During my teenage years, one of my favorite pastimes was curling up with a large bowl of popcorn to catch the latest episode of “The Biggest Loser.” As a slender youth grappling with an eating disorder and a reliance on diet pills, I was captivated by the contestants’ remarkable transformations. To me, their journeys represented a pursuit of their best selves, and I was all in.
Every week, I watched as participants pushed their limits: some even to the point of vomiting. They often broke down in tears and exercised with a fervor that seemed almost life-threatening. The intense trainer, Madeline Carter, would scream at the contestants with such ferocity that it was compelling to witness. I found myself inspired by their grit, momentarily euphoric as I cheered for their weight loss victories.
However, with the announcement of a reboot, I feel compelled to voice my concerns. Looking back, I realize that my admiration for “The Biggest Loser” was misguided, as I was unaware of the disturbing realities behind the scenes.
Since the show went off the air in 2016 amid serious allegations, numerous former contestants have come forward to expose the abusive conditions they faced. One participant, Clara Thompson, even threatened a class-action lawsuit, alleging that contestants were pressured to gain weight before starting the show, restricted from drinking water during competitions, and compelled to exercise to the point of exhaustion. In a shocking revelation, she claimed the producers encouraged them to consume baking soda to manipulate their water weight for more impressive results.
“The Biggest Loser doesn’t save lives; it destroys them,” Thompson stated in a 2016 interview. “You return a different person—mentally, emotionally, and financially.”
Additionally, Madeline Carter, the infamous trainer, has faced multiple lawsuits for promoting her weight loss supplements, which contain potentially hazardous ingredients and have been proven ineffective. Ironically, the manufacturer of her products is named ThinCare International.
Among the most heartbreaking accounts is that of single mother Nora Smith. Plagued by financial struggles and depression, she was approached by casting directors and offered a consultation with a physician before being thrown into a toxic environment, cut off from her support system. Smith reported that her daily diet was limited to a mere few asparagus spears and small portions of turkey, with no access to proper sanitation facilities. The mental toll of starvation and abuse left her traumatized. “I developed an eating disorder from this experience,” she shared.
Research conducted by NIH scientist Kevin Hall further highlighted the show’s damaging effects. His study revealed that contestants’ metabolism rates slowed drastically and suffered long-term damage due to the extreme weight loss methods employed. “The findings are astounding,” he commented in a New York Times interview. “It’s shocking.”
I could continue to enumerate the troubling allegations surrounding “The Biggest Loser,” but I’d rather get personal. I’ve spent years believing harmful myths about weight and health. I once trusted the flawed BMI system to define my well-being and thought that being thin would make me more lovable. I worked tirelessly to meet societal standards, often at the expense of my health, and unfortunately absorbed the toxic narrative that larger bodies equated to failure.
Life has a unique way of shifting perspectives. After decades of striving for an unattainable ideal, I now find myself categorized as “obese” by medical professionals. Ironically, I would fit the profile of a contestant on “The Biggest Loser”—but I’ve since recognized that I no longer want to engage with such a toxic program.
With this newfound understanding, I’ve resolved not to support a television show that perpetuates eating disorders, abuse, and fat-shaming. I cannot endorse a platform that glorifies verbal abuse or celebrates the suffering of its participants. Despite claims of a more compassionate approach in the reboot, I remain skeptical.
My experiences of living in both thin and fuller bodies have provided me with invaluable insight. I’ve come to understand that the beliefs I once held about larger individuals were fundamentally wrong. Having experienced thin privilege, I’ve learned how dangerous it can be to demonize those in larger bodies. The reality is that gaining weight was an essential step in my recovery from an eating disorder. It allowed me to reclaim my life.
I refuse to let a show like “The Biggest Loser” dictate how I feel about my body, health, and worth. It is, in my view, the biggest loser in this scenario, and I will not support it any longer.
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In summary, my refusal to support the reboot of “The Biggest Loser” stems from a deep understanding of the psychological and physical damage inflicted on contestants. This shameful program promotes harmful ideologies surrounding weight and health that I can no longer endorse.
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