Why has food become another joyless way to self-optimise?
The crisis point came with the sea moss. Or perhaps the hemp protein powder. Turning an already drab breakfast into what looked and tasted like mud felt more like self-harm than self-care: goose-poo‑coloured dust on plain vegan yoghurt, enough seeds to kill a gerbil.
The tiny £2 Marks & Spencer sea moss shot — “High-quality red algae sea moss … high in iodine, vitamins C, B1, B6 and B12.” — was blue and tasted of bubble bath. I’m not a limpet; I’m not supposed to consume sea moss. When did food become medicine? Even ordinary meals now feel functional, mere units of nutrition.
A tally runs through my head: am I getting enough oats, beans, leafy greens? I cut back on crisps to cram more nuts in, shove tofu into everything and choke down flaxseeds — which have all the personality of polystyrene packaging chips — for cholesterol and gut health.
United Kingdom