Weight Watchers and the Commodification of Gendered Body Projects: My Story
This is a critical analysis and auto-ethnography of my experience joining Weight Watchers as a young, chronically ill, pre-teen girl.
In the fiscal year 2017, Weight Watchers International Inc. brought in a total revenue of 1.31 billion dollars. 614 million of those dollars originated from the sale of Weight Watchers products, such as the “Weight Watchers Peanut Butter Cookie Explosion” and the “Weight Watchers Candies Blackberry Fruities.” The rest consisted of money paid by individuals for various Weight Watchers membership plans, ranging from online plans to in-person weekly meetings. The company recently announced plans to exceed two billion dollars in annual revenue by 2020. Founded in 1963, Weight Watchers has enjoyed over half a century of financial success, continuing to be one of the most popular weight loss programs on the market. However, a 2008 study found that in a sample of 699 Weight Watchers “lifetime members,” a status given to those who reach their goal weight and maintain it for at least six weeks, only 16.2 percent remained at or below their goal weight five years after completion of the program. Thus, even in a study composed solely of the most “successful” Weight Watchers members, less than one fifth of members experienced long term retention of their weight loss. So why, then, has the Weight Watchers corporation continued to reap such profits?
I analyze how the Weight Watchers corporation profits from the commodification of weight loss transformations by framing weight loss as a glamorous “body project” that profoundly enhances one’s body, self-identity, and overall quality of life. Furthermore, I argue that Weight Watchers both reflects and reproduces the highly gendered and racialized nature of the body project, in which women, largely white women, are depicted as the core protagonists of this quest for bodily discipline and life transformation. My analysis consists of an auto-ethnography, having myself gone on Weight Watchers at the (impressionable) young age of twelve, and an examination of print and video advertisements found on the Weight Watchers website.
Theoretical framework
Over the past century, corporate actors have increasingly emphasized consumption as the principal avenue to health and to happiness. The commodification of “lifestyle health” has resulted in the proliferation of weight-loss companies such as Weight Watchers. These corporations appeal to consumers through the alluring promise of body transformation, offering a path for one to finally achieve bodily control. However, the social discipline of bodies long predates the rise of the corporate consumption complex. Turner argues that the social control of bodies “presupposes the existence of Western society” and is actualized through “the restraint and representation of the body as a vehicle of the self.” Bodily restraint must be exercised by individuals in an order in which the body represents the greater self. Since “the body has come to form one of the main sites through which people develop their social identities,” the construction and maintenance of self identity relies on the disciplined control of the body. Under this framework, the body becomes a continuous enterprise, “an entity which is in the process of becoming; a project which should be worked at and accomplished as a part of an individual’s self identity.” Even once ‘improved,’ bodies are perpetually unfinished works, sites of never-ending cultivation. Furthermore, the body project illuminates the individual undertaking of social regulation. Individuals are not merely passive subjects of regulation but rather active self-regulators, where self-regulation relies on the “assessment of what they believe other people (the ‘generalized other’) think of them.” Therefore, despite being orchestrated by the individual, the body project depends on the conjuring of an imagined other, a mental personification of societal notions of acceptable bodies.
While no body is exempt from the social control, bodies are assigned differing social values and thus are subject to differing degrees of regulation. Patriarchy has resulted in the hyper-regulation of women’s bodies. Unlike men, who historically “have been allied with the mind, culture and the public realm of production,” women’s social value has often been reduced to that of physical appearance and reproductive ability. Therefore, social control of women’s bodies is particularly acute, as a woman’s social worth is measured through her fertility and physical desirability under the male gaze. For women existing in patriarchal spaces, the body project takes on a new meaning; it is no longer merely an avenue to enhance the self, but becomes imperative to the existence of the “self” at all.
In the modern consumer economy, consumption is regarded as the solution to every problem, and since bodies are continuously imperfect and in need of “fixing,” consumption becomes the avenue through which the body is disciplined and improved. The body project, thus, becomes a commodity; as a fantasy “better body” achievable only through the consumption of goods and services. No where is the commodification of the body project more evident than in the weight loss industry. Weight Watchers quite literally sells bodily transformations, or at least the promise of them. Even more, they promise to sell life transformations, since the improvement of one’s body is equated to the improvement of one’s self and overall life value. Thus, weight loss is construed as the ultimate body project: lose weight and achieve the life you always dreamt of. I must pause and acknowledge a tension that underlies my critique; Weight Watchers, despite the ways in which I problematize it, does indeed offer real tools and community to millions of people. My critique of the company and the way in which it functions does not mean to invalidate anyone’s personal experience on Weight Watchers. My critique, rather, is directed at Weight Watchers as a corporation that profits off of the fetishization of bodily transformations, where weight loss is construed as a necessary to the achievement of a happy and fulfilling life.
Autoethnography: Embarking on my body project at 12 years old
I, myself, embarked on the Weight Watchers body project in my youth. All my life, I have lived with an invisible chronic illness. I spent my first days in the world in the neonatal intensive care unit, and much of my 6th grade year (and subsequent years) in and out of the hospital. Throughout middle school, I was prescribed multiple courses of prednisone, an oral steroid known to cause an array of side effects, including weight gain. Even as I write this, I sense my subconscious seeking to justify to an imagined audience the reasons that I was not thin. This likely stems from societal associations between fatness and laziness, among other moral judgements. Still, I choose to share about my chronic illness to shed light on one of the oft-unknown life experiences that hundreds of millions of disabled and chronically ill people around the world face: the vilification and moral judgment of our bodies, our “productive” value, and even our right to exist within our ableist world.
I joined Weight Watchers as a pudgy twelve year old who had already internalized the idea that to be thin was to be better. My first Weight Watchers meeting reinforced that notion. “It is hard to believe that that timid, insecure woman had been me,” Natalie told us, as she passed around her ‘before’ picture. “I feel like a new woman. The woman I always wanted to be. Weight watchers completely changed my life.” She stood there at the front of the room beaming at us, a pale, white, slender woman who arrived every Saturday morning in a different floral dress cinched at the waist. As the photo circulated around the room, depicting Natalie to be hundreds of pounds heavier, people gawked and gasped in disbelief: “But you don’t even look like yourself… Totally unrecognizable… inspirational!” We, Weight Watchers members, mostly women, sat on plastic folding chairs in that fluorescent and immaculate room, gazing from the photo to our meeting leader in awe and sipping our water or zero-calorie juices frenetically. Natalie very literally embodied everything we yearned to be: Thin. Beautiful. Radiant. Happy. In that moment, at my very first Weight Watchers meeting, I decided that it was time to discipline my own body, so that one day I could look back at my own “before” photo. “No excuses,” I said sternly to myself. And thus, at the young age of twelve, I embarked on my first body project.
Through my own experience, I have come to conceptualize Weight Watchers meetings as sites of social performance, in which social rituals, such as weekly weigh-ins and communal celebrations of individual weight loss, sustain and fortify the glorification of body transformation. Weekly weigh-ins were mandatory. The rationale was that regular weigh-ins held one “accountable” for their week’s eating and exercise choices and were crucial to the process. Every Saturday morning, upon arriving, we members would line up in the hallway and wait our turn to approach the front desk, where a Weight Watchers employee awaited with a scale and calculator. On weigh-in days, I skipped breakfast and wouldn’t drink more than a sip of water. When my turn arrived, I would remove my shoes and step up onto the scale with dread. Each time my heartbeat would quicken and my breath would become shallow, as if inhaling too much air might make me weigh a little bit extra. In front of other members, I would wait anxiously for the employee to read the hidden number on the scale and to write it down in my “progress packet,” a little booklet in which my weekly weight and my weekly “gains” or “losses” were recorded. Many members would immediately check the number written, letting out a sigh of disappointment or a gentle smirk of satisfaction. I always preferred to escape from that public space and check my number in private, where no one would observe my reaction. During weekly weigh-ins, the scale became a public stage upon which members’ bodies were scrutinized in front of a surveilling audience. Though performed under a facade of confidentiality, weigh-ins were highly public rituals, where the success of each week’s miniature “body project” was measured: a weekly gain was interpreted as personal failure while a loss was a step towards a better, more beautiful, more worthy you.
The ritualized and performative nature of the meetings was not limited to the weigh-in. Equally performative were the communal celebrations of individual weight loss milestones. Toward the end of the meeting, Natalie would ask if anyone had any personal accomplishments to share with the group. While she would stress that they didn’t have to be related to the scale, they almost always were. Someone would raise their hand and share that they had reached an important milestone, such as losing ten percent of their starting body weight. Immediately, the room would erupt in applause as we commended the person’s achievement. The greater the degree to which one had shrunk herself, the louder the applause. After the victorious had their time to shine, Natalie asked if anyone else had anything to share. Sometimes, silence ensued and those who hadn’t shared seemed to shrink in their seats. Other times, someone would bashfully raise their hand and say something along the lines of: “Well, this week I really fell off the wagon and made a lot of bad choices. I dreaded coming today because I knew I gained weight this week. And I was right. But I’m glad that I showed up to hold myself accountable. Here I am owning it, at least.” Each of us would nod sympathetically and clap, commending their bravery and silently thanking the universe if we hadn’t been among them.
The communal celebration of weight loss achievements once again placed each of us on a public stage. Those who had successfully completed their body projects of the week before left feeling proud but not finished; there was still more weight to be lost, of course. Those who had failed to adequately shrink their bodies that week left defeated and ashamed. I do not mean to suggest that the meeting leaders intentionally meant to publicly shame or polarize members, or that rituals such as weigh-ins and celebrations could not have positive attributes. I, for one, felt wonderful the weeks that I lost weight. However, I felt awful when I didn’t. My week’s success as a human became determined by a number, often by a small and arbitrary decimal point.
Weekly weigh-ins and communal milestone celebrations alienate those who fail to lose weight, while glorifying those who do. And thus, Weight Watchers meetings rituals fetishize body transformations, framing weight loss as a magical transformation that unequivocally enhances an individual’s self and life. Furthermore, in my personal experience, women consistently comprised the majority of Weight Watchers meeting attendees. While this was positive in that it was not a male-dominated space, we were, in essence, a room of mostly women strategizing about how to shrink ourselves and surveilling one another’s progress. A room of women, largely women of color, led by a slender, white woman who met every euro-centric beauty standard possible. And thus, our body projects could not be divorced from our gender, nor from our racialized selves: to shrink oneself as a woman was to become desirable, and thus, to become a true woman. Even in my girlhood, just twelve years old, this was starkly evident.
Media Analysis
An examination of the “success stories” advertised by Weight Watchers further underscores the gendered and racialized nature of the body project by the Weight Watchers corporation. Weight Watchers both contributes to and reproduces the highly gendered nature of the body project, depicting women as the core protagonists of the quest for bodily discipline and life transformation. Take, for instance, the testimonial of Keva, a woman who is, according to the site, a Weight Watchers member:
“Today, my life has changed in more ways than I could’ve imagined, and I’m back to my outgoing self. I’m friendlier than ever—if I see someone at the grocery store...I’ll go right up to them to start chatting...I’m more willing to speak up. I’m a wallflower no more!”
Wallflower, no more. In other words, losing weight will help you shed your timid, personality-less nature and become the confident, beautiful, life of the party. Let’s now consider another publicized testimonial by a woman named Stephanie:
“I have so much more confidence in myself now that I have found success on the program. I know that I can now enjoy life every single day—I can have a drink with my husband after a long day. I can go on a Hawaiian vacation and stay in control. Life is fuller than ever.” -Stephanie.
Out of 8 testimonials published at the time of analysis, 6 are of women. The Weight Watchers Corporation profits on a bold, paradoxical promise: The promise to “free” women to enjoy their lives fully by teaching them how to “stay in control.” Through a lifelong body project, one of continuous discipline and self-surveillance, chase an asymptotic, ever-elusive target: that of the perfect body, necessary to live a valuable and worthy life. And, of course, Weight Watchers profits.
Appendix
Interestingly, on a Weight Watcher’s web page specifically discussing men’s weight loss, the title reads, “Weight Watchers Bros Roundtable: Body Image.” The page goes on to share quotes from “WW Bro Shawn,” followed by “WW Bro Joe,” etc. The way in which Weight Watchers chooses to market to men is quite illuminative. By describing male members as “WW Bros,” Weight Watchers utilizes a stereotypically hyper-masculine word (bro) in an effort to masculinize its dieting program.At the bottom of the page, a banner reads: “A man’s plan for weight loss and healthy habits.” Once again, Weight Watchers reiterates that it is selling a man’s plan, that men need not fear a loss of masculinity by joining, that they should not fear being denigrated to the status of a woman through their participation.
Sources
Crossley, Nick. "Merleau-Ponty, the elusive body and carnal sociology." Body & society 1, no. 1 (1995): 43-63.
Nettleton, Sarah. "The sociology of the body." The new blackwell companion to medical sociology (2010): 47-68.
Bendelow, Gillian, and Simon Johnson Williams, eds. Emotions in social life: Critical themes and contemporary issues. Psychology Press, 1998.
Sample Weight Watchers Ad Testimonial to be Analyzed: https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/kiva
