Why’s Everyone Obsessed with Protein?

Words: Tilda Storey Law

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At the end of April, Khloe Kardashian - philosopher, poet, and keeper of the sacred truths - launched her own brand of protein popcorn. It’s popcorn coated in “delicious protein dust”, ensuring each bag delivers a mighty 7 grams of protein.

Khloe’s popcorn is one of hundreds of new snacks promoting high protein content. The labelling of a food item as “high protein” has become a synonym for the elixir of health. You can find protein tiramisu in Lidl, protein matcha cookies in M&S, and high protein ice-cream in Sainsbury's (what next - high protein communion wafers?). 

Yes, protein is a key nutrient. Not eating enough can have harmful consequences. But the National Diet and Nutrition Survey shows most people in the UK already eat 45-55% more protein than they need. The rise of protein-pilled snacks isn’t a response to some serious national deficiency. So what’s fuelling this obsession?

To untangle this, we must descend through three circles of consumerist hell. First: the backlash against the oat milk apocalypse of the 2010s - a.k.a. veganism's brief time in the sun. Second: the rise of a neoliberal wellness culture in which health is all about looking correct. And third: the techno-ascetic reimagining of food as fuel. Only fuel. Nothing but fuel. 

Around a decade ago, veganism was everywhere. People were blending cashew cheese like their lives depended on it. Celebrities name dropped veganism in interviews like it was a Birkin bag. Even Greggs launched a vegan sausage roll. 

But then, quietly, a pivot. From 2020 onward, the marketing of “high protein” foods doubled. Health food rebranded. The pandemic only intensified this transformation. As we languished inside, fitness influencers offered salvation: drink protein shakes, track your macros, and emerge from lockdown with a six-pack and a vengeance. High-protein foods became health’s latest gold standard.
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Meanwhile, the plant-based darlings lost their shine. Beyond Meat, once the Silicon Valley sweetheart of sustainable protein, saw its share price nosedive by 98% since 2019. Lizzo abandoned veganism. So did Miley. Both cited - of course - “health.”

Of course, you can have a high protein vegan diet. But most foods our culture worships for their protein content are animal based. The backlash against veganism and the cultural worship of protein aren’t separate trends - they're feeding each other.

We're told we're choosing “health.” But what is health in this context? This isn’t about nutrients. It’s about aesthetics. It’s about signalling. It’s about sculpting a body that communicates: I am disciplined. I am desirable. I am good. This new idea of health isn’t really about being healthy: it’s about what your image communicates. We’ve entered an era where the body is a billboard, and the message is: “I am optimised.” To be thin is good. To be toned better. To be lean muscle with a side of protein shake is best.

“If your body isn’t what it “should” be, that’s on you. Not capitalism. Not food deserts. Just you, your lack of protein bars, and your failure to hit 10,000 steps.”

In this schema, bodies are moral objects. Discipline looks like abs. Weakness looks like fat. Protein, in this worldview, is a kind of spiritual supplement. It’s not just something you eat - it’s something you are.

Meanwhile, carbs and fats are the sirens luring you away from righteousness. A Mars bar? Cheap, shameful, pleasure-forward. A protein bar? It’s £2.50 and tastes like compressed dirt, but it has macros and so it’s virtuous. Of course most high-protein food tastes… yeah. It’s made with isolate powder, marketing budgets, and a deep hatred of the senses. But the cultural script insists: if you really cared about yourself and were truly disciplined you’d choke down seven boiled eggs at 6AM and find pleasure in your suffering.

And if you’re not? Well, then maybe you deserve the consequences. Poor health. Poor body. Poor you.

This moralistic outlook on food isn’t present in every culture. In Confucianism, a philosophy embedded in many East Asian societies, ‘bad’ foods are just foods that have been contaminated or gone off. Generally, the “doctrine of the mean” is encouraged: everything is permitted as long as it’s not in extremity. The idea of ‘good’ foods (carrots) and ‘bad’ foods (chocolates) is a recent Western cultural phenomenon. 

Except, it isn’t just a cultural phenomenon: it’s a moral system. A little social Darwinism that says: If you can’t keep up, if you don’t optimise, then maybe you don’t deserve to thrive. And conveniently, the solution to your moral failing is always the same: More products. Try harder. Do better. Buy this protein yoghurt.

The wellness industry adores this narrative: it keeps the problem - and therefore the solution - inside your shopping cart. You don’t need better food policy, or less stressful jobs, or actual time to cook a meal. You just need to be better at being a body. A tight, clean, productive, Instagrammable body.

This framing creates a loop of personal responsibility and consumption. As Naomi Klein points out, it turns your body into the primary site of your influence and control - and thus the primary site of your success or failure. If your body isn’t what it “should” be, that’s on you. Not capitalism. Not food deserts. Just you, your lack of protein bars, and your failure to hit 10,000 steps.

In this new logic, food itself gets redefined. We don’t eat to enjoy, to celebrate, to connect. We eat to perform. This is how we end up with things like Huel: food stripped of its social and cultural meaning, compressed into grey, protein-rich sludge in a bottle. It’s food as calculated input, designed not for pleasure but for function.

When we talk about protein popcorn, protein water, and protein bagels, we’re not just talking about diet trends. We’re talking about how we’ve redefined food - and by extension, the body - as a site of relentless self-optimisation and moral judgement. Maybe we’re not counting calories as much anymore, but, by culturally constructing protein as a healthy, appetite suppressing, superfood, we’re still upholding fatphobic, racist standards of beauty.

This isn’t to say that eating protein is bad, or that caring about health is inherently oppressive. But when our idea of “health” is reduced to numbers, macros, and mirror results, we lose something deeper. We lose pleasure. We lose culture. We lose the radical, joyful act of eating with and for others. ‘Healthy’ isn’t a universally objective state, it’s a cultural construct. So, the next time you’re holding a protein cookie that tastes vaguely like drywall and wondering if it’s “healthy enough” ask instead: healthy by whose definition?