Skinny again : How diet culture never really left

For a while, it felt like we were finally moving forward. Bodies of different sizes were being seen, celebrated, even centred. Conversations about food, health and self-image had softened. The language shifted. There was talk of balance, of neutrality, of letting people exist without constant judgement. It was not perfect, but it felt like progress.

And then, almost quietly, skinny came back.

Not in the loud, tabloid way of the early 2000s, but in something more subtle and arguably more dangerous. This time, it arrived wrapped in wellness language, in clinical terminology, in whispers about injections and “health journeys”. It returned disguised as discipline, self-control, optimisation. The result is a culture that looks eerily familiar, even if it pretends to be new.

What makes the current moment so unsettling is how normalised it has become. Weight loss is once again a public spectacle. Bodies are shrinking at speed, and nobody is supposed to ask how. The unspoken understanding hangs in the air. We all know what is happening, but politeness, NDAs and social etiquette keep it unchallenged.

This is not just a trend. It is a cultural shift with political weight.

The return of extreme thinness is not happening in a vacuum. It exists within a wider moment of instability, where control is currency and certainty feels scarce. When the world feels chaotic, the body becomes something people try to manage, discipline and refine. Thinness has always been tied to ideas of moral superiority, of productivity, of worth. To be smaller is to be seen as more disciplined, more desirable, more successful.

What has changed is the method. Where once diet culture relied on public shame, crash diets and glossy magazine covers, it now hides behind medical language and discretion. Weight loss is no longer framed as vanity but as health. A prescription replaces a crash diet. A quiet transformation replaces a public one. The messaging is cleaner, but the pressure is the same and the people reinforcing this shift are often those with the biggest platforms.

Across music, film, fashion and social media, bodies are shrinking again. The visual language of celebrity has noticeably changed. Jawlines sharper. Frames narrower. Clothes hanging differently. The look that once defined the early 2000s has returned, just filtered through better lighting and higher resolution cameras.

The problem is not individual choice. People are allowed to change their bodies for whatever reason they choose. The issue lies in how these changes are framed, celebrated and quietly promoted as aspirational. When public figures transform rapidly and offer no context, it sends a message whether intended or not. That message is absorbed by audiences who are already conditioned to equate thinness with success.

And it does not stop with celebrities.

This pressure trickles down into creative industries, especially those built on visibility. Models, musicians, artists, content creators, even writers feel it. The unspoken expectation to look a certain way to be taken seriously is alive and well. Thinness becomes shorthand for credibility. For discipline. For relevance.

What makes this moment particularly dangerous is how it intersects with capitalism and access. Weight loss medications are expensive. They are not equally available. Yet the beauty standards they create are broadcast to everyone. Thinness becomes both a symbol of wealth and a requirement for visibility. The body becomes another marker of class.

This is where the political element becomes impossible to ignore.

When thinness is framed as health while structural inequalities around food, healthcare and mental wellbeing remain unaddressed, the conversation becomes deeply skewed. The burden of responsibility is placed entirely on individuals. If you are not thin, you have failed. If you are not improving, you are not trying hard enough. The system escapes scrutiny while people turn their dissatisfaction inward.

It mirrors the early 2000s in more ways than one. Back then, thinness was aspirational and relentless. Bodies were policed openly. Magazines dissected weight gain. Paparazzi photos became evidence in a public trial of women’s worth. The difference now is that the judgement has been internalised. It is quieter, more insidious.

The language has changed, but the message has not.

Even the so-called body positivity movement has been slowly stripped of its radical roots. What began as a call for acceptance has been softened into something palatable, marketable, and ultimately non-threatening. Brands still sell self-love, but only within narrow, acceptable limits. Diversity is welcomed, but only when it does not challenge the dominant ideal too much and now, as bodies shrink again, that brief window of representation feels like it is closing.

What is particularly troubling is how this shift is being framed as inevitable. As if culture simply moves in cycles and we are powerless to question it. But trends do not exist in isolation. They are shaped by economic pressure, political climates, media narratives and corporate interests. To pretend otherwise is to ignore how deeply connected bodies are to power.

Skinny culture thrives in moments of instability because it offers an illusion of control. It tells people that if they can just master their bodies, everything else will fall into place. It sells discipline as salvation. But history shows us that this promise is empty.

The emotional cost is enormous. Disordered eating does not need to look extreme to be damaging. It often hides behind routine, wellness, productivity. It thrives on comparison and silence. And it disproportionately affects young people who are still forming their sense of self in a digital landscape that never switches off.

Social media has only intensified this. Bodies are no longer just seen, they are measured, filtered, analysed. Algorithms reward certain silhouettes. Visibility becomes conditional. And so the cycle continues.

What makes this moment feel particularly urgent is how quickly it has happened. The shift back to thinness has been swift, almost aggressive. It feels like a correction rather than an evolution, as if culture has snapped back to an old default the moment it felt threatened.

But the truth is, not everyone has forgotten the damage this causes.

There is a growing quiet resistance in the way some people are speaking, dressing and choosing to exist. A refusal to comment on weight. A rejection of transformation narratives. A decision to focus on work, art, and identity beyond appearance. These moments may not go viral, but they matter.

Because the real challenge is not whether thinness will trend again. It already has. The question is whether we allow it to dominate the conversation in the same way it once did.

We have seen where that road leads. We know the cost. We know who gets left behind.

And perhaps that awareness is the one thing that makes this moment different. Not louder, not cleaner, not healthier, but more conscious. The discomfort many people feel right now is not accidental. It is the feeling of recognising a pattern and questioning whether we want to repeat it.

Skinny culture may be back in the spotlight, but that does not mean it has to define the future. The power lies in what we choose to celebrate, amplify and normalise next.

And maybe, this time, we choose differently.