Night-vision carrots, stunted growth from coffee and alcohol being healthy in moderation are all “facts” I've heard growing up.
But most of these were based on data from studies conducted in the 1960s — yes, the 60s — the same decade that Americans believed they had to wait an hour after eating to swim and that cracking knuckles caused arthritis.
Whether these beliefs are conspiracy theories or just made-up parent hacks, the low-quality research during that era has led to beliefs that led to the low-fat cottage cheese explosion and influencer-endorsed protein powder.
It may seem that these old wives’ tales were left behind in time capsules with Ford Thunderbirds and KMarts.
But after only a few minutes on Instagram Reels, you’ll scroll through sweeping waves of health fads that will magically keep you in shape.
Within the influencer circle, a new trend has emerged as the leading solution to eating “healthy.”
The high-protein diet.
The idea of munching down protein bars and slurping shakes with questionable powders and supplements isn’t a new discovery nor an effective way to a healthy lifestyle. It’s just an unproven concept based on questionable research.
In the late 1960s, renowned heart specialist Robert Atkins claimed to have “uncovered” a clinically proven weight loss diet.
He claimed that with commitment to eating maximum protein and minimal carbohydrates, his Atkins Diet was THE way to stay healthy.
Or so it seemed.
In 2001, the American Heart Association published its findings on the long-term effects of the Atkins diet. They found increased risk of severe heart problems, colon cancer and kidney problems that came hand-in-hand with the diet’s allure of “weight-loss.”
Overall, the AHA found that the Atkins diet produced the same painfully average results as any other weight loss diet.
With far greater consequences.
And with the influence of social media, the Atkins diet has cyclically seeped into health trends over the past twenty years, making a serious comeback this year.
Whether it's a Quest bar from the snack bar at your local gym or the $6 Khloe Kardashian “Khloud” popcorn with seven grams of protein per serving, this unproven research still affects our generation’s dietary choices.
Even still, the Atkins diet was one example of faulty research in an era almost 20 years before the concept of peer review was a widely accepted practice.
How can we know that something is considered credible? Does validity come with a good reputation or just information from a supposed expert?
In the case of another faulty study, Low-Fat diet, there was a horrible combo of “prestige” and faulty research..
Originally “discovered” by Ancel Keys in 1953, the diet centered around the idea of avoiding “nasty” animal fats that caused serious health issues.
And with the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services backing the research, they outlined a specific “low-fat diet” goal in their “Dietary Goals for the United States” report.
But, since the ‘60s standard for quality research lacked today’s rigorous requirements, Keys’ research was simply accepted.
If you can even call it research.
His results and basis for the experiment came from paid surveys — any scientist would rightfully question the credibility of his research if the participants were being bribed.
These findings opened the door to aggressive “low-fat” marketing from major food corporations to feed the fear of consuming fats, which sparked an outbreak of eating, mental health and other nutrition-related disorders.
Both the Atkins Diet disaster and the Keys catastrophe serve as case in point for the importance of understanding the origin of research before diving headfirst into blindly believing a supposed “study.”
Research and studies need to go through a series of steps to be considered credible and valuable.
If a study doesn’t have reliable results or hasn’t been peer reviewed, it simply isn’t worth five seconds it takes to read the bulleted summary.
In a world where credibility is rare, consumers have to take the time to understand where the information came from or just accept the risk of embarrassment. Or worse, accept the idea of spreading the disease of fake information.
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