The (Diet) Culture of Not Enough: Can We Satisfy the Unsatisfiable?
On the constant hypocrisy around bodies, food, health, and beauty standards. Plus: what does it really take to get off the exhausting hamster wheel of deprivation?
I’ve been having a lot of conversations with clients lately about what it means to feel satisfied—not the glossy, Instagram-version of satisfaction, but the grounded kind that lives in our actual bodies.
And the more we talk about it, the more I think about how differently satisfaction operates inside diet culture. How the very thing we’re trying to cultivate—enoughness, safety, nourishment, steadiness—is the exact thing this culture can’t tolerate. That tension feels worth naming.
Diet culture will never be satisfied. Unless we aren’t.
Diet culture operates through, and thrives on, our dissatisfaction—with our bodies, our hunger, our reflection, our choices.
It promises satisfaction, but only ever offers brief flickers of relief: the fleeting high of being “good,” the short-lived pride of cutting something out, the illusion of progress when the scale dips.
But it’s a rigged game, because the rules contradict each other. The “ideal” keeps shifting like a mirage. And somehow, no matter how hard we try, we end up believing we missed the mark, we didn’t follow the plan perfectly, we didn’t try hard enough. That’s not an accident, it’s the architecture. This culture is designed to keep us chasing, not arriving.
Because if we ever actually felt satisfied—if we trusted our bodies, allowed ourselves pleasure, believed in our own enoughness—the whole system would lose its power over us.
We see it in the way the food rules constantly shape-shift.
First “low-fat everything” was the gospel. Then suddenly fat was “good,” but only certain kinds—avocado, olive oil, butter in our coffee.
Carbs were harmless, until they weren’t. Then they were allowed, but only if they were “complex,” “whole,” or came with some celebrity marketing and a high price tag.
Then all grains were out entirely as the gluten-free-frenzy swept through like a hurricane, fueled by Paleo and Keto influencers.
Wait, then sourdough returned—but only if our starter had a name, its own personality, or maybe if we’d milled the flour ourselves under a full moon.
Pasta was a sin, then a “refuel meal” (ahem: if we exercised enough to deserve it), then something we were meant to eat cold so the starch would magically behave.
Breakfast was essential. Then skipping breakfast became a badge of discipline. In fact, it had its own name: “intermittent fasting.”
Coffee was dangerous, then a way to stave off morning hunger, then a superfood, then something that “spikes cortisol.”
Fruit had a health halo until someone online declared it dessert. Smoothies were the “clean” option until they were framed as blood sugar bombs.
Veganism has been sold to us as the righteous path, while “carnivore” is now preached as the magic bullet—as if our salvation will be found in existing on steak and salt.
Even water comes with rules now: how much, when, and what type of bottle proves we’re doing it “right.”
The goal is never nourishment; it’s compliance. And compliance, conveniently, is always impossible.
The beauty ideals shift just as relentlessly.
The ‘90s wanted heroin chic. The 2010s wanted “fitspo.”
Curves became celebrated—but only in precise hourglass proportions, as if human bodies were sculpted from silicone.
Thin lips became plumped lips; tanned skin became “premature aging.”
We’re encouraged to “age gracefully,” but not visibly. In fact, I think they want us aging backwards now?
“Natural beauty” is praised—but only after investing in lasers, Botox, fillers, and twelve-step skincare routines to look “naturally” poreless.
“Strong is the new skinny,” until thin becomes trendy again—this time dressed up as a new frontier of “wellness,” courtesy of a narrative that makes hunger sound like a defect.
We glorify people shrinking their body—asking “how did they do it?! what’s their secret?!”… but only if they don’t look “sick” from the deprivation.
Plastic surgery is marketed as self-love, but only when it erases the “wrong” features instead of celebrating diversity.
GLP-1 use becomes morally sanitized when the weight lost is “just enough,” revealing how quickly health language becomes a disguise for old-fashioned body policing.
Makeup trends shift from no-makeup makeup to contouring to full glam to “clean girl” minimalism—each demanding different labor while pretending to be effortless.
Influencers sell “body autonomy,” yet turn it into rules: eat intuitively, yes—but only if it doesn’t lead to a larger body.
Even self-love has been aestheticized—body acceptance that still looks like an after photo.
The ideal always drifts just far enough to stay out of reach.
All of this points to the same truth: there will always be a new way for us to be “not quite enough.”
Too soft, too much, too hungry, too big, too small, too content, too free. Because satisfied people—people who eat without guilt, rest without justification, and take up space without apology—are deeply inconvenient to a culture that relies on our self-surveillance.
But here’s the part they want us to forget: satisfaction doesn’t mean being happy all the time.
It doesn’t mean waking up every morning, looking in the mirror, and declaring how perfect our body looks. It doesn’t mean finding some mythically precise stopping point with food, where we’ve eaten exactly enough. It doesn’t mean feeling good in our skin all of the time. It’s not a mood, a finish line, or a permanent glow. It’s a practice—a quiet, steady return to ourselves.
It’s feeding our bodies before the mental spiral starts.
It’s allowing fullness without interpreting it as failure.
It’s choosing enoughness in a world that profits from our doubt.
It’s having a hard body image day and remembering that those negative thoughts have never been ours—they were handed to us to keep us small.
It’s resting without “earning” it through productivity, restriction, or movement.
It’s being here, now, to experience the little glimmers.
It’s coming home to our bodies even on the days they feel unfamiliar or uncomfortable.
Satisfaction is imperfect, evolving, and real. It’s available long before we feel “ready.”
Diet culture will never be satisfied. But we can be.
And that choice, made gently and repeatedly, is how we step off the hamster wheel of “never enough,” and back into lives where we’re allowed to take up space without apology.
For more support / going deeper on this:
What if I’m just uncomfortable being fat? with Sharon Maxwell and Edie Stark
The link between binge eating and perfectionism with Dr. Regina Lazarovich
Reflections on satisfaction (for anyone who wants them):
What makes satisfaction feel unsafe or unfamiliar? Whose voice does that fear belong to?
Where have I been taught to override or mistrust my own sense of satisfaction?
What beliefs about “earning” food, rest, or comfort might still be living in my body?
How do I know when I’m satisfied emotionally? Which cues overlap with physical satisfaction?
Where in my day do I rush past satisfaction without noticing?
What does satisfaction mean to me beyond food—spiritually, relationally, creatively?
What parts of myself still believe satisfaction is indulgent, lazy, or unearned?
What might open up if satisfaction was allowed to be ordinary, not a reward?
How would my life change if I trusted that I’m allowed to feel satisfied even when I haven’t “performed” for it?
When in my life have I felt truly, quietly satisfied? What conditions made that possible?
Feel free to leave a comment, ask a question, or share your perspective; this is a space for curiosity, conversation, and connection. I appreciate you, deeply.
I need to save this to read every time I get lost in the too muchness and not enoughness of it all.
This is a wonderful piece! Thank you for articulating and calling out all of the shape-shifting of diet culture. For so long, I thought it was me who was doing something wrong when something didn’t work or when the messaging changed about food or fitness or the ideal.
I have been wrestling with this idea of “satisfaction” lately and you articulated a lot of what I have been thinking. I’m starting to see and experience those glimmers of being truly satisfied. It saddens me to think about how much of that I missed when I was stuck in diet culture, but it is also liberating to think of how much more I can experience and enjoy moving forward. A learning and growing process for sure.