  Of course. I’m a beast.

KC:  How come you’re here then?

JB:  God loves drummers, Karen.

KC:  I was taught that suicides don’t get to Heaven.

JB:  I didn’t kill myself.

KC:  40 shots of vodka in one day? Sounds suicidal to me.

JB:  It wasn’t the drinking that killed me; it was the throwing up. Something I heard you did quite a bit of, you hypocrite.

KC:  That’s a nasty rumor. I wasn’t bulimic. I just didn’t eat, is all.

JB:  You mean to tell me you didn’t have a drug of choice?

KC:  Well, if you consider laxatives a drug… besides, I didn’t kill myself either.

JB:  What brought you here then?

KC:  Heart failure.

JB:  Young people don’t get heart failure. What caused it?

KC:  Anorexia.

JB:  There you go.

KC:  Well, that’s what all the doctors said. I didn’t buy it. I was just on a diet.

JB:  Jeez, what kind of diet?

KC:  The Stillman Diet. It’s a rapid weight loss zero-carb regime.

JB:  That’s crazy! How long were you doing that?

KC:  I started it in 1967. It really works, too: you can lose up to 15 lbs a week!

JB:  No shit! And you picked the instrument that burns the most calories!

KC:  Say, you play Ludwigs, right?

JB:  Yep.

KC:  Me too! Let’s put all this aside and be friends. We can jam together.

JB:  I thought this was supposed to be Heaven.

KC:  Oh, go to Hell.

(The Stillman Diet that Karen Carpenter followed contains no carbohydrate and no fiber. Constipation requiring laxatives is a noted side effect. It is only meant for short-term use.)

The Doctor’s Quick Weight Loss Diet, Irwin Maxwell Stillman, MD and Samm Sinclair Baker, 1967

Also from this book: Forgive Me Doctor For I Have Sinned