Health-consciousness is a lifestyle for only the rich

STORY JAYDEN TRAN

ILLUSTRATION ISOLE KIM

TikTok bodybuilders took to grocery stores this past month to protest products ranging from milk to veggie chips. The correlation between these vastly different products lies within a small line in the ingredients list –sunflower oil.

Sunflower oil is not the first ingredient that has been subjected to controversy and discussion. Influencers create content to scare people from purchasing these products despite the content made by food scientists and dieticians opposing these ideas. The policing of ingredients and products is a continual example of food elitism – in which individuals overly restrict their diets – that is directly contributing to a toxic food culture in America. The notions of food elitism stem from socioeconomic differences and classism, showcasing how those of lower income will continue to be subjected to judgment from the rich for purchasing products that utilize a specific, minor ingredient in the process of preparation.

Posting content on social media bashing the usage of products as simple as canola oil establishes a sense of unhealthiness that is supported by nothing except a

MICHAEL

MAYEMURA

Halloween has passed and Thanksgiving lies just beyond the horizon, yet I already hear the faint jingle of Santa’s sleigh and an all too familiar chime. I try my best to outrun the ringing but it is no use. I am suddenly enveloped by the infectious melody of “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with no escape. I have been trampled by the holiday spirit.

Normally, I am the “wait until after Thanksgiving” type, but this year, I could not suppress my urge to lack of proper, scientific research. Individuals who are unable to afford the more-expensive, healthier options are bullied for their choices. peek at the present underneath the tree. I blasted Carey’s hit for what felt like an eternity, prancing around my room and subjecting the mess to my untimely Christmas cheer. It was a strange feeling. Not so much the dancing, but my affinity for the song. I have, for years, indulged in this festive earworm but there was something evidently special this time round.

This scenario of food elitism is deeply rooted in the lack of accessibility to healthier food options for the everyday individual. While shoppers of high-income communities like Hollywood have access to an oasis of grocery store chains from Erewhon to Trader Joe’s; lower-income neighborhoods face a desert of healthy options that can positively impact their health. The epidemic behind these issues have contributed to discussions over the stark contrasts between food oases and food deserts.

Addressing the disparities between these two vastly different livelihoods is one of the many steps in properly fighting the health epidemic in the country. Food scientists have studied these socioeconomic differences, and have noted a realistic nutrition gap emerging between poor communities and rich neighborhoods. This is only further realized in counties such as Los Angeles, where we see a stark contrast between two extremes such as Compton and Beverly Hills. Rather than shaming lower-income residents for purchasing unhealthy foods, health influencers should consider the disparities in socioeconomic class and protest the lack of accessibility to healthier products in terms of price and location.

By about the hundredth run-through, I had connected the dots. The song, like some Hallmark cliché, focused on the fantastical idea of love trumping all material desire; but this time, I saw the snow capped forest for the trees. Ever since I tackled my college apps, the future has weighed heavily on my mind. I am stuck between this perpetual yearning for adventure and this predisposed homesickness. It is the notion that, just like the song, I am venturing beyond the confines of my winter wonderland and pushing into the unsuspecting spring breeze. Though, it is more than just my future. It encompasses everything: the familiar sights, scents, and sounds that comfort me. The nostalgic chords enrapture my adolescence and shrink me down into my five yearold body, sitting in the backseat of my dad’s Toyota and surveying the intoxicating world just beyond reach. It transports me to the loud Christmas dinners filled with holiday bingo, presents, and laughter. It embodies the childlike wonderment and shamelessness I once packed into my tiny frame. It is a record of my time on Earth both past and present.

Rounding out my thousandth listen or so, I realize that there is just one thing I need (and no, it is not snow, not a list for Saint Nick, nor my stocking upon the fireplace). Mariah is daring me to listen to my five year-old self — to explore the world beyond the car window, while it reflects all my loved ones behind the glass.

So one last time, I hope to sit in the backseat of the car, with my dad at the wheel, losing myself in a picturesque winter wonderland. I hope to belt out the song’s lyrics with friends and listen to its omnipresent tune while watching the Black Friday hordes. I hope to wake up to my family competing over leftover gift cards, having dreamt of snow covered streets. Perhaps, just this once (just this one final time), I really don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree. Rather, in my own Hallmark cliché, it is the people around it every Christmas Day that matter.