You don’t hear much about Food Babe Vani Hari in the press anymore. Mainstream news networks seemingly stopped booking her. She’s not as prevalent in women’s outlets. Blogs criticized her up the wazoo.
Since her reputation’s descent, grassroots efforts have sprung up to combat misinformation and aggressive marketing claims. One influencer who has more than three hundred thousand Instagram followers is a food scientist who has positioned herself as the anti–Food Babe. For safety and privacy reasons, the public knows only her first name, Erin, and she goes by the handle Food Science Babe. On social media platforms, you’ll find Erin posting in-depth explanations as well as entertaining TikTok videos debunking food myths—everything from outsized concerns about GMOs to why certain ingredients are banned in Europe but not in the United States. “So many times an ingredient is actually not banned in Europe, it’s just called something different,” she told me with a twinge of exasperation. “In some cases, yes, it is banned in Europe, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s unsafe.”
Other times she’s called upon to weigh in on whether secreted beaver butt goo is, as Vani Hari suggests, “lurking” in your vanilla ice cream.1 That gem keeps circulating on social media, prompting Erin to address it more than once. “I’m really sick of talking about beaver butts, but here we go again,” she remarks in one video. Having worked in the food industry for over a decade—in both the organic and conventional sectors—Erin knows precisely when influencers are peddling pseudoscience or fabricating fears. “It’s not very obvious sometimes that [Food Babe] is spreading misinformation,” says Erin. “So much of it is not outwardly apparent to somebody that might not know. That’s why I feel like it’s even more harmful.”
Approachable and funny, Food Science Babe Erin has converted a mass of women who were once like her. Before taking on her cheeky moniker, she was a strict organic devotee who shopped in accordance with the Dirty Dozen list, ate “clean,” and excluded whole food groups. “It is a part of your belief system and almost like your identity to some extent,” she says. Erin never questioned her beliefs because the messaging was so rampant. She just assumed it was true. She was so committed she went to work for an organic snack company to craft new products. But in helping this brand secure organic and non-GMO certifications, Erin saw firsthand how food marketing claims often have little or muddled scientific evidence. “I realized how arbitrary certifications were—just submitting paperwork, paying them, and then you get to put this label on your product,” Erin told me. “This doesn’t really mean it’s healthier.”
Erin also participated in marketing meetings that singularly focused on one target group: moms of young kids. “[Marketers would say] ‘they’re looking for these labels, they’ll spend more for these labels.’ It was never ‘we want to make sure it’s healthier’ because that’s not what those labels mean.” Erin repeats what all those toxicologists told me about clean beauty: “It’s really just marketing.”
At the same time, the anxiety over what to feed her family was taking a toll on her health. As a working mom of a young child, Erin wondered: Why make shopping or eating tougher than it already is? Why are we torturing women? “It’s just causing such unnecessary stress and fear … making somebody think that what they’re feeding their kid is going to make them get cancer is just ridiculous.” Erin often hears from scientists butting heads with their marketing teams that want to push fantastical packaging claims. “It’s difficult when [the marketers] don’t have the science background and it’s the marketing that’s being conveyed to consumers.”
Erin quit her job and redirected her efforts to share what she knows with a thirsty public. An increasing number of women have turned their backs on the fearmongers of the Web to flock to her well of knowledge. Food Science Babe has racked up over 3 million likes on TikTok, where she posts hilarious videos of why it’s absurd, for example, to say “I don’t eat anything with chemicals.” She’s made inroads with parenting circles by explaining why orange juice cartons with a “non-GMO” label are a scam. (There are no GMO oranges, so all orange juice is automatically non-GMO.) “Anytime you create a label that says ‘non’ or ‘free-of,’ consumers are obviously going to think whatever isn’t in there is somehow bad, because why else would you have that label?” says Erin. “But in reality, GMO crops are just as safe and at least as nutritious as their non-GMO counterparts.”2
Her motto? “Facts, not fear.”
Medical experts also attempt to educate the public on social media, proving: If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Physicians are going so far as to establish their own influencer groups, which function much like talent agencies. Dr. Austin L. Chiang, an assistant professor of medicine at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, co-founded the Association for Healthcare Social Media—the first nonprofit society for health professionals on social media. He believes the best way to counter misinformation is to transform doctors into the very thing threatening their authority. “In our medical training, we don’t have any sort of marketing or communications training,” says Dr. Chiang, “and yet we’re expected to impact our communities and the general public.”3
This rings true. Americans need to schedule an appointment to see a doctor, and few have a daily relationship with their primary care physician. In comparison, they can easily build a relationship with wellness influencers who share tips, then leave their DMs open for two-way communication. So if doctors once were siloed off in medical journals, now they’re sharing evidence-based medicine in funny TikTok and Instagram clips. Why should influencers hold all the influential power?
Dr. Chiang believes that if medical professionals are trained as storytellers, it’ll be easier to spread accurate science and challenge disinformation. If they need to learn some TikTok dance moves, so be it. During the COVID-19 vaccine rollout, Dr. Chiang could be found dancing in a white coat to “Good Day” by Nappy Roots as he explained the differences between the Pfizer and Moderna vaccines on TikTok. “Won’t stop pandemic if not enough people get it,” Dr. Chiang explained as he tossed his hair back and forth.4
The need for more scientific influencers became evident during the pandemic. Bizarre conspiracy theories about the vaccine—that they contain microchips, alter DNA, or enlarged Nicki Minaj’s cousin’s friend’s balls—grew stronger by the day. Influencers got bolder. And they didn’t need mainstream media acceptance to continue their work on social media.
Vani Hari, for one, was busy launching attacks on the FDA and spinning her wheels about … sanitizer. Hari worried that disinfectant booths were coming to your local school, airport, stores, and public places. She asked, What are these chemicals going to do to your skin? What do disinfectants do to the microbiome? Food Babe urged followers not to conform to this “madness,” to protest those ushering in oversanitization. “If you don’t want to be subjected to disinfectant spray booths everywhere you go, it’s time to make your voice heard!” she wrote on Facebook. “Please tag your friends and family to warn them what might be coming. Now is the time to speak up, before it is too late.”5
Hari plays up her unorthodox “outsider” status, no doubt appealing to those looking to join a passionate crusade or community. She consistently plays up the “us versus the rest of the world” rhetoric (literally the title of one of her book chapters), which undoubtedly makes readers feel they’re a part of something revolutionary. In a public response to critics, she quoted Mahatma Gandhi: “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.”6 Except it wasn’t Gandhi who said that; it was an early-twentieth-century trade union activist.
Aggravating the issue of how to best communicate scientific truth, the Internet serves up the more popular characters, like Vani Hari, with little to no vetting. Online, popularity wins. Algorithms are tailored to our individual biases, which means we read what we want to read. It gets hard to communicate with others because we all absorb different sources of information, says Sheril Kirshenbaum, the co-author of Unscientific America. “In many ways, we’re all living on the same planet, but we are living in very different realities based on who we’re listening to or coming into contact with.” We can now, in effect, design our own reality, a kind of magical thinking suited to our desires. A modern-day Tower of Babel.
People also overestimate just how much they think they know in science. Kirshenbaum points to the drama over genetically modified foods that have parents clutching their pearl onions. She co-directed a national survey that revealed that despite fears over demonized GMOs, 45 percent of American adults did not even know that all food contains DNA.7 “That’s wild to me,” says Kirshenbaum.
When it comes to affluent Americans, misinformation is sometimes even worse, thanks to rampant inaccuracies elevated in Facebook groups, marketing campaigns, or group texts. One survey asked people whether they avoid buying products containing “chemicals” at the grocery store, with 73 percent of higher-income participants responding yes, compared to 65 percent of those from lower-income households.8 Researchers concluded, “We also observed that even though higher earners have more access to information about food, they are also more likely to be influenced by misinformation and pseudoscience.”
It’s not that these people aren’t smart. It’s that they weren’t properly trained to understand the scientific process and how to be critical thinkers. “If we give everybody a much more solid understanding of how data gets collected and what’s good methodology, what’s cherry-picking … they would be a little more adept at recognizing when they’re being manipulated or when something being reported might not reflect reality,” says Kirshenbaum, “because it’s very easy to fall for something, especially if you want to believe it.”
Science illiteracy does far more damage than inducing stress and unnecessary shopping sprees. By mid-2020, I—as well as plenty of the science experts cited in this book—noticed a growing group of women falling prey to chemophobia. Some women were taught to fear all “chemicals,” and in time, that philosophy poisoned their logical thinking. The fear migrates: If “chemicals” are bad in food, then what else are they bad in? Should I not get the vaccine? Should I shun all “unpronounceable” medicines? Should I just eat vegetables instead?
Digital communities help feed these fixations. Countless social media posts repeat “facts” that distort science and scare women. “I’m very nature-oriented and always strive for an organic vibe. [A vaccine] doesn’t deliver on that front,” wrote one “self-taught physician” on Twitter. Another pleaded, “Let’s take our health back from these people who seek to fill our bodies with man-made chemicals.”
“In some ways, COVID made [access to information] better, as far as science communicators realizing, ‘I need to get out there and debunk stuff.’ But at the same time, I feel like a lot of it got worse too,” Erin told me. Pseudoscience pushers have gotten more confident, more vocal. It’s difficult for science communicators such as Erin because their work is time-consuming: “It’s easier to create content when you’re just making stuff up and you’re not actually having to double-check it or do research.” Science communicators generally don’t make a lot of money off these educational efforts, nor do they partner with supplements brands or sell a juice detox guide.
Erin is mixed on where we stand moving forward. “I feel like with every new science communicator that decides to start a page, ten more wellness influencers decide to start a page,” she laughs. “I’m not sure if it is getting better or not!” And yet she’s still out there every day as Food Science Babe, answering women’s questions and debunking ridiculous Pop-Tart ingredient claims. She receives messages “all the time” from women who say they stumbled upon her content, forcing them to rethink their beliefs. They’re eager to learn. “I hope that people are seeking out more science communicators, and maybe it’s easier for them to find us when we are on social media … Hopefully, it’s getting better.”
How can you, on your own, ensure that you are more scientifically literate when it comes to wellness? There’s no easy guide to this ever-growing industry, or to one’s health. But here are some takeaways I like to keep in mind:
Remember that wellness isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s great that Moon Juice guru Amanda Chantal Bacon starts her morning with calendula tea, green juice, three tablespoons of bee pollen, a shot of pressed turmeric root in freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, and something called “activated cashews.” But that might leave one a little hangry. It might not be for you.
Health is specific to an individual’s needs. Know that it’s quite hard to quantify a lot of preventative medicine because it’s based on individual factors, so you shouldn’t believe anyone who says a product or modality will definitely work for you just because it worked for them.
Check your biases. We are all partial to ideas or products that reflect something we already believe in, be it political, cultural, or religious. But the more you practice challenging your biases, the better you get at it. When you see a product (or influencer) claiming “natural” or “chemical-free,” ask yourself, Am I buying in to this because I presume natural is better? Do I sincerely want to try this or do I just want to feel more aligned with something I value?
Be wary of emotionally manipulative language. Influencers yodeling about how an ingredient will nuke your body are trying to arouse an emotion. The same goes if they say an item will transport you to a purer era, appealing to our desire to run away and live on a farm. Take a step back to consider whether you believe the product’s purported benefits (or harm).
Demand evidence. If someone has a striking claim, they better back it up. They can’t just make statements like “Your child’s American Girl doll is hiding toxins in its ponytail” without evidence. The onus is on them to prove that.
Consider your sources. Who are you taking your health advice from? Is it someone with established credentials? What is their expertise? Are they someone other experts refer to and quote? Now that wellness has seeped into the general culture, you’ll see it touted by fashion bloggers, celebrities, and (some unqualified) podcasters. Consider rounding out your information diet for a fuller picture.
Analyze intentions. When someone promotes an idea or a product, ask: Is this person or organization beholden to a corporation, brand, or lobbying group? Are they trying to sell me something? For those who blur the line between health and business growth, take their product suggestions with a grain of Himalayan salt.
Is it necessary? Think if you need something or if it’s just a shiny “extra” pulling you into the cult of self-improvement. We often make wellness purchases from a place of lack, says the WellSpoken founder Sarah Greenidge. “Explore where that feeling of lack comes from,” she advises. “Check in with your body and think about: Is this something that’s going to serve me right now?”
Evaluate the root stressors. Analyze what causes you stress, pain, or unhappiness. It could be work, social media, or an overpacked schedule. Before masking complaints with self-care rituals, see whether there’s any way you can weed out the fundamental causes. (You can’t always: there’s only so much we can influence.)
Understand that science is always evolving. Scientists are constantly reevaluating health science research, pursuing further studies that might change what we once accepted in the past. That doesn’t necessarily mean that past scientists were sloppy or reckless, rather that science is a continual journey of attaining more knowledge. We do the best we can with the information available at the current time.
Loosen the grip. Control—or the semblance of it—is very much a part of our mental health. We will do anything to possess it, including summoning the spirits to help us nab a dream job. It’s the same reason we watch the Weather Channel; we want to manage what we can’t predict. But that doesn’t get you far down the line. Inevitably, something will come undone. Take a cue from meditation: relinquish a bit.
Much of this also applies to our understanding of how science works, or more aptly, should work. As the mathematician John Allen Paulos explains in Innumeracy, nearly every activity carries some risk. The question is: How much? And in comparison to what alternative? We’re made to believe that science is absolute and iron-clad, thus any shaky ground has us reconsider the whole thing. When in reality, “there are always uncertainties in any live science, because science is a process of discovery.”
There are always some uncertainties and elements out of our control.