Yoni Freedhoff, MD

Yes, there’s still much to find offensive, but South Park: The End of Obesity, in just 51 minutes, does more to explain some of obesity’s realities, its pharmacotherapy, and weight bias than the mainstream media has done perhaps ever. 

The mini-movie follows the plight of Eric Cartman, the fictional South Parkian child with severe obesity. 

South Park got everything right. The movie starts in a medical center where discussions with Cartman, his mother, and his doctor make it clear that obesity isn’t something that Cartman chose and is perhaps the most distressing aspect of his life. This certainly echoes study findings which report that quality-of-life scores in children with severe obesity are lower than those of children with newly diagnosed on-treatment cancers. As to how obesity erodes a child’s quality of life, no doubt part of its impact stems from obesity being a top source of schoolyard bullying, which is reflected by Cartman as he imagines his life without it. 

Cartman’s mother explains that of course they’ve tried diet and exercise, but that intentional behavior change alone hasn’t been sufficient to sustainably move the scale’s needle — a truth for the vast majority of people with obesity. But here, unlike in many actual doctors’ offices, Cartman’s doctor doesn’t spend time doubting or cajoling; instead, he does his job — which is to inform his patient, without judgment, about a pharmaceutical option that has proved to be beneficial. He accurately describes these medications as ushering in “a whole new era of medicine, a miracle really” that can “help people lose vast amounts of weight.”

The kicker, though, comes next. The doctor explains that insurance companies cover the medications only for patients with diabetes, “so if you can’t afford them, you’re just kind of out of luck.” This is changing somewhat now, at least here in Canada, where two of our main private insurers have changed their base coverages to make antiobesity medications something employers need to opt out of rather than opt into, but certainly they’re not covered by US Medicare for weight management, nor by our version of the same here in Canada.

But even for those who have coverage, there are hoops to jump through, which is highlighted by the incredible efforts made by Cartman and his friends to get his insurance plan to cover the medications. Thwarted at every turn, despite the undeniable benefits of these medications to health and quality of life, they are forced to turn to compounding — a phenomenon certainly pervasive here in North America whereby compounding pharmacies claim to be able to provide glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) analogs with comparable efficacy at a fraction of the price, but without the same rigor of proof of purity or efficacy. 

Also covered by South Park is that the GLP-1 analog supply is impacted by use by people who don’t meet approved medical criteria and are using the medications for aesthetic purposes. This speaks to the incredible societal pressure to be thin and to the comfort of some physicians to inappropriately prescribe these medications. This is covered by the subplot of South Park’s weed farmer, Randy, who in turn delivers an important insight into how it feels to use a GLP-1 analog: “I think there’s something wrong with these drugs ... I feel satisfied. With any drugs I want to do more and more, but with these drugs I feel like I want things less. With these drugs you don’t really crave anything.” The sentiment is echoed by Cartman, who exclaims, “I think I’m full. I’ve never known that feeling before in my life, but I’m full.”

It’s remarkable that South Park, a show built on serving up politically incorrect offense, covers obesity and its treatment with more accuracy, nuance, and compassion than does society as a whole. The show notes that obesity is a biological condition (it is), that when it comes to health (in America) “you have to have some f-ing willpower.” But where they explicitly mean having willpower in terms of filing and pursing insurance claims (you do), explains that drug companies are making antiobesity medications more expensive in America than anywhere else in the world (they are), and finally delivers this quote, which, while missing the biological basis of behavior and hunger with respect to obesity, certainly sums up why blame has no place in the discourse:

“We have sugar companies, pharmaceutical companies, and insurance companies all just trying to figure out how to make money off our health. It isn’t fair to put the blame on anyone for their weight.”

No, it’s not.

This movie should be required viewing in medical schools.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, Novo Nordisk, and Weighty Matters.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

Yes, there’s still much to find offensive, but South Park: The End of Obesity, in just 51 minutes, does more to explain some of obesity’s realities, its pharmacotherapy, and weight bias than the mainstream media has done perhaps ever. 

The mini-movie follows the plight of Eric Cartman, the fictional South Parkian child with severe obesity. 

South Park got everything right. The movie starts in a medical center where discussions with Cartman, his mother, and his doctor make it clear that obesity isn’t something that Cartman chose and is perhaps the most distressing aspect of his life. This certainly echoes study findings which report that quality-of-life scores in children with severe obesity are lower than those of children with newly diagnosed on-treatment cancers. As to how obesity erodes a child’s quality of life, no doubt part of its impact stems from obesity being a top source of schoolyard bullying, which is reflected by Cartman as he imagines his life without it. 

Cartman’s mother explains that of course they’ve tried diet and exercise, but that intentional behavior change alone hasn’t been sufficient to sustainably move the scale’s needle — a truth for the vast majority of people with obesity. But here, unlike in many actual doctors’ offices, Cartman’s doctor doesn’t spend time doubting or cajoling; instead, he does his job — which is to inform his patient, without judgment, about a pharmaceutical option that has proved to be beneficial. He accurately describes these medications as ushering in “a whole new era of medicine, a miracle really” that can “help people lose vast amounts of weight.”

The kicker, though, comes next. The doctor explains that insurance companies cover the medications only for patients with diabetes, “so if you can’t afford them, you’re just kind of out of luck.” This is changing somewhat now, at least here in Canada, where two of our main private insurers have changed their base coverages to make antiobesity medications something employers need to opt out of rather than opt into, but certainly they’re not covered by US Medicare for weight management, nor by our version of the same here in Canada.

But even for those who have coverage, there are hoops to jump through, which is highlighted by the incredible efforts made by Cartman and his friends to get his insurance plan to cover the medications. Thwarted at every turn, despite the undeniable benefits of these medications to health and quality of life, they are forced to turn to compounding — a phenomenon certainly pervasive here in North America whereby compounding pharmacies claim to be able to provide glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) analogs with comparable efficacy at a fraction of the price, but without the same rigor of proof of purity or efficacy. 

Also covered by South Park is that the GLP-1 analog supply is impacted by use by people who don’t meet approved medical criteria and are using the medications for aesthetic purposes. This speaks to the incredible societal pressure to be thin and to the comfort of some physicians to inappropriately prescribe these medications. This is covered by the subplot of South Park’s weed farmer, Randy, who in turn delivers an important insight into how it feels to use a GLP-1 analog: “I think there’s something wrong with these drugs ... I feel satisfied. With any drugs I want to do more and more, but with these drugs I feel like I want things less. With these drugs you don’t really crave anything.” The sentiment is echoed by Cartman, who exclaims, “I think I’m full. I’ve never known that feeling before in my life, but I’m full.”

It’s remarkable that South Park, a show built on serving up politically incorrect offense, covers obesity and its treatment with more accuracy, nuance, and compassion than does society as a whole. The show notes that obesity is a biological condition (it is), that when it comes to health (in America) “you have to have some f-ing willpower.” But where they explicitly mean having willpower in terms of filing and pursing insurance claims (you do), explains that drug companies are making antiobesity medications more expensive in America than anywhere else in the world (they are), and finally delivers this quote, which, while missing the biological basis of behavior and hunger with respect to obesity, certainly sums up why blame has no place in the discourse:

“We have sugar companies, pharmaceutical companies, and insurance companies all just trying to figure out how to make money off our health. It isn’t fair to put the blame on anyone for their weight.”

No, it’s not.

This movie should be required viewing in medical schools.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, Novo Nordisk, and Weighty Matters.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

Yes, there’s still much to find offensive, but South Park: The End of Obesity, in just 51 minutes, does more to explain some of obesity’s realities, its pharmacotherapy, and weight bias than the mainstream media has done perhaps ever. 

The mini-movie follows the plight of Eric Cartman, the fictional South Parkian child with severe obesity. 

South Park got everything right. The movie starts in a medical center where discussions with Cartman, his mother, and his doctor make it clear that obesity isn’t something that Cartman chose and is perhaps the most distressing aspect of his life. This certainly echoes study findings which report that quality-of-life scores in children with severe obesity are lower than those of children with newly diagnosed on-treatment cancers. As to how obesity erodes a child’s quality of life, no doubt part of its impact stems from obesity being a top source of schoolyard bullying, which is reflected by Cartman as he imagines his life without it. 

Cartman’s mother explains that of course they’ve tried diet and exercise, but that intentional behavior change alone hasn’t been sufficient to sustainably move the scale’s needle — a truth for the vast majority of people with obesity. But here, unlike in many actual doctors’ offices, Cartman’s doctor doesn’t spend time doubting or cajoling; instead, he does his job — which is to inform his patient, without judgment, about a pharmaceutical option that has proved to be beneficial. He accurately describes these medications as ushering in “a whole new era of medicine, a miracle really” that can “help people lose vast amounts of weight.”

The kicker, though, comes next. The doctor explains that insurance companies cover the medications only for patients with diabetes, “so if you can’t afford them, you’re just kind of out of luck.” This is changing somewhat now, at least here in Canada, where two of our main private insurers have changed their base coverages to make antiobesity medications something employers need to opt out of rather than opt into, but certainly they’re not covered by US Medicare for weight management, nor by our version of the same here in Canada.

But even for those who have coverage, there are hoops to jump through, which is highlighted by the incredible efforts made by Cartman and his friends to get his insurance plan to cover the medications. Thwarted at every turn, despite the undeniable benefits of these medications to health and quality of life, they are forced to turn to compounding — a phenomenon certainly pervasive here in North America whereby compounding pharmacies claim to be able to provide glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) analogs with comparable efficacy at a fraction of the price, but without the same rigor of proof of purity or efficacy. 

Also covered by South Park is that the GLP-1 analog supply is impacted by use by people who don’t meet approved medical criteria and are using the medications for aesthetic purposes. This speaks to the incredible societal pressure to be thin and to the comfort of some physicians to inappropriately prescribe these medications. This is covered by the subplot of South Park’s weed farmer, Randy, who in turn delivers an important insight into how it feels to use a GLP-1 analog: “I think there’s something wrong with these drugs ... I feel satisfied. With any drugs I want to do more and more, but with these drugs I feel like I want things less. With these drugs you don’t really crave anything.” The sentiment is echoed by Cartman, who exclaims, “I think I’m full. I’ve never known that feeling before in my life, but I’m full.”

It’s remarkable that South Park, a show built on serving up politically incorrect offense, covers obesity and its treatment with more accuracy, nuance, and compassion than does society as a whole. The show notes that obesity is a biological condition (it is), that when it comes to health (in America) “you have to have some f-ing willpower.” But where they explicitly mean having willpower in terms of filing and pursing insurance claims (you do), explains that drug companies are making antiobesity medications more expensive in America than anywhere else in the world (they are), and finally delivers this quote, which, while missing the biological basis of behavior and hunger with respect to obesity, certainly sums up why blame has no place in the discourse:

“We have sugar companies, pharmaceutical companies, and insurance companies all just trying to figure out how to make money off our health. It isn’t fair to put the blame on anyone for their weight.”

No, it’s not.

This movie should be required viewing in medical schools.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, Novo Nordisk, and Weighty Matters.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

My crystal ball says that Big Food’s ongoing development and marketing of products designed for the reduced appetites of people taking anti-obesity medications will simultaneously be welcomed by their target market and scorned by self-righteous, healthy-living, just-try-harder, isn’t-this-just-feeding-the-problem hypocrites. 

For the privileged, self-righteous, healthy-living crowd, the right to enjoy dietary indulgences and conveniences is inversely proportional to your weight. Often, judgment isn’t cast on the less-than-perfect choices of those with so-called “normal” weight; that’s often not the case for those with obesity. 

Think you’re free from this paradigm? If you are, good for you. But I’d wager that there are plenty of readers who state that they’re free from bias, but when standing in supermarket checkout lines, they scrutinize and silently pass judgment on the contents of the grocery carts of people with obesity or, similarly, on the orders of people with obesity in fast-food restaurants.

Yet, there are bags of chips and cookies in most of our weekly carts, and who among us doesn’t, at times, grab some greasy comfort or convenience?

Unfortunately, the fuel for these sorts of judgments — implicit weight bias — is not only pervasive but also durable. A recent study of temporal changes to implicit biases demonstrated that unlike biases about race, skin tone, sexuality, age, and disability — between 2007 and 2016, tested levels of these implicit bias were seen to be in decline —biases about weight remain stable.

As to the products themselves, according to the recent article, they’ll be smaller, lower in calories, and high in protein and fat. To put it another way, compared with their nonshrunken counterparts, the food products will lead to the consumption of fewer calories while providing a potentially more-sating macronutrient distribution: a win-win. And no doubt, their sales won’t be restricted to those taking anti-obesity medications and, consequently, will provide everyone the ability to purchase and enjoy smaller dietary indulgences. 

With that said, I’d be remiss if I didn’t assert that the discussion of the merits or lack thereof of these sorts of offerings is misguided and pointless in that the food industry’s job is not one of social service provision or preventive healthcare. As I’ve written in the past, the food industry is neither friend, foe, nor partner. The food industry’s one job is to sell food, and if they see a market opportunity, they’ll take it. In this case, that turns out to be refreshing in a sense in that unlike moral-panic scolds, the food industry doesn’t judge its customers’ right to buy its products on the basis of how much their customers weigh. 

Whereas the food industry’s response to anti-obesity medications’ impact on appetite may be to embrace it, many others’, including in medicine, seem to involve some degree of judgment or scorn. Yes, our behavior has an impact on our weight, but intentional behavior change in the name of weight requires multiple layers of deep and perpetual privilege. And yes, our environment is indeed a tremendous contributor to the challenge of obesity, but the world is full of medical conditions influenced or caused by our environment. Yet, discussions around how medications fail to address obesity’s root cause are the only such root-cause discussions I ever see. 

Put more plainly, “how dare we develop medications for conditions influenced by our environment” is an odd stance to take in a world full of conditions influenced by our environments and where our environments’ primary change-driver is sales. Products that support the use of medications that improve life’s quality while markedly reducing the risk for an ever-growing number of conditions should be celebrated. 

Dr. Freedhoff has disclosed the following relevant financial relationships:

Serve(d) as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health; received research grant from Novo Nordisk; publicly shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

My crystal ball says that Big Food’s ongoing development and marketing of products designed for the reduced appetites of people taking anti-obesity medications will simultaneously be welcomed by their target market and scorned by self-righteous, healthy-living, just-try-harder, isn’t-this-just-feeding-the-problem hypocrites. 

For the privileged, self-righteous, healthy-living crowd, the right to enjoy dietary indulgences and conveniences is inversely proportional to your weight. Often, judgment isn’t cast on the less-than-perfect choices of those with so-called “normal” weight; that’s often not the case for those with obesity. 

Think you’re free from this paradigm? If you are, good for you. But I’d wager that there are plenty of readers who state that they’re free from bias, but when standing in supermarket checkout lines, they scrutinize and silently pass judgment on the contents of the grocery carts of people with obesity or, similarly, on the orders of people with obesity in fast-food restaurants.

Yet, there are bags of chips and cookies in most of our weekly carts, and who among us doesn’t, at times, grab some greasy comfort or convenience?

Unfortunately, the fuel for these sorts of judgments — implicit weight bias — is not only pervasive but also durable. A recent study of temporal changes to implicit biases demonstrated that unlike biases about race, skin tone, sexuality, age, and disability — between 2007 and 2016, tested levels of these implicit bias were seen to be in decline —biases about weight remain stable.

As to the products themselves, according to the recent article, they’ll be smaller, lower in calories, and high in protein and fat. To put it another way, compared with their nonshrunken counterparts, the food products will lead to the consumption of fewer calories while providing a potentially more-sating macronutrient distribution: a win-win. And no doubt, their sales won’t be restricted to those taking anti-obesity medications and, consequently, will provide everyone the ability to purchase and enjoy smaller dietary indulgences. 

With that said, I’d be remiss if I didn’t assert that the discussion of the merits or lack thereof of these sorts of offerings is misguided and pointless in that the food industry’s job is not one of social service provision or preventive healthcare. As I’ve written in the past, the food industry is neither friend, foe, nor partner. The food industry’s one job is to sell food, and if they see a market opportunity, they’ll take it. In this case, that turns out to be refreshing in a sense in that unlike moral-panic scolds, the food industry doesn’t judge its customers’ right to buy its products on the basis of how much their customers weigh. 

Whereas the food industry’s response to anti-obesity medications’ impact on appetite may be to embrace it, many others’, including in medicine, seem to involve some degree of judgment or scorn. Yes, our behavior has an impact on our weight, but intentional behavior change in the name of weight requires multiple layers of deep and perpetual privilege. And yes, our environment is indeed a tremendous contributor to the challenge of obesity, but the world is full of medical conditions influenced or caused by our environment. Yet, discussions around how medications fail to address obesity’s root cause are the only such root-cause discussions I ever see. 

Put more plainly, “how dare we develop medications for conditions influenced by our environment” is an odd stance to take in a world full of conditions influenced by our environments and where our environments’ primary change-driver is sales. Products that support the use of medications that improve life’s quality while markedly reducing the risk for an ever-growing number of conditions should be celebrated. 

Dr. Freedhoff has disclosed the following relevant financial relationships:

Serve(d) as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health; received research grant from Novo Nordisk; publicly shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

My crystal ball says that Big Food’s ongoing development and marketing of products designed for the reduced appetites of people taking anti-obesity medications will simultaneously be welcomed by their target market and scorned by self-righteous, healthy-living, just-try-harder, isn’t-this-just-feeding-the-problem hypocrites. 

For the privileged, self-righteous, healthy-living crowd, the right to enjoy dietary indulgences and conveniences is inversely proportional to your weight. Often, judgment isn’t cast on the less-than-perfect choices of those with so-called “normal” weight; that’s often not the case for those with obesity. 

Think you’re free from this paradigm? If you are, good for you. But I’d wager that there are plenty of readers who state that they’re free from bias, but when standing in supermarket checkout lines, they scrutinize and silently pass judgment on the contents of the grocery carts of people with obesity or, similarly, on the orders of people with obesity in fast-food restaurants.

Yet, there are bags of chips and cookies in most of our weekly carts, and who among us doesn’t, at times, grab some greasy comfort or convenience?

Unfortunately, the fuel for these sorts of judgments — implicit weight bias — is not only pervasive but also durable. A recent study of temporal changes to implicit biases demonstrated that unlike biases about race, skin tone, sexuality, age, and disability — between 2007 and 2016, tested levels of these implicit bias were seen to be in decline —biases about weight remain stable.

As to the products themselves, according to the recent article, they’ll be smaller, lower in calories, and high in protein and fat. To put it another way, compared with their nonshrunken counterparts, the food products will lead to the consumption of fewer calories while providing a potentially more-sating macronutrient distribution: a win-win. And no doubt, their sales won’t be restricted to those taking anti-obesity medications and, consequently, will provide everyone the ability to purchase and enjoy smaller dietary indulgences. 

With that said, I’d be remiss if I didn’t assert that the discussion of the merits or lack thereof of these sorts of offerings is misguided and pointless in that the food industry’s job is not one of social service provision or preventive healthcare. As I’ve written in the past, the food industry is neither friend, foe, nor partner. The food industry’s one job is to sell food, and if they see a market opportunity, they’ll take it. In this case, that turns out to be refreshing in a sense in that unlike moral-panic scolds, the food industry doesn’t judge its customers’ right to buy its products on the basis of how much their customers weigh. 

Whereas the food industry’s response to anti-obesity medications’ impact on appetite may be to embrace it, many others’, including in medicine, seem to involve some degree of judgment or scorn. Yes, our behavior has an impact on our weight, but intentional behavior change in the name of weight requires multiple layers of deep and perpetual privilege. And yes, our environment is indeed a tremendous contributor to the challenge of obesity, but the world is full of medical conditions influenced or caused by our environment. Yet, discussions around how medications fail to address obesity’s root cause are the only such root-cause discussions I ever see. 

Put more plainly, “how dare we develop medications for conditions influenced by our environment” is an odd stance to take in a world full of conditions influenced by our environments and where our environments’ primary change-driver is sales. Products that support the use of medications that improve life’s quality while markedly reducing the risk for an ever-growing number of conditions should be celebrated. 

Dr. Freedhoff has disclosed the following relevant financial relationships:

Serve(d) as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health; received research grant from Novo Nordisk; publicly shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

How much of societal diet-related scientific illiteracy can be blamed on the publication decisions of medical journals around food studies?

That was the question I pondered when reading “Association between kimchi consumption and obesity based on BMI and abdominal obesity in Korean adults: a cross-sectional analysis of the Health Examinees study,” recently published in BMJ Open. Although I will get to the study particulars momentarily, that it’s 2024 and journals are still publishing cross-sectional studies of the impact of a single food’s subjectively reported consumption on health outcomes is mind boggling.

You might wonder why I wasn’t mind boggled by the authors rather than the journal — but the authors’ interest in publishing a study on kimchi’s supposed impact on obesity is an easy thing to explain, in that the study was funded by the World Institute of Kimchi, where two of its four authors are employed.

You might also wonder why I wasn’t mind boggled by media running with this story — but the media’s job is to capture eyeballs, and who doesn’t love a good magic food story, doubly so for one involving obesity and one with a study backing it up?

Back to this World Institute of Kimchi project looking at kimchi intake on obesity rates. No doubt if I worked for the World Institute of Kimchi, I would want kimchi to be shown to be somehow magically protective against weight gain. So how might I go about exploring that?

Well, I could look to the data from the Health Examinees (HEXA) Study. The HEXA study was a cross-sectional look at South Koreans; included in their data collection was a 106-item food frequency questionnaire (FFQ).

That questionnaire looked at 106 food items — yep, you guessed it, explicitly including kimchi. Not included in this FFQ, though, were prepared foods, meaning that it was unable to measure seasonings, spices, or cooking oils. Also perhaps problematic is that no doubt most of us consume more than 106 total food items in our diets. Perhaps this is why the validation study of HEXA’s food item–based FFQ found that it had “relatively low validity” when compared against 12-day food diaries and why its creators themselves report it to be in their study’s conclusion only “reasonably acceptable” to apply to a population. But yes, kimchi!

So for the sake of this exercise, though, let’s assume that instead of only a reasonably acceptable FFQ with low validity, the FFQ was fantastic and its data robust. How great then is kimchi at preventing obesity? Certainly, the media report it’s pretty darn good. Here’s a smattering from the literal dozens of headlines of stories covering this paper:

Eating kimchi every day could help stave off weight gain, new study says — NBC News

Eating kimchi every day may prevent weight gain, research suggests — Sky News

Want to avoid piling on the pounds? Try kimchi for breakfast — The Telegraph

But when we turn to the paper itself, suddenly things aren’t so clear.

According to the paper, men who reported eating two to three servings of kimchi per day were found to have lower rates of obesity, whereas men who reported eating three to five servings of kimchi per day were not. But these are overlapping groups! Also found was that men consuming more than five servings of kimchi per day have higher rates of obesity. When taken together, these findings do not demonstrate a statistically significant trend of kimchi intake on obesity in men. Whereas in women, things are worse in that the more kimchi reportedly consumed, the more obesity, in a trend that did (just) reach statistical significance.

So even if we pretend the FFQs were robust enough to make conclusions about a single food’s impact on obesity, and we pretend there was a well-described, plausible mechanistic reason to believe same (there isn’t), and we pretend that this particular FFQ had better than “relatively low validity,” there is no conclusion here to be drawn about kimchi’s impact on obesity.

What we can conclude is that when it comes to publishing papers purporting to find the impact of single foods on obesity, journals will still happily publish them and their publication will lead to hyperbolic headlines and stories, which in turn reinforce the scientifically illiterate notion that the highly complex multifactorial problem of obesity boils down to simple food choices, which in turn keeps weight loss grifters everywhere in business while fueling societal weight bias.

Dr. Freedhoff is Associate Professor, Department of Family Medicine, University of Ottawa; Medical Director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, and Novo Nordisk.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

How much of societal diet-related scientific illiteracy can be blamed on the publication decisions of medical journals around food studies?

That was the question I pondered when reading “Association between kimchi consumption and obesity based on BMI and abdominal obesity in Korean adults: a cross-sectional analysis of the Health Examinees study,” recently published in BMJ Open. Although I will get to the study particulars momentarily, that it’s 2024 and journals are still publishing cross-sectional studies of the impact of a single food’s subjectively reported consumption on health outcomes is mind boggling.

You might wonder why I wasn’t mind boggled by the authors rather than the journal — but the authors’ interest in publishing a study on kimchi’s supposed impact on obesity is an easy thing to explain, in that the study was funded by the World Institute of Kimchi, where two of its four authors are employed.

You might also wonder why I wasn’t mind boggled by media running with this story — but the media’s job is to capture eyeballs, and who doesn’t love a good magic food story, doubly so for one involving obesity and one with a study backing it up?

Back to this World Institute of Kimchi project looking at kimchi intake on obesity rates. No doubt if I worked for the World Institute of Kimchi, I would want kimchi to be shown to be somehow magically protective against weight gain. So how might I go about exploring that?

Well, I could look to the data from the Health Examinees (HEXA) Study. The HEXA study was a cross-sectional look at South Koreans; included in their data collection was a 106-item food frequency questionnaire (FFQ).

That questionnaire looked at 106 food items — yep, you guessed it, explicitly including kimchi. Not included in this FFQ, though, were prepared foods, meaning that it was unable to measure seasonings, spices, or cooking oils. Also perhaps problematic is that no doubt most of us consume more than 106 total food items in our diets. Perhaps this is why the validation study of HEXA’s food item–based FFQ found that it had “relatively low validity” when compared against 12-day food diaries and why its creators themselves report it to be in their study’s conclusion only “reasonably acceptable” to apply to a population. But yes, kimchi!

So for the sake of this exercise, though, let’s assume that instead of only a reasonably acceptable FFQ with low validity, the FFQ was fantastic and its data robust. How great then is kimchi at preventing obesity? Certainly, the media report it’s pretty darn good. Here’s a smattering from the literal dozens of headlines of stories covering this paper:

Eating kimchi every day could help stave off weight gain, new study says — NBC News

Eating kimchi every day may prevent weight gain, research suggests — Sky News

Want to avoid piling on the pounds? Try kimchi for breakfast — The Telegraph

But when we turn to the paper itself, suddenly things aren’t so clear.

According to the paper, men who reported eating two to three servings of kimchi per day were found to have lower rates of obesity, whereas men who reported eating three to five servings of kimchi per day were not. But these are overlapping groups! Also found was that men consuming more than five servings of kimchi per day have higher rates of obesity. When taken together, these findings do not demonstrate a statistically significant trend of kimchi intake on obesity in men. Whereas in women, things are worse in that the more kimchi reportedly consumed, the more obesity, in a trend that did (just) reach statistical significance.

So even if we pretend the FFQs were robust enough to make conclusions about a single food’s impact on obesity, and we pretend there was a well-described, plausible mechanistic reason to believe same (there isn’t), and we pretend that this particular FFQ had better than “relatively low validity,” there is no conclusion here to be drawn about kimchi’s impact on obesity.

What we can conclude is that when it comes to publishing papers purporting to find the impact of single foods on obesity, journals will still happily publish them and their publication will lead to hyperbolic headlines and stories, which in turn reinforce the scientifically illiterate notion that the highly complex multifactorial problem of obesity boils down to simple food choices, which in turn keeps weight loss grifters everywhere in business while fueling societal weight bias.

Dr. Freedhoff is Associate Professor, Department of Family Medicine, University of Ottawa; Medical Director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, and Novo Nordisk.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

How much of societal diet-related scientific illiteracy can be blamed on the publication decisions of medical journals around food studies?

That was the question I pondered when reading “Association between kimchi consumption and obesity based on BMI and abdominal obesity in Korean adults: a cross-sectional analysis of the Health Examinees study,” recently published in BMJ Open. Although I will get to the study particulars momentarily, that it’s 2024 and journals are still publishing cross-sectional studies of the impact of a single food’s subjectively reported consumption on health outcomes is mind boggling.

You might wonder why I wasn’t mind boggled by the authors rather than the journal — but the authors’ interest in publishing a study on kimchi’s supposed impact on obesity is an easy thing to explain, in that the study was funded by the World Institute of Kimchi, where two of its four authors are employed.

You might also wonder why I wasn’t mind boggled by media running with this story — but the media’s job is to capture eyeballs, and who doesn’t love a good magic food story, doubly so for one involving obesity and one with a study backing it up?

Back to this World Institute of Kimchi project looking at kimchi intake on obesity rates. No doubt if I worked for the World Institute of Kimchi, I would want kimchi to be shown to be somehow magically protective against weight gain. So how might I go about exploring that?

Well, I could look to the data from the Health Examinees (HEXA) Study. The HEXA study was a cross-sectional look at South Koreans; included in their data collection was a 106-item food frequency questionnaire (FFQ).

That questionnaire looked at 106 food items — yep, you guessed it, explicitly including kimchi. Not included in this FFQ, though, were prepared foods, meaning that it was unable to measure seasonings, spices, or cooking oils. Also perhaps problematic is that no doubt most of us consume more than 106 total food items in our diets. Perhaps this is why the validation study of HEXA’s food item–based FFQ found that it had “relatively low validity” when compared against 12-day food diaries and why its creators themselves report it to be in their study’s conclusion only “reasonably acceptable” to apply to a population. But yes, kimchi!

So for the sake of this exercise, though, let’s assume that instead of only a reasonably acceptable FFQ with low validity, the FFQ was fantastic and its data robust. How great then is kimchi at preventing obesity? Certainly, the media report it’s pretty darn good. Here’s a smattering from the literal dozens of headlines of stories covering this paper:

Eating kimchi every day could help stave off weight gain, new study says — NBC News

Eating kimchi every day may prevent weight gain, research suggests — Sky News

Want to avoid piling on the pounds? Try kimchi for breakfast — The Telegraph

But when we turn to the paper itself, suddenly things aren’t so clear.

According to the paper, men who reported eating two to three servings of kimchi per day were found to have lower rates of obesity, whereas men who reported eating three to five servings of kimchi per day were not. But these are overlapping groups! Also found was that men consuming more than five servings of kimchi per day have higher rates of obesity. When taken together, these findings do not demonstrate a statistically significant trend of kimchi intake on obesity in men. Whereas in women, things are worse in that the more kimchi reportedly consumed, the more obesity, in a trend that did (just) reach statistical significance.

So even if we pretend the FFQs were robust enough to make conclusions about a single food’s impact on obesity, and we pretend there was a well-described, plausible mechanistic reason to believe same (there isn’t), and we pretend that this particular FFQ had better than “relatively low validity,” there is no conclusion here to be drawn about kimchi’s impact on obesity.

What we can conclude is that when it comes to publishing papers purporting to find the impact of single foods on obesity, journals will still happily publish them and their publication will lead to hyperbolic headlines and stories, which in turn reinforce the scientifically illiterate notion that the highly complex multifactorial problem of obesity boils down to simple food choices, which in turn keeps weight loss grifters everywhere in business while fueling societal weight bias.

Dr. Freedhoff is Associate Professor, Department of Family Medicine, University of Ottawa; Medical Director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. He disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, and Novo Nordisk.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

The US Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF) has published draft recommendations that 6-year-olds with obesity be lectured to about diet and exercise.

Never mind that there are no reproducible or scalable studies demonstrating durable and clinically meaningful benefits of this for adults let alone children. Never mind that children are not household decision-makers on matters of grocery shopping, cooking, or exercise. Never mind the corollary that many children so lectured who fail to see an impact on their weight will perceive that as their own personal failures. And of course, never mind that we’re privileged to be in an era with safe, effective, pharmacotherapeutic options for obesity. No. We must teach children it’s their fault if they’re fat. Because ultimately that’s what many of them will learn.

That’s not to say there’s no room for counseling. But with children as young as 6, that counseling should be delivered exclusively to their parents and caregivers. That counseling should focus as much if not more so on the impact of weight bias and the biological basis of obesity rather than diet and exercise, while explicitly teaching parents the means to discuss nutrition without risking their children feeling worse about themselves, increasing the risk for conflict over changes, or heightening their children’s chance of developing eating disorders or maladaptive relationships with food.

But back to the USPSTF’s actual recommendation for those 6 years old and up. They’re recommending “at least” 26 hours of lectures over a year-long interprofessional intervention. Putting aside the reality that this isn’t scalable time-wise or cost-wise to reach even a fraction of the roughly 15 million US children with obesity, there is also the issue of service provision. Because when it comes to obesity, if the intervention is purely educational, even if you want to believe there is a syllabus out there that would have a dramatic impact, its impact will vary wildly depending on the skill and approach of the service providers. This inconvenient truth is also the one that makes it impossible to meaningfully compare program outcomes even when they share the same content.

The USPSTF’s draft recommendations also explicitly avoid what the American Academy of Pediatrics has rightly embraced: the use where appropriate of medications or surgery. While opponents of the use of pharmacotherapy for childhood obesity tend to point to a lack of long-term data as rationale for its denial, something that the USPSTF has done, again, we have long-term data demonstrating a lack of scalable, clinically meaningful efficacy for service only based programs.

Childhood obesity is a flood and its ongoing current is relentless. Given its tremendous impact, especially at its extremes, on both physical and mental health, this is yet another example of systemic weight bias in action — it’s as if the USPSTF is recommending a swimming lesson–only approach while actively fearmongering, despite an absence of plausible mechanistic risk, about the long-term use of life jackets.

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, Department of Family Medicine, University of Ottawa; Medical Director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Dr. Freedhoff has disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, and Novo Nordisk.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

The US Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF) has published draft recommendations that 6-year-olds with obesity be lectured to about diet and exercise.

Never mind that there are no reproducible or scalable studies demonstrating durable and clinically meaningful benefits of this for adults let alone children. Never mind that children are not household decision-makers on matters of grocery shopping, cooking, or exercise. Never mind the corollary that many children so lectured who fail to see an impact on their weight will perceive that as their own personal failures. And of course, never mind that we’re privileged to be in an era with safe, effective, pharmacotherapeutic options for obesity. No. We must teach children it’s their fault if they’re fat. Because ultimately that’s what many of them will learn.

That’s not to say there’s no room for counseling. But with children as young as 6, that counseling should be delivered exclusively to their parents and caregivers. That counseling should focus as much if not more so on the impact of weight bias and the biological basis of obesity rather than diet and exercise, while explicitly teaching parents the means to discuss nutrition without risking their children feeling worse about themselves, increasing the risk for conflict over changes, or heightening their children’s chance of developing eating disorders or maladaptive relationships with food.

But back to the USPSTF’s actual recommendation for those 6 years old and up. They’re recommending “at least” 26 hours of lectures over a year-long interprofessional intervention. Putting aside the reality that this isn’t scalable time-wise or cost-wise to reach even a fraction of the roughly 15 million US children with obesity, there is also the issue of service provision. Because when it comes to obesity, if the intervention is purely educational, even if you want to believe there is a syllabus out there that would have a dramatic impact, its impact will vary wildly depending on the skill and approach of the service providers. This inconvenient truth is also the one that makes it impossible to meaningfully compare program outcomes even when they share the same content.

The USPSTF’s draft recommendations also explicitly avoid what the American Academy of Pediatrics has rightly embraced: the use where appropriate of medications or surgery. While opponents of the use of pharmacotherapy for childhood obesity tend to point to a lack of long-term data as rationale for its denial, something that the USPSTF has done, again, we have long-term data demonstrating a lack of scalable, clinically meaningful efficacy for service only based programs.

Childhood obesity is a flood and its ongoing current is relentless. Given its tremendous impact, especially at its extremes, on both physical and mental health, this is yet another example of systemic weight bias in action — it’s as if the USPSTF is recommending a swimming lesson–only approach while actively fearmongering, despite an absence of plausible mechanistic risk, about the long-term use of life jackets.

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, Department of Family Medicine, University of Ottawa; Medical Director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Dr. Freedhoff has disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, and Novo Nordisk.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

The US Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF) has published draft recommendations that 6-year-olds with obesity be lectured to about diet and exercise.

Never mind that there are no reproducible or scalable studies demonstrating durable and clinically meaningful benefits of this for adults let alone children. Never mind that children are not household decision-makers on matters of grocery shopping, cooking, or exercise. Never mind the corollary that many children so lectured who fail to see an impact on their weight will perceive that as their own personal failures. And of course, never mind that we’re privileged to be in an era with safe, effective, pharmacotherapeutic options for obesity. No. We must teach children it’s their fault if they’re fat. Because ultimately that’s what many of them will learn.

That’s not to say there’s no room for counseling. But with children as young as 6, that counseling should be delivered exclusively to their parents and caregivers. That counseling should focus as much if not more so on the impact of weight bias and the biological basis of obesity rather than diet and exercise, while explicitly teaching parents the means to discuss nutrition without risking their children feeling worse about themselves, increasing the risk for conflict over changes, or heightening their children’s chance of developing eating disorders or maladaptive relationships with food.

But back to the USPSTF’s actual recommendation for those 6 years old and up. They’re recommending “at least” 26 hours of lectures over a year-long interprofessional intervention. Putting aside the reality that this isn’t scalable time-wise or cost-wise to reach even a fraction of the roughly 15 million US children with obesity, there is also the issue of service provision. Because when it comes to obesity, if the intervention is purely educational, even if you want to believe there is a syllabus out there that would have a dramatic impact, its impact will vary wildly depending on the skill and approach of the service providers. This inconvenient truth is also the one that makes it impossible to meaningfully compare program outcomes even when they share the same content.

The USPSTF’s draft recommendations also explicitly avoid what the American Academy of Pediatrics has rightly embraced: the use where appropriate of medications or surgery. While opponents of the use of pharmacotherapy for childhood obesity tend to point to a lack of long-term data as rationale for its denial, something that the USPSTF has done, again, we have long-term data demonstrating a lack of scalable, clinically meaningful efficacy for service only based programs.

Childhood obesity is a flood and its ongoing current is relentless. Given its tremendous impact, especially at its extremes, on both physical and mental health, this is yet another example of systemic weight bias in action — it’s as if the USPSTF is recommending a swimming lesson–only approach while actively fearmongering, despite an absence of plausible mechanistic risk, about the long-term use of life jackets.

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, Department of Family Medicine, University of Ottawa; Medical Director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Dr. Freedhoff has disclosed ties with Bariatric Medical Institute, Constant Health, and Novo Nordisk.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

Don’t look for the publication of a study detailing the probability of blood pressure reduction to normotensive among adults with hypertension who aren’t offered pharmacotherapy in a JAMA journal. It’s not because hypertension doesn’t respond to intentional behavior change. On the contrary, it absolutely does, but when it comes to hypertension, physicians don’t require patients to fail to manage their hypertension through personal responsibility before medications are discussed and involved.

Not so, of course, with obesity.

A few weeks ago a paper was published in JAMA Network Open entitled “Probability of 5% or greater weight loss or BMI reduction to healthy weight among adults with overweight or obesity,” which authors, peer reviewers, and editors deemed worthy of publication. Now, to be fair, it might be worthy of publication if the call to action and thrust of the paper was to chastise physicians for not offering patients effective treatments; the medical education system for failing to teach physicians how to effectively manage obesity; or, if medication is being offered, addressing the barriers to its use. Instead, the main thrust was that patients are failing to help themselves despite the known health benefits of sustained weight loss.

It’s not at all surprising that, despite known benefits, sustained weight loss without pharmacotherapy or surgery is elusive. Just as with virtually every other chronic noncommunicable disease with lifestyle levers, intentional behavior change as treatment – which, by definition for chronic diseases, needs to be employed in perpetuity – requires wide-ranging degrees of privilege and is not a reasonable expectation. And if outcomes from the FREEE trial are applicable broadly, this may be true even if the behavior change required is minimal, the cost is free, and the motivation is large.

The FREEE trial studied whether cost had a role to play in why so many people, even after a myocardial infarction, don’t follow through with the simplest of intentional behavior changes – taking prescribed medications – by providing free medications known to reduce the risk of having a second MI to study participants who had just suffered an MI.

Results showed that, although the group receiving free medications were taking more of them than the group that had a copay for them, at 1.5 years post-MI, only 41% of those receiving all their medications for free were taking them.

And what of those who have a copay? This study found that fewer than 30% of Medicare beneficiaries 65-74 years of age who were hospitalized for heart attacks filled their new statin prescriptions within 90 days of discharge. That the vast majority of patients who’d had actual heart attacks didn’t even take on the behavior change of simply filling their prescription for, let alone taking, a medication shown to reduce their risk of having another heart attack, speaks to the folly of believing that knowledge drives behavior change.

The message is that human beings, even when faced with knowledge – and in the aforementioned studies, knowledge coupled with a very real glimpse of personal mortality – struggle to deploy the most basic of behavior changes. And yet here we have a paper that concludes with the inference of surprise that few people, without treatment, lost clinically meaningful amounts of weight “despite the known benefits of clinically meaningful weight loss.”

While this paper does suggest in passing that yes, maybe we should offer effective treatments to patients with obesity, medicine needs to stop framing obesity as some surprising personal-responsibility knowledge gap and instead focus on the real problems at hand: the barriers to physicians treating obesity as they do every other chronic noncommunicable disease; why, unlike hypertension, for example, primary care providers are generally not well trained in its effective management; and why those who aren’t, despite obesity’s prevalence and impact, don’t see it as worthwhile to go out of their way to learn.

Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor in the department of family medicine at the University of Ottawa (Ont.) and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, also in Ottawa. He reported conflicts of interest with Constant Health, Novo Nordisk, and Weighty Matters.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Don’t look for the publication of a study detailing the probability of blood pressure reduction to normotensive among adults with hypertension who aren’t offered pharmacotherapy in a JAMA journal. It’s not because hypertension doesn’t respond to intentional behavior change. On the contrary, it absolutely does, but when it comes to hypertension, physicians don’t require patients to fail to manage their hypertension through personal responsibility before medications are discussed and involved.

Not so, of course, with obesity.

A few weeks ago a paper was published in JAMA Network Open entitled “Probability of 5% or greater weight loss or BMI reduction to healthy weight among adults with overweight or obesity,” which authors, peer reviewers, and editors deemed worthy of publication. Now, to be fair, it might be worthy of publication if the call to action and thrust of the paper was to chastise physicians for not offering patients effective treatments; the medical education system for failing to teach physicians how to effectively manage obesity; or, if medication is being offered, addressing the barriers to its use. Instead, the main thrust was that patients are failing to help themselves despite the known health benefits of sustained weight loss.

It’s not at all surprising that, despite known benefits, sustained weight loss without pharmacotherapy or surgery is elusive. Just as with virtually every other chronic noncommunicable disease with lifestyle levers, intentional behavior change as treatment – which, by definition for chronic diseases, needs to be employed in perpetuity – requires wide-ranging degrees of privilege and is not a reasonable expectation. And if outcomes from the FREEE trial are applicable broadly, this may be true even if the behavior change required is minimal, the cost is free, and the motivation is large.

The FREEE trial studied whether cost had a role to play in why so many people, even after a myocardial infarction, don’t follow through with the simplest of intentional behavior changes – taking prescribed medications – by providing free medications known to reduce the risk of having a second MI to study participants who had just suffered an MI.

Results showed that, although the group receiving free medications were taking more of them than the group that had a copay for them, at 1.5 years post-MI, only 41% of those receiving all their medications for free were taking them.

And what of those who have a copay? This study found that fewer than 30% of Medicare beneficiaries 65-74 years of age who were hospitalized for heart attacks filled their new statin prescriptions within 90 days of discharge. That the vast majority of patients who’d had actual heart attacks didn’t even take on the behavior change of simply filling their prescription for, let alone taking, a medication shown to reduce their risk of having another heart attack, speaks to the folly of believing that knowledge drives behavior change.

The message is that human beings, even when faced with knowledge – and in the aforementioned studies, knowledge coupled with a very real glimpse of personal mortality – struggle to deploy the most basic of behavior changes. And yet here we have a paper that concludes with the inference of surprise that few people, without treatment, lost clinically meaningful amounts of weight “despite the known benefits of clinically meaningful weight loss.”

While this paper does suggest in passing that yes, maybe we should offer effective treatments to patients with obesity, medicine needs to stop framing obesity as some surprising personal-responsibility knowledge gap and instead focus on the real problems at hand: the barriers to physicians treating obesity as they do every other chronic noncommunicable disease; why, unlike hypertension, for example, primary care providers are generally not well trained in its effective management; and why those who aren’t, despite obesity’s prevalence and impact, don’t see it as worthwhile to go out of their way to learn.

Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor in the department of family medicine at the University of Ottawa (Ont.) and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, also in Ottawa. He reported conflicts of interest with Constant Health, Novo Nordisk, and Weighty Matters.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Don’t look for the publication of a study detailing the probability of blood pressure reduction to normotensive among adults with hypertension who aren’t offered pharmacotherapy in a JAMA journal. It’s not because hypertension doesn’t respond to intentional behavior change. On the contrary, it absolutely does, but when it comes to hypertension, physicians don’t require patients to fail to manage their hypertension through personal responsibility before medications are discussed and involved.

Not so, of course, with obesity.

A few weeks ago a paper was published in JAMA Network Open entitled “Probability of 5% or greater weight loss or BMI reduction to healthy weight among adults with overweight or obesity,” which authors, peer reviewers, and editors deemed worthy of publication. Now, to be fair, it might be worthy of publication if the call to action and thrust of the paper was to chastise physicians for not offering patients effective treatments; the medical education system for failing to teach physicians how to effectively manage obesity; or, if medication is being offered, addressing the barriers to its use. Instead, the main thrust was that patients are failing to help themselves despite the known health benefits of sustained weight loss.

It’s not at all surprising that, despite known benefits, sustained weight loss without pharmacotherapy or surgery is elusive. Just as with virtually every other chronic noncommunicable disease with lifestyle levers, intentional behavior change as treatment – which, by definition for chronic diseases, needs to be employed in perpetuity – requires wide-ranging degrees of privilege and is not a reasonable expectation. And if outcomes from the FREEE trial are applicable broadly, this may be true even if the behavior change required is minimal, the cost is free, and the motivation is large.

The FREEE trial studied whether cost had a role to play in why so many people, even after a myocardial infarction, don’t follow through with the simplest of intentional behavior changes – taking prescribed medications – by providing free medications known to reduce the risk of having a second MI to study participants who had just suffered an MI.

Results showed that, although the group receiving free medications were taking more of them than the group that had a copay for them, at 1.5 years post-MI, only 41% of those receiving all their medications for free were taking them.

And what of those who have a copay? This study found that fewer than 30% of Medicare beneficiaries 65-74 years of age who were hospitalized for heart attacks filled their new statin prescriptions within 90 days of discharge. That the vast majority of patients who’d had actual heart attacks didn’t even take on the behavior change of simply filling their prescription for, let alone taking, a medication shown to reduce their risk of having another heart attack, speaks to the folly of believing that knowledge drives behavior change.

The message is that human beings, even when faced with knowledge – and in the aforementioned studies, knowledge coupled with a very real glimpse of personal mortality – struggle to deploy the most basic of behavior changes. And yet here we have a paper that concludes with the inference of surprise that few people, without treatment, lost clinically meaningful amounts of weight “despite the known benefits of clinically meaningful weight loss.”

While this paper does suggest in passing that yes, maybe we should offer effective treatments to patients with obesity, medicine needs to stop framing obesity as some surprising personal-responsibility knowledge gap and instead focus on the real problems at hand: the barriers to physicians treating obesity as they do every other chronic noncommunicable disease; why, unlike hypertension, for example, primary care providers are generally not well trained in its effective management; and why those who aren’t, despite obesity’s prevalence and impact, don’t see it as worthwhile to go out of their way to learn.

Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor in the department of family medicine at the University of Ottawa (Ont.) and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute, also in Ottawa. He reported conflicts of interest with Constant Health, Novo Nordisk, and Weighty Matters.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Are there medical conditions other than obesity where physicians, if even inadvertently, regularly sabotage their patients’ efforts at managing them? Because for patients with obesity, their physicians, sometimes even before they walk into the examining room to meet them, do and say things that may quash their weight loss efforts.

No doubt this list will be nonexhaustive, but here are what I see as the top 10 ways doctors sabotage their patients’ weight loss journeys.

• 1. Having an office that is anxiety provoking, exclusionary, and/or fat phobic for people with obesity, which in turn may remove trust and preclude conversation. Examples of this would be offices without chairs in the waiting room that are suitable for people with obesity; with reading materials such as glossy magazines like Men’s Health and Shape, glorifying unhealthy dieting and body ideals; or where the scale is in a nonprivate area or has a very narrow platform, or maxes out at a weight lower than many patients’.
• 2. Not taking an actual history. Meaning, physicians regularly launch into a “you should really lose weight” speech without exploring a patient’s history of weight loss and social determinants of health. In some cases, that patient may have a history of disordered eating or body dysmorphia, and then this discussion needs to be approached carefully with those facts underwriting its tenor and direction. In other cases, patients’ social determinants of health would make intentional behavior change efforts in the name of weight management an impossible luxury. And sometimes that same patient may in fact be maintaining a clinically meaningful weight loss from their peak weight already. In all cases, not speaking with your patients and instead speaking at your patients will not increase their likelihood to trust or follow or seek your advice.
• 3. Pushing useless diet advice. The most common and most useless are some variation on needing to just eat less and move more. That’s about as useful as telling someone that making money requires them to buy low and sell high. Or telling someone with depression that they should just cheer up and look at the bright side of things.
• 4. Pushing specific diet advice (intermittent fasting, keto, low carb, vegan, low fat, whatever) as if it’s the only way or the best way to lose weight. The research is clear: There is no one best dietary approach, and one person’s best diet is another person’s worst. Yet, some clinicians are themselves diet zealots and preach one diet over all others. Of course, many of their patients may well have already tried that approach, while others won’t enjoy it, and so promoting it above all others will fail a great many people.
• 5. Refusing to prescribe medications to patients who meet the clinical criteria for use, especially now that there are truly effective and useful medications. Do these same clinicians refuse to prescribe antihypertensives or oral hypoglycemics to patients whose blood pressures or blood sugars are risking their health? Related would be those clinicians who don’t bother to learn enough about pharmaceutical options for obesity to feel comfortable prescribing them. This, despite the fact that statistically, well over 30% of their patients have obesity, and polls suggest that at least half of those embark on weight loss efforts annually. If a patient meets clinical criteria for a medication’s approved indication and a doctor won’t prescribe it because of their personal beliefs, in my opinion that’s grounds for a regulatory complaint.
• 6. Fearmongering around medications regarding adverse or unknown effects. The media’s coverage of new antiobesity medications is alarmist, to say the least, and for reasons I can’t fathom, given how well tolerated these medications are when dose titration is slow, monitored, and adjusted appropriately. Many physicians are not only buying into media narratives but are also spreading them.
• 7. Stopping medications for obesity when weight is lost. Do you also stop blood pressure medications when they normalize a patient’s blood pressure? Chronic conditions require ongoing long-term treatment. And yet I hear about this in my practice regularly.
• 8. Prescribing medications that cause weight gain rather than alternatives that don’t, or without discussion of same, or without the concomitant prescription of medication to counter it. From atypical antipsychotics to antidepressants to certain antiseizure medications to some blood pressure medications, there are those that have been shown to lead to, at times, dramatic weight gain. Yet, physicians will still regularly prescribe them to patients with obesity without first trying patients on available alternatives that don’t lead to weight gain, or without at least monitoring and then considering the prescription of an antiobesity medication to try to mitigate iatrogenic gain.
• 9. Setting ridiculous and unrealistic weight loss goals with patients. Without medication, the average person may lose 10% of their weight with purely behavioral efforts, 15%-20% with the addition of medications to those behavioral efforts, and 30% with the addition of bariatric surgery to their behavioral efforts. So why do so many physicians suggest goals that greatly exceed those averages? Imagine being committed to learning to run and having your running coach tell you at your training outset that your goal is to run a marathon within a Boston Marathon qualifying time. The goal should be whatever weight a person reaches living the healthiest life that they can honestly enjoy, not the Boston Marathon of weight loss.
• 10. Not discussing all options with all patients. Yes, food and fitness levers can affect weight, but that doesn’t mean that patients who meet the medical criteria for antiobesity medication or bariatric surgery shouldn’t be informed of their options. Our job as physicians is to fully inform our patients about the risks and benefits of all treatment options and then to support our patients’ decisions as to what option they want to pursue (including none, by the way). Our job is not to exclude discussion of proven and available options because our weight biases see us personally not believing in them – or worse, thinking that patients haven’t tried food and fitness umpteen times before, and that we require them to fail those efforts yet again before we stop gatekeeping their access to effective adjunctive therapeutic interventions.

Until recently, underwriting weight bias in medicine has been the dearth of effective treatments which in turn probably contributed to the overall lack of education for physicians in obesity management despite its extremely high prevalence. The times, though, are definitely a-changin’. Consequent to these new generations of medications rapidly coming online, by necessity we will see improvements in medical education around obesity management. Meanwhile, their efficacy will help dispel the bias that underlies much of this list. A decade or 2 from now, we will see obesity treated as we do every other chronic noncommunicable disease with lifestyle levers – with patient-centered care free from judgment and blame, and with a myriad of therapeutic options that physicians objectively, not subjectively, inform and prescribe to their patients.

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, also in Ottawa. He reported conflicts of interest with Constant Health and Novo Nordisk.
 

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Are there medical conditions other than obesity where physicians, if even inadvertently, regularly sabotage their patients’ efforts at managing them? Because for patients with obesity, their physicians, sometimes even before they walk into the examining room to meet them, do and say things that may quash their weight loss efforts.

No doubt this list will be nonexhaustive, but here are what I see as the top 10 ways doctors sabotage their patients’ weight loss journeys.

• 1. Having an office that is anxiety provoking, exclusionary, and/or fat phobic for people with obesity, which in turn may remove trust and preclude conversation. Examples of this would be offices without chairs in the waiting room that are suitable for people with obesity; with reading materials such as glossy magazines like Men’s Health and Shape, glorifying unhealthy dieting and body ideals; or where the scale is in a nonprivate area or has a very narrow platform, or maxes out at a weight lower than many patients’.
• 2. Not taking an actual history. Meaning, physicians regularly launch into a “you should really lose weight” speech without exploring a patient’s history of weight loss and social determinants of health. In some cases, that patient may have a history of disordered eating or body dysmorphia, and then this discussion needs to be approached carefully with those facts underwriting its tenor and direction. In other cases, patients’ social determinants of health would make intentional behavior change efforts in the name of weight management an impossible luxury. And sometimes that same patient may in fact be maintaining a clinically meaningful weight loss from their peak weight already. In all cases, not speaking with your patients and instead speaking at your patients will not increase their likelihood to trust or follow or seek your advice.
• 3. Pushing useless diet advice. The most common and most useless are some variation on needing to just eat less and move more. That’s about as useful as telling someone that making money requires them to buy low and sell high. Or telling someone with depression that they should just cheer up and look at the bright side of things.
• 4. Pushing specific diet advice (intermittent fasting, keto, low carb, vegan, low fat, whatever) as if it’s the only way or the best way to lose weight. The research is clear: There is no one best dietary approach, and one person’s best diet is another person’s worst. Yet, some clinicians are themselves diet zealots and preach one diet over all others. Of course, many of their patients may well have already tried that approach, while others won’t enjoy it, and so promoting it above all others will fail a great many people.
• 5. Refusing to prescribe medications to patients who meet the clinical criteria for use, especially now that there are truly effective and useful medications. Do these same clinicians refuse to prescribe antihypertensives or oral hypoglycemics to patients whose blood pressures or blood sugars are risking their health? Related would be those clinicians who don’t bother to learn enough about pharmaceutical options for obesity to feel comfortable prescribing them. This, despite the fact that statistically, well over 30% of their patients have obesity, and polls suggest that at least half of those embark on weight loss efforts annually. If a patient meets clinical criteria for a medication’s approved indication and a doctor won’t prescribe it because of their personal beliefs, in my opinion that’s grounds for a regulatory complaint.
• 6. Fearmongering around medications regarding adverse or unknown effects. The media’s coverage of new antiobesity medications is alarmist, to say the least, and for reasons I can’t fathom, given how well tolerated these medications are when dose titration is slow, monitored, and adjusted appropriately. Many physicians are not only buying into media narratives but are also spreading them.
• 7. Stopping medications for obesity when weight is lost. Do you also stop blood pressure medications when they normalize a patient’s blood pressure? Chronic conditions require ongoing long-term treatment. And yet I hear about this in my practice regularly.
• 8. Prescribing medications that cause weight gain rather than alternatives that don’t, or without discussion of same, or without the concomitant prescription of medication to counter it. From atypical antipsychotics to antidepressants to certain antiseizure medications to some blood pressure medications, there are those that have been shown to lead to, at times, dramatic weight gain. Yet, physicians will still regularly prescribe them to patients with obesity without first trying patients on available alternatives that don’t lead to weight gain, or without at least monitoring and then considering the prescription of an antiobesity medication to try to mitigate iatrogenic gain.
• 9. Setting ridiculous and unrealistic weight loss goals with patients. Without medication, the average person may lose 10% of their weight with purely behavioral efforts, 15%-20% with the addition of medications to those behavioral efforts, and 30% with the addition of bariatric surgery to their behavioral efforts. So why do so many physicians suggest goals that greatly exceed those averages? Imagine being committed to learning to run and having your running coach tell you at your training outset that your goal is to run a marathon within a Boston Marathon qualifying time. The goal should be whatever weight a person reaches living the healthiest life that they can honestly enjoy, not the Boston Marathon of weight loss.
• 10. Not discussing all options with all patients. Yes, food and fitness levers can affect weight, but that doesn’t mean that patients who meet the medical criteria for antiobesity medication or bariatric surgery shouldn’t be informed of their options. Our job as physicians is to fully inform our patients about the risks and benefits of all treatment options and then to support our patients’ decisions as to what option they want to pursue (including none, by the way). Our job is not to exclude discussion of proven and available options because our weight biases see us personally not believing in them – or worse, thinking that patients haven’t tried food and fitness umpteen times before, and that we require them to fail those efforts yet again before we stop gatekeeping their access to effective adjunctive therapeutic interventions.

Until recently, underwriting weight bias in medicine has been the dearth of effective treatments which in turn probably contributed to the overall lack of education for physicians in obesity management despite its extremely high prevalence. The times, though, are definitely a-changin’. Consequent to these new generations of medications rapidly coming online, by necessity we will see improvements in medical education around obesity management. Meanwhile, their efficacy will help dispel the bias that underlies much of this list. A decade or 2 from now, we will see obesity treated as we do every other chronic noncommunicable disease with lifestyle levers – with patient-centered care free from judgment and blame, and with a myriad of therapeutic options that physicians objectively, not subjectively, inform and prescribe to their patients.

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, also in Ottawa. He reported conflicts of interest with Constant Health and Novo Nordisk.
 

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Are there medical conditions other than obesity where physicians, if even inadvertently, regularly sabotage their patients’ efforts at managing them? Because for patients with obesity, their physicians, sometimes even before they walk into the examining room to meet them, do and say things that may quash their weight loss efforts.

No doubt this list will be nonexhaustive, but here are what I see as the top 10 ways doctors sabotage their patients’ weight loss journeys.

• 1. Having an office that is anxiety provoking, exclusionary, and/or fat phobic for people with obesity, which in turn may remove trust and preclude conversation. Examples of this would be offices without chairs in the waiting room that are suitable for people with obesity; with reading materials such as glossy magazines like Men’s Health and Shape, glorifying unhealthy dieting and body ideals; or where the scale is in a nonprivate area or has a very narrow platform, or maxes out at a weight lower than many patients’.
• 2. Not taking an actual history. Meaning, physicians regularly launch into a “you should really lose weight” speech without exploring a patient’s history of weight loss and social determinants of health. In some cases, that patient may have a history of disordered eating or body dysmorphia, and then this discussion needs to be approached carefully with those facts underwriting its tenor and direction. In other cases, patients’ social determinants of health would make intentional behavior change efforts in the name of weight management an impossible luxury. And sometimes that same patient may in fact be maintaining a clinically meaningful weight loss from their peak weight already. In all cases, not speaking with your patients and instead speaking at your patients will not increase their likelihood to trust or follow or seek your advice.
• 3. Pushing useless diet advice. The most common and most useless are some variation on needing to just eat less and move more. That’s about as useful as telling someone that making money requires them to buy low and sell high. Or telling someone with depression that they should just cheer up and look at the bright side of things.
• 4. Pushing specific diet advice (intermittent fasting, keto, low carb, vegan, low fat, whatever) as if it’s the only way or the best way to lose weight. The research is clear: There is no one best dietary approach, and one person’s best diet is another person’s worst. Yet, some clinicians are themselves diet zealots and preach one diet over all others. Of course, many of their patients may well have already tried that approach, while others won’t enjoy it, and so promoting it above all others will fail a great many people.
• 5. Refusing to prescribe medications to patients who meet the clinical criteria for use, especially now that there are truly effective and useful medications. Do these same clinicians refuse to prescribe antihypertensives or oral hypoglycemics to patients whose blood pressures or blood sugars are risking their health? Related would be those clinicians who don’t bother to learn enough about pharmaceutical options for obesity to feel comfortable prescribing them. This, despite the fact that statistically, well over 30% of their patients have obesity, and polls suggest that at least half of those embark on weight loss efforts annually. If a patient meets clinical criteria for a medication’s approved indication and a doctor won’t prescribe it because of their personal beliefs, in my opinion that’s grounds for a regulatory complaint.
• 6. Fearmongering around medications regarding adverse or unknown effects. The media’s coverage of new antiobesity medications is alarmist, to say the least, and for reasons I can’t fathom, given how well tolerated these medications are when dose titration is slow, monitored, and adjusted appropriately. Many physicians are not only buying into media narratives but are also spreading them.
• 7. Stopping medications for obesity when weight is lost. Do you also stop blood pressure medications when they normalize a patient’s blood pressure? Chronic conditions require ongoing long-term treatment. And yet I hear about this in my practice regularly.
• 8. Prescribing medications that cause weight gain rather than alternatives that don’t, or without discussion of same, or without the concomitant prescription of medication to counter it. From atypical antipsychotics to antidepressants to certain antiseizure medications to some blood pressure medications, there are those that have been shown to lead to, at times, dramatic weight gain. Yet, physicians will still regularly prescribe them to patients with obesity without first trying patients on available alternatives that don’t lead to weight gain, or without at least monitoring and then considering the prescription of an antiobesity medication to try to mitigate iatrogenic gain.
• 9. Setting ridiculous and unrealistic weight loss goals with patients. Without medication, the average person may lose 10% of their weight with purely behavioral efforts, 15%-20% with the addition of medications to those behavioral efforts, and 30% with the addition of bariatric surgery to their behavioral efforts. So why do so many physicians suggest goals that greatly exceed those averages? Imagine being committed to learning to run and having your running coach tell you at your training outset that your goal is to run a marathon within a Boston Marathon qualifying time. The goal should be whatever weight a person reaches living the healthiest life that they can honestly enjoy, not the Boston Marathon of weight loss.
• 10. Not discussing all options with all patients. Yes, food and fitness levers can affect weight, but that doesn’t mean that patients who meet the medical criteria for antiobesity medication or bariatric surgery shouldn’t be informed of their options. Our job as physicians is to fully inform our patients about the risks and benefits of all treatment options and then to support our patients’ decisions as to what option they want to pursue (including none, by the way). Our job is not to exclude discussion of proven and available options because our weight biases see us personally not believing in them – or worse, thinking that patients haven’t tried food and fitness umpteen times before, and that we require them to fail those efforts yet again before we stop gatekeeping their access to effective adjunctive therapeutic interventions.

Until recently, underwriting weight bias in medicine has been the dearth of effective treatments which in turn probably contributed to the overall lack of education for physicians in obesity management despite its extremely high prevalence. The times, though, are definitely a-changin’. Consequent to these new generations of medications rapidly coming online, by necessity we will see improvements in medical education around obesity management. Meanwhile, their efficacy will help dispel the bias that underlies much of this list. A decade or 2 from now, we will see obesity treated as we do every other chronic noncommunicable disease with lifestyle levers – with patient-centered care free from judgment and blame, and with a myriad of therapeutic options that physicians objectively, not subjectively, inform and prescribe to their patients.

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, also in Ottawa. He reported conflicts of interest with Constant Health and Novo Nordisk.
 

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The biased discourse and double standards around antiobesity glucagon-like peptide 1 (GLP-1) receptor agonists continue apace, most recently in The New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM) where some economists opined that their coverage would be disastrous for Medicare.

Among their concerns? The drugs need to be taken long term (just like drugs for any other chronic condition). The new drugs are more expensive than the old drugs (just like new drugs for any other chronic condition). Lots of people will want to take them (just like highly effective drugs for any other chronic condition that has a significant quality-of-life or clinical impact). The U.K. recommended that they be covered only for 2 years (unlike drugs for any other chronic condition). And the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review (ICER) on which they lean heavily decided that $13,618 annually was too expensive for a medication that leads to sustained 15%-20% weight losses and those losses’ consequential benefits.

As a clinician working with patients who sustain those levels of weight loss, I find that conclusion confusing. Whether by way of lifestyle alone, or more often by way of lifestyle efforts plus medication or lifestyle efforts plus surgery, the benefits reported and seen with 15%-20% weight losses are almost uniformly huge. Patients are regularly seen discontinuing or reducing the dosage of multiple medications as a result of improvements to multiple weight-responsive comorbidities, and they also report objective benefits to mood, sleep, mobility, pain, and energy. Losing that much weight changes lives. Not to mention the impact that that degree of loss has on the primary prevention of so many diseases, including plausible reductions in many common cancers – reductions that have been shown to occur after surgery-related weight losses and for which there’s no plausible reason to imagine that they wouldn’t occur with pharmaceutical-related losses.

Are those discussions found in the NEJM op-ed or in the ICER report? Well, yes, sort of. However, in the NEJM op-ed, the word “prevention” isn’t used once, and unlike with oral hypoglycemics or antihypertensives, the authors state that with antiobesity medications, additional research is needed to determine whether medication-induced changes to A1c, blood pressure, and waist circumference would have clinical benefits: “Antiobesity medications have been shown to improve the surrogate end points of weight, glycated hemoglobin levels, systolic blood pressure, and waist circumference. Long-term studies are needed, however, to clarify how medication-induced changes in these surrogate markers translate to health outcomes.”

Primary prevention is mentioned in the ICER review, but in the “limitations” section where the authors explain that they didn’t include it in their modeling: “The long-term benefits of preventing other comorbidities including cancer, chronic kidney disease, osteoarthritis, and sleep apnea were not explicitly modeled in the base case.”

And they pretended that the impact on existing weight-responsive comorbidities mostly didn’t exist, too: “To limit the complexity of the cost-effectiveness model and to prevent double-counting of treatment benefits, we limited the long-term effects of treatments for weight management to cardiovascular risk and delays in the onset and/or diagnosis of diabetes mellitus.”

As far as cardiovascular disease (CVD) benefits go, you might have thought that it would be a slam dunk on that basis alone, at least according to a recent simple back-of-the-envelope math exercise presented at a recent American College of Cardiology conference, which applied the semaglutide treatment group weight changes in the STEP 1 trial to estimate the population impact on weight and obesity in 30- to 74-year-olds without prior CVD, and estimated 10-year CVD risks utilizing the BMI-based Framingham CVD risk scores. By their accounting, semaglutide treatment in eligible American patients has the potential to prevent over 1.6 million CVD events over 10 years.

Finally, even putting aside ICER’s admittedly and exceedingly narrow base case, what lifestyle-alone studies could ICER possibly be comparing with drug efficacy? And what does “alone” mean? Does “alone” mean with a months- or years long interprofessional behavioral program? Does “alone” mean by way of diet books? Does “alone” mean by way of simply “moving more and eating less”? I’m not aware of robust studies demonstrating any long-term meaningful, predictable, reproducible, durable weight loss outcomes for any lifestyle-only approach, intensive or otherwise.

It’s difficult for me to imagine a situation in which a drug other than an antiobesity drug would be found to have too many benefits to include in your cost-effectiveness analysis but where you’d be comfortable to run that analysis anyhow, and then come out against the drug’s recommendation and fearmonger about its use.

But then again, systemic weight bias is a hell of a drug.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa. He disclosed ties with Constant Health and Novo Nordisk, and has shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media.

A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.

The biased discourse and double standards around antiobesity glucagon-like peptide 1 (GLP-1) receptor agonists continue apace, most recently in The New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM) where some economists opined that their coverage would be disastrous for Medicare.

Among their concerns? The drugs need to be taken long term (just like drugs for any other chronic condition). The new drugs are more expensive than the old drugs (just like new drugs for any other chronic condition). Lots of people will want to take them (just like highly effective drugs for any other chronic condition that has a significant quality-of-life or clinical impact). The U.K. recommended that they be covered only for 2 years (unlike drugs for any other chronic condition). And the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review (ICER) on which they lean heavily decided that $13,618 annually was too expensive for a medication that leads to sustained 15%-20% weight losses and those losses’ consequential benefits.

As a clinician working with patients who sustain those levels of weight loss, I find that conclusion confusing. Whether by way of lifestyle alone, or more often by way of lifestyle efforts plus medication or lifestyle efforts plus surgery, the benefits reported and seen with 15%-20% weight losses are almost uniformly huge. Patients are regularly seen discontinuing or reducing the dosage of multiple medications as a result of improvements to multiple weight-responsive comorbidities, and they also report objective benefits to mood, sleep, mobility, pain, and energy. Losing that much weight changes lives. Not to mention the impact that that degree of loss has on the primary prevention of so many diseases, including plausible reductions in many common cancers – reductions that have been shown to occur after surgery-related weight losses and for which there’s no plausible reason to imagine that they wouldn’t occur with pharmaceutical-related losses.

Are those discussions found in the NEJM op-ed or in the ICER report? Well, yes, sort of. However, in the NEJM op-ed, the word “prevention” isn’t used once, and unlike with oral hypoglycemics or antihypertensives, the authors state that with antiobesity medications, additional research is needed to determine whether medication-induced changes to A1c, blood pressure, and waist circumference would have clinical benefits: “Antiobesity medications have been shown to improve the surrogate end points of weight, glycated hemoglobin levels, systolic blood pressure, and waist circumference. Long-term studies are needed, however, to clarify how medication-induced changes in these surrogate markers translate to health outcomes.”

Primary prevention is mentioned in the ICER review, but in the “limitations” section where the authors explain that they didn’t include it in their modeling: “The long-term benefits of preventing other comorbidities including cancer, chronic kidney disease, osteoarthritis, and sleep apnea were not explicitly modeled in the base case.”

And they pretended that the impact on existing weight-responsive comorbidities mostly didn’t exist, too: “To limit the complexity of the cost-effectiveness model and to prevent double-counting of treatment benefits, we limited the long-term effects of treatments for weight management to cardiovascular risk and delays in the onset and/or diagnosis of diabetes mellitus.”

As far as cardiovascular disease (CVD) benefits go, you might have thought that it would be a slam dunk on that basis alone, at least according to a recent simple back-of-the-envelope math exercise presented at a recent American College of Cardiology conference, which applied the semaglutide treatment group weight changes in the STEP 1 trial to estimate the population impact on weight and obesity in 30- to 74-year-olds without prior CVD, and estimated 10-year CVD risks utilizing the BMI-based Framingham CVD risk scores. By their accounting, semaglutide treatment in eligible American patients has the potential to prevent over 1.6 million CVD events over 10 years.

Finally, even putting aside ICER’s admittedly and exceedingly narrow base case, what lifestyle-alone studies could ICER possibly be comparing with drug efficacy? And what does “alone” mean? Does “alone” mean with a months- or years long interprofessional behavioral program? Does “alone” mean by way of diet books? Does “alone” mean by way of simply “moving more and eating less”? I’m not aware of robust studies demonstrating any long-term meaningful, predictable, reproducible, durable weight loss outcomes for any lifestyle-only approach, intensive or otherwise.

It’s difficult for me to imagine a situation in which a drug other than an antiobesity drug would be found to have too many benefits to include in your cost-effectiveness analysis but where you’d be comfortable to run that analysis anyhow, and then come out against the drug’s recommendation and fearmonger about its use.

But then again, systemic weight bias is a hell of a drug.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa. He disclosed ties with Constant Health and Novo Nordisk, and has shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media.

A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.

The biased discourse and double standards around antiobesity glucagon-like peptide 1 (GLP-1) receptor agonists continue apace, most recently in The New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM) where some economists opined that their coverage would be disastrous for Medicare.

Among their concerns? The drugs need to be taken long term (just like drugs for any other chronic condition). The new drugs are more expensive than the old drugs (just like new drugs for any other chronic condition). Lots of people will want to take them (just like highly effective drugs for any other chronic condition that has a significant quality-of-life or clinical impact). The U.K. recommended that they be covered only for 2 years (unlike drugs for any other chronic condition). And the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review (ICER) on which they lean heavily decided that $13,618 annually was too expensive for a medication that leads to sustained 15%-20% weight losses and those losses’ consequential benefits.

As a clinician working with patients who sustain those levels of weight loss, I find that conclusion confusing. Whether by way of lifestyle alone, or more often by way of lifestyle efforts plus medication or lifestyle efforts plus surgery, the benefits reported and seen with 15%-20% weight losses are almost uniformly huge. Patients are regularly seen discontinuing or reducing the dosage of multiple medications as a result of improvements to multiple weight-responsive comorbidities, and they also report objective benefits to mood, sleep, mobility, pain, and energy. Losing that much weight changes lives. Not to mention the impact that that degree of loss has on the primary prevention of so many diseases, including plausible reductions in many common cancers – reductions that have been shown to occur after surgery-related weight losses and for which there’s no plausible reason to imagine that they wouldn’t occur with pharmaceutical-related losses.

Are those discussions found in the NEJM op-ed or in the ICER report? Well, yes, sort of. However, in the NEJM op-ed, the word “prevention” isn’t used once, and unlike with oral hypoglycemics or antihypertensives, the authors state that with antiobesity medications, additional research is needed to determine whether medication-induced changes to A1c, blood pressure, and waist circumference would have clinical benefits: “Antiobesity medications have been shown to improve the surrogate end points of weight, glycated hemoglobin levels, systolic blood pressure, and waist circumference. Long-term studies are needed, however, to clarify how medication-induced changes in these surrogate markers translate to health outcomes.”

Primary prevention is mentioned in the ICER review, but in the “limitations” section where the authors explain that they didn’t include it in their modeling: “The long-term benefits of preventing other comorbidities including cancer, chronic kidney disease, osteoarthritis, and sleep apnea were not explicitly modeled in the base case.”

And they pretended that the impact on existing weight-responsive comorbidities mostly didn’t exist, too: “To limit the complexity of the cost-effectiveness model and to prevent double-counting of treatment benefits, we limited the long-term effects of treatments for weight management to cardiovascular risk and delays in the onset and/or diagnosis of diabetes mellitus.”

As far as cardiovascular disease (CVD) benefits go, you might have thought that it would be a slam dunk on that basis alone, at least according to a recent simple back-of-the-envelope math exercise presented at a recent American College of Cardiology conference, which applied the semaglutide treatment group weight changes in the STEP 1 trial to estimate the population impact on weight and obesity in 30- to 74-year-olds without prior CVD, and estimated 10-year CVD risks utilizing the BMI-based Framingham CVD risk scores. By their accounting, semaglutide treatment in eligible American patients has the potential to prevent over 1.6 million CVD events over 10 years.

Finally, even putting aside ICER’s admittedly and exceedingly narrow base case, what lifestyle-alone studies could ICER possibly be comparing with drug efficacy? And what does “alone” mean? Does “alone” mean with a months- or years long interprofessional behavioral program? Does “alone” mean by way of diet books? Does “alone” mean by way of simply “moving more and eating less”? I’m not aware of robust studies demonstrating any long-term meaningful, predictable, reproducible, durable weight loss outcomes for any lifestyle-only approach, intensive or otherwise.

It’s difficult for me to imagine a situation in which a drug other than an antiobesity drug would be found to have too many benefits to include in your cost-effectiveness analysis but where you’d be comfortable to run that analysis anyhow, and then come out against the drug’s recommendation and fearmonger about its use.

But then again, systemic weight bias is a hell of a drug.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is associate professor, department of family medicine, University of Ottawa, and medical director, Bariatric Medical Institute, Ottawa. He disclosed ties with Constant Health and Novo Nordisk, and has shared opinions via Weighty Matters and social media.

A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.

Apparently, offering children effective treatments for a chronic disease that markedly increases their risk for other chronic diseases, regularly erodes their quality of life, and is the No. 1 target of school-based bullying is wrong.

At least that’s my take watching the coverage of the recent American Academy of Pediatrics new pediatric obesity treatment guidelines that, gasp, suggest that children whose severity of obesity warrants medication or surgeries be offered medication or surgery. Because it’s wiser to not try to treat the obesity that›s contributing to a child’s type 2 diabetes, hypertension, fatty liver disease, or reduced quality of life?

The reaction isn’t surprising. Some of those who are up in arms about it have clinical or research careers dependent on championing their own favorite dietary strategies as if they are more effective and reproducible than decades of uniformly disappointing studies proving that they’re not. Others are upset because, for reasons that at times may be personal and at times may be conflicted, they believe that obesity should not be treated and/or that sustained weight loss is impossible. But overarchingly, probably the bulk of the hoopla stems from obesity being seen as a moral failing. Because the notion that those who suffer with obesity are themselves to blame has been the prevailing societal view for decades, if not centuries.

Working with families of children with obesity severe enough for them to seek help, it’s clear that if desire were sufficient to will it away, we wouldn’t need treatment guidelines let alone medications or surgery. Near uniformly, parents describe their children being bullied consequent to and being deeply self-conscious of their weight.

And what would those who think children shouldn’t be offered reproducibly effective treatment for obesity have them do about it? Many seem to think it would be preferable for kids to be placed on formal diets and, of course, that they should go out and play more. And though I’m all for encouraging the improvement of a child’s dietary quality and activity level, anyone suggesting those as panaceas for childhood obesity haven’t a clue. Not to mention the fact that, in most cases, improving overall dietary quality, something worthwhile at any weight, isn’t the dietary goal being recommended. Instead, the prescription seems to be restrictive dieting coupled with overexercising, which, unlike appropriately and thoughtfully informed and utilized medication, may increase a child’s risk of maladaptive thinking around food and fitness as well as disordered eating, not to mention challenge their self-esteem if their lifestyle results are underwhelming.

This brings us to one of the most bizarre takes on this whole business – that medications will be pushed and used when not necessary. No doubt that at times, that may occur, but the issue is that of a clinician’s overzealous prescribing and not of the treatment options or indications. Consider childhood asthma. There is no worry or uproar that children with mild asthma that isn’t having an impact on their quality of life or markedly risking their health will be placed on multiple inhaled steroids and treatments. Why? Because clinicians have been taught how to dispassionately evaluate treatment needs for asthma, monitor disease course, and not simply prescribe everything in our armamentarium.

Shocking, I know, but as is the case with every other medical condition, I think doctors are capable of learning and following an algorithm covering the indications and options for the treatment of childhood obesity.

How that looks also mirrors what’s seen with any other chronic noncommunicable disease with varied severity and impact. Doctors will evaluate each child with obesity to see whether it’s having a detrimental effect on their health or quality of life. They will monitor their patients’ obesity to see if it’s worsening and will, when necessary, undertake investigations to rule out its potential contribution to common comorbidities like type 2 diabetes, hypertension, and fatty liver disease. And, when appropriate, they will provide information on available treatment options – from lifestyle to medication to surgery and the risks, benefits, and realistic expectations associated with each – and then, without judgment, support their patients’ treatment choices because blame-free informed discussion and supportive prescription of care is, in fact, the distillation of our jobs.

If people are looking to be outraged rather than focusing their outrage on what we now need to do about childhood obesity, they should instead look to what got us here: our obesogenic environment. We and our children are swimming against a torrential current of cheap ultraprocessed calories being pushed upon us by a broken societal food culture that values convenience and simultaneously embraces the notion that knowledge is a match versus the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones that increasingly sophisticated food industry marketers and scientists prey upon. When dealing with torrential currents, we need to do more than just recommend swimming lessons.

Like asthma, which may be exacerbated by pollution in our environment both outdoors and indoors, childhood obesity is a modern-day environmentally influenced disease with varied penetrance that does not always require active treatment. Like asthma, childhood obesity is not a disease that children choose to have; it’s not a disease that can be willed away; and it’s not a disease that responds uniformly, dramatically, or enduringly to diet and exercise. Finally, literally and figuratively, like asthma, for childhood obesity, we thankfully now have a number of effective treatment options that we can offer, and it’s only our societal weight bias that leads to thinking that’s anything but great.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Apparently, offering children effective treatments for a chronic disease that markedly increases their risk for other chronic diseases, regularly erodes their quality of life, and is the No. 1 target of school-based bullying is wrong.

At least that’s my take watching the coverage of the recent American Academy of Pediatrics new pediatric obesity treatment guidelines that, gasp, suggest that children whose severity of obesity warrants medication or surgeries be offered medication or surgery. Because it’s wiser to not try to treat the obesity that›s contributing to a child’s type 2 diabetes, hypertension, fatty liver disease, or reduced quality of life?

The reaction isn’t surprising. Some of those who are up in arms about it have clinical or research careers dependent on championing their own favorite dietary strategies as if they are more effective and reproducible than decades of uniformly disappointing studies proving that they’re not. Others are upset because, for reasons that at times may be personal and at times may be conflicted, they believe that obesity should not be treated and/or that sustained weight loss is impossible. But overarchingly, probably the bulk of the hoopla stems from obesity being seen as a moral failing. Because the notion that those who suffer with obesity are themselves to blame has been the prevailing societal view for decades, if not centuries.

Working with families of children with obesity severe enough for them to seek help, it’s clear that if desire were sufficient to will it away, we wouldn’t need treatment guidelines let alone medications or surgery. Near uniformly, parents describe their children being bullied consequent to and being deeply self-conscious of their weight.

And what would those who think children shouldn’t be offered reproducibly effective treatment for obesity have them do about it? Many seem to think it would be preferable for kids to be placed on formal diets and, of course, that they should go out and play more. And though I’m all for encouraging the improvement of a child’s dietary quality and activity level, anyone suggesting those as panaceas for childhood obesity haven’t a clue. Not to mention the fact that, in most cases, improving overall dietary quality, something worthwhile at any weight, isn’t the dietary goal being recommended. Instead, the prescription seems to be restrictive dieting coupled with overexercising, which, unlike appropriately and thoughtfully informed and utilized medication, may increase a child’s risk of maladaptive thinking around food and fitness as well as disordered eating, not to mention challenge their self-esteem if their lifestyle results are underwhelming.

This brings us to one of the most bizarre takes on this whole business – that medications will be pushed and used when not necessary. No doubt that at times, that may occur, but the issue is that of a clinician’s overzealous prescribing and not of the treatment options or indications. Consider childhood asthma. There is no worry or uproar that children with mild asthma that isn’t having an impact on their quality of life or markedly risking their health will be placed on multiple inhaled steroids and treatments. Why? Because clinicians have been taught how to dispassionately evaluate treatment needs for asthma, monitor disease course, and not simply prescribe everything in our armamentarium.

Shocking, I know, but as is the case with every other medical condition, I think doctors are capable of learning and following an algorithm covering the indications and options for the treatment of childhood obesity.

How that looks also mirrors what’s seen with any other chronic noncommunicable disease with varied severity and impact. Doctors will evaluate each child with obesity to see whether it’s having a detrimental effect on their health or quality of life. They will monitor their patients’ obesity to see if it’s worsening and will, when necessary, undertake investigations to rule out its potential contribution to common comorbidities like type 2 diabetes, hypertension, and fatty liver disease. And, when appropriate, they will provide information on available treatment options – from lifestyle to medication to surgery and the risks, benefits, and realistic expectations associated with each – and then, without judgment, support their patients’ treatment choices because blame-free informed discussion and supportive prescription of care is, in fact, the distillation of our jobs.

If people are looking to be outraged rather than focusing their outrage on what we now need to do about childhood obesity, they should instead look to what got us here: our obesogenic environment. We and our children are swimming against a torrential current of cheap ultraprocessed calories being pushed upon us by a broken societal food culture that values convenience and simultaneously embraces the notion that knowledge is a match versus the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones that increasingly sophisticated food industry marketers and scientists prey upon. When dealing with torrential currents, we need to do more than just recommend swimming lessons.

Like asthma, which may be exacerbated by pollution in our environment both outdoors and indoors, childhood obesity is a modern-day environmentally influenced disease with varied penetrance that does not always require active treatment. Like asthma, childhood obesity is not a disease that children choose to have; it’s not a disease that can be willed away; and it’s not a disease that responds uniformly, dramatically, or enduringly to diet and exercise. Finally, literally and figuratively, like asthma, for childhood obesity, we thankfully now have a number of effective treatment options that we can offer, and it’s only our societal weight bias that leads to thinking that’s anything but great.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Apparently, offering children effective treatments for a chronic disease that markedly increases their risk for other chronic diseases, regularly erodes their quality of life, and is the No. 1 target of school-based bullying is wrong.

At least that’s my take watching the coverage of the recent American Academy of Pediatrics new pediatric obesity treatment guidelines that, gasp, suggest that children whose severity of obesity warrants medication or surgeries be offered medication or surgery. Because it’s wiser to not try to treat the obesity that›s contributing to a child’s type 2 diabetes, hypertension, fatty liver disease, or reduced quality of life?

The reaction isn’t surprising. Some of those who are up in arms about it have clinical or research careers dependent on championing their own favorite dietary strategies as if they are more effective and reproducible than decades of uniformly disappointing studies proving that they’re not. Others are upset because, for reasons that at times may be personal and at times may be conflicted, they believe that obesity should not be treated and/or that sustained weight loss is impossible. But overarchingly, probably the bulk of the hoopla stems from obesity being seen as a moral failing. Because the notion that those who suffer with obesity are themselves to blame has been the prevailing societal view for decades, if not centuries.

Working with families of children with obesity severe enough for them to seek help, it’s clear that if desire were sufficient to will it away, we wouldn’t need treatment guidelines let alone medications or surgery. Near uniformly, parents describe their children being bullied consequent to and being deeply self-conscious of their weight.

And what would those who think children shouldn’t be offered reproducibly effective treatment for obesity have them do about it? Many seem to think it would be preferable for kids to be placed on formal diets and, of course, that they should go out and play more. And though I’m all for encouraging the improvement of a child’s dietary quality and activity level, anyone suggesting those as panaceas for childhood obesity haven’t a clue. Not to mention the fact that, in most cases, improving overall dietary quality, something worthwhile at any weight, isn’t the dietary goal being recommended. Instead, the prescription seems to be restrictive dieting coupled with overexercising, which, unlike appropriately and thoughtfully informed and utilized medication, may increase a child’s risk of maladaptive thinking around food and fitness as well as disordered eating, not to mention challenge their self-esteem if their lifestyle results are underwhelming.

This brings us to one of the most bizarre takes on this whole business – that medications will be pushed and used when not necessary. No doubt that at times, that may occur, but the issue is that of a clinician’s overzealous prescribing and not of the treatment options or indications. Consider childhood asthma. There is no worry or uproar that children with mild asthma that isn’t having an impact on their quality of life or markedly risking their health will be placed on multiple inhaled steroids and treatments. Why? Because clinicians have been taught how to dispassionately evaluate treatment needs for asthma, monitor disease course, and not simply prescribe everything in our armamentarium.

Shocking, I know, but as is the case with every other medical condition, I think doctors are capable of learning and following an algorithm covering the indications and options for the treatment of childhood obesity.

How that looks also mirrors what’s seen with any other chronic noncommunicable disease with varied severity and impact. Doctors will evaluate each child with obesity to see whether it’s having a detrimental effect on their health or quality of life. They will monitor their patients’ obesity to see if it’s worsening and will, when necessary, undertake investigations to rule out its potential contribution to common comorbidities like type 2 diabetes, hypertension, and fatty liver disease. And, when appropriate, they will provide information on available treatment options – from lifestyle to medication to surgery and the risks, benefits, and realistic expectations associated with each – and then, without judgment, support their patients’ treatment choices because blame-free informed discussion and supportive prescription of care is, in fact, the distillation of our jobs.

If people are looking to be outraged rather than focusing their outrage on what we now need to do about childhood obesity, they should instead look to what got us here: our obesogenic environment. We and our children are swimming against a torrential current of cheap ultraprocessed calories being pushed upon us by a broken societal food culture that values convenience and simultaneously embraces the notion that knowledge is a match versus the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones that increasingly sophisticated food industry marketers and scientists prey upon. When dealing with torrential currents, we need to do more than just recommend swimming lessons.

Like asthma, which may be exacerbated by pollution in our environment both outdoors and indoors, childhood obesity is a modern-day environmentally influenced disease with varied penetrance that does not always require active treatment. Like asthma, childhood obesity is not a disease that children choose to have; it’s not a disease that can be willed away; and it’s not a disease that responds uniformly, dramatically, or enduringly to diet and exercise. Finally, literally and figuratively, like asthma, for childhood obesity, we thankfully now have a number of effective treatment options that we can offer, and it’s only our societal weight bias that leads to thinking that’s anything but great.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The notion that the reason people with obesity are not losing weight is that they aren’t sufficiently incentivized to do so is toxic.
 

It denies the impact of the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones involved in our individual levels of hunger, cravings, and fullness. It denies the torrential current of our ultraprocessed and calorific food environment. It denies the constant push of food advertising and the role food has taken on as the star of even the smallest of events and celebrations. It denies the role of food as a seminal pleasure in a world that, even for those possessing great degrees of privilege is challenging, let alone for those facing tremendous and varied difficulties. And of course, it upholds the hateful notion that, if people just wanted it badly enough, they’d manage their weight, the corollary of which is that people with obesity are unmotivated and lazy. 

Yet the notion that, if people want it badly enough, they’d make it happen, is incredibly commonplace. It’s so commonplace that NBC aired their prime-time televised reality show The Biggest Loser from 2004 through 2016, featuring people with obesity competing for a $500,000 prize during a 30-week–long orgy of fat-shaming, victim-blaming, hugely restrictive eating, and injury. It’s also so commonplace that studies are still being conducted exploring the impact of paying people to lose weight.

The most recent of these – “Effectiveness of Goal-Directed and Outcome-Based Financial Incentives for Weight Loss in Primary Care Patients With Obesity Living in Socioeconomically Disadvantaged Neighborhoods: A Randomized Clinical Trial” – examined the effects of randomly assigning participants whose annual household incomes were less than $40,000 to either a free year of Weight Watchers and the provisions of basic weight loss advice (exercise, track your food, eat healthfully, et cetera) or to an incentivized program that would see them earning up to $750 over 6 months, with dollars being awarded for such things as attendance in education sessions, keeping a food diary, recording their weight, and obtaining a certain amount of exercise or for weight loss.

Resultswise – though you might not have gathered it from the conclusion of the paper, which states that incentives were more effective at 12 months – the average incentivized participant lost roughly 6 pounds more than those given only resources. It should also be mentioned that over half of the incentivized group did not complete the study.

That these sorts of studies are still being conducted is depressing. Medicine and academia need to actively stop promoting harmful stereotypes when it comes to the genesis of a chronic noncommunicable disease that is not caused by a lack of desire, needing the right incentive, but is rather caused by the interaction of millions of years of evolution during extreme dietary insecurity with a modern-day food environment and culture that constantly offers, provides, and encourages consumption. This is especially true now that there are effective antiobesity medications whose success underwrites the notion that it’s physiology, rather than a lack of wanting it enough, that gets in the way of sustained success.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The notion that the reason people with obesity are not losing weight is that they aren’t sufficiently incentivized to do so is toxic.
 

It denies the impact of the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones involved in our individual levels of hunger, cravings, and fullness. It denies the torrential current of our ultraprocessed and calorific food environment. It denies the constant push of food advertising and the role food has taken on as the star of even the smallest of events and celebrations. It denies the role of food as a seminal pleasure in a world that, even for those possessing great degrees of privilege is challenging, let alone for those facing tremendous and varied difficulties. And of course, it upholds the hateful notion that, if people just wanted it badly enough, they’d manage their weight, the corollary of which is that people with obesity are unmotivated and lazy. 

Yet the notion that, if people want it badly enough, they’d make it happen, is incredibly commonplace. It’s so commonplace that NBC aired their prime-time televised reality show The Biggest Loser from 2004 through 2016, featuring people with obesity competing for a $500,000 prize during a 30-week–long orgy of fat-shaming, victim-blaming, hugely restrictive eating, and injury. It’s also so commonplace that studies are still being conducted exploring the impact of paying people to lose weight.

The most recent of these – “Effectiveness of Goal-Directed and Outcome-Based Financial Incentives for Weight Loss in Primary Care Patients With Obesity Living in Socioeconomically Disadvantaged Neighborhoods: A Randomized Clinical Trial” – examined the effects of randomly assigning participants whose annual household incomes were less than $40,000 to either a free year of Weight Watchers and the provisions of basic weight loss advice (exercise, track your food, eat healthfully, et cetera) or to an incentivized program that would see them earning up to $750 over 6 months, with dollars being awarded for such things as attendance in education sessions, keeping a food diary, recording their weight, and obtaining a certain amount of exercise or for weight loss.

Resultswise – though you might not have gathered it from the conclusion of the paper, which states that incentives were more effective at 12 months – the average incentivized participant lost roughly 6 pounds more than those given only resources. It should also be mentioned that over half of the incentivized group did not complete the study.

That these sorts of studies are still being conducted is depressing. Medicine and academia need to actively stop promoting harmful stereotypes when it comes to the genesis of a chronic noncommunicable disease that is not caused by a lack of desire, needing the right incentive, but is rather caused by the interaction of millions of years of evolution during extreme dietary insecurity with a modern-day food environment and culture that constantly offers, provides, and encourages consumption. This is especially true now that there are effective antiobesity medications whose success underwrites the notion that it’s physiology, rather than a lack of wanting it enough, that gets in the way of sustained success.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The notion that the reason people with obesity are not losing weight is that they aren’t sufficiently incentivized to do so is toxic.
 

It denies the impact of the thousands of genes and dozens of hormones involved in our individual levels of hunger, cravings, and fullness. It denies the torrential current of our ultraprocessed and calorific food environment. It denies the constant push of food advertising and the role food has taken on as the star of even the smallest of events and celebrations. It denies the role of food as a seminal pleasure in a world that, even for those possessing great degrees of privilege is challenging, let alone for those facing tremendous and varied difficulties. And of course, it upholds the hateful notion that, if people just wanted it badly enough, they’d manage their weight, the corollary of which is that people with obesity are unmotivated and lazy. 

Yet the notion that, if people want it badly enough, they’d make it happen, is incredibly commonplace. It’s so commonplace that NBC aired their prime-time televised reality show The Biggest Loser from 2004 through 2016, featuring people with obesity competing for a $500,000 prize during a 30-week–long orgy of fat-shaming, victim-blaming, hugely restrictive eating, and injury. It’s also so commonplace that studies are still being conducted exploring the impact of paying people to lose weight.

The most recent of these – “Effectiveness of Goal-Directed and Outcome-Based Financial Incentives for Weight Loss in Primary Care Patients With Obesity Living in Socioeconomically Disadvantaged Neighborhoods: A Randomized Clinical Trial” – examined the effects of randomly assigning participants whose annual household incomes were less than $40,000 to either a free year of Weight Watchers and the provisions of basic weight loss advice (exercise, track your food, eat healthfully, et cetera) or to an incentivized program that would see them earning up to $750 over 6 months, with dollars being awarded for such things as attendance in education sessions, keeping a food diary, recording their weight, and obtaining a certain amount of exercise or for weight loss.

Resultswise – though you might not have gathered it from the conclusion of the paper, which states that incentives were more effective at 12 months – the average incentivized participant lost roughly 6 pounds more than those given only resources. It should also be mentioned that over half of the incentivized group did not complete the study.

That these sorts of studies are still being conducted is depressing. Medicine and academia need to actively stop promoting harmful stereotypes when it comes to the genesis of a chronic noncommunicable disease that is not caused by a lack of desire, needing the right incentive, but is rather caused by the interaction of millions of years of evolution during extreme dietary insecurity with a modern-day food environment and culture that constantly offers, provides, and encourages consumption. This is especially true now that there are effective antiobesity medications whose success underwrites the notion that it’s physiology, rather than a lack of wanting it enough, that gets in the way of sustained success.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Is there a diet or weight-loss program out there that doesn’t work for those who stick with it during its first 12 weeks?

Truly, the world’s most backwards, upside-down, anti-science, nonsensical diets work over the short haul, fueled by the fact that short-term suffering for weight loss is a skill set that humanity has assiduously cultivated for at least the past 100 years. We’re really good at it!

It’s the keeping the weight off, though, that’s the hitch. Which leads me to the question, why are medical journals, even preeminent nonpredatory ones, publishing 12-week weight-loss program studies as if they have value? And does anyone truly imagine that after over 100 years of trying, there’ll be a short-term diet or program that’ll have the durable, reproducible results that no other short-term diet or program ever has? Why are we still pretending that there’s a magic bullet out there?

Take this study published by Obesity: “Pragmatic implementation of a fully automated online obesity treatment in primary care.” It details a 12-week online, automated, weight-loss program that led completers to lose the roughly 5% of weight that many diets and programs see lost over their first 12 weeks. By its description, aside from its automated provision, the program sounds like pretty much the same boilerplate weight management advice and recommendations that haven’t been shown to lead large numbers of people to sustain long-term weight loss.

Participants were provided with weekly lessons which no doubt in some manner told them that high-calorie foods had high numbers of calories and should be minimized, along with other weight-loss secrets. Users were to upload weekly self-monitored weight, energy intake, and exercise minutes and were told to use a food diary. Their goal was losing 10% of their body weight by consuming 1,200-1,500 calories per day if they weighed less than 250 pounds (113 kg) and 1,500-1,800 calories if they weighed more than 250 pounds, while also telling them to aim for 200 minutes per week of moderate- to vigorous-intensity physical activity.

What was found was wholly unsurprising. Perhaps speaking to the tremendous and wide-ranging degrees of privilege that are required to prioritize intentional behavior change in the name of health, 79% of those who were given a prescription for the program either didn’t start it or stopped it before the end of the first week.

Of those who actually started the program and completed more than 1 week, despite having been selected as appropriate and interested participants by their physicians, only 20% watched all of the automated programs’ video lessons while only 32% actually bothered to submit all 12 weeks of weight data. Of course, the authors found that those who watched the greatest number of videos and submitted the most self-reported weights lost more weight and ascribed that loss to the program. What the authors did not entertain was the possibility that those who weren’t losing weight, or who were gaining, might simply be less inclined to continue with a program that wasn’t leading them to their desired outcomes or to want to submit their lack of loss or gains.

Short-term weight-loss studies help no one and when, as in this case, the outcomes aren’t even mediocre, and the completion and engagement rates are terrible, the study is still presented as significant and important. This bolsters the harmful stereotype that weight management is achievable by way of simple messages and generic goals. It suggests that it’s individuals who fail programs by not trying hard enough and that those who do, or who want it the most, will succeed. It may also lead patients and clinicians to second-guess the use of antiobesity medications, the current generation of which lead to far greater weight loss and reproducibility than any behavioral program or diet ever has.

The good news here at least is that the small percentage of participants who made it through this program’s 12 weeks are being randomly assigned to differing 9-month maintenance programs which at least will then lead to a 1-year analysis on the completers.

Why this study was published now, rather than pushed until the 1-year data were available, speaks to the pervasiveness of the toxic weight-biased notion that simple education will overcome the physiology forged over millions of years of extreme dietary insecurity.

Our food environment is a veritable floodplain of hyperpalatable foods, and social determinants of health make intentional behavior change in the name of health an unattainable luxury for a huge swath of the population.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute. He reported serving as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health and receiving research grants from Novo Nordisk. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Is there a diet or weight-loss program out there that doesn’t work for those who stick with it during its first 12 weeks?

Truly, the world’s most backwards, upside-down, anti-science, nonsensical diets work over the short haul, fueled by the fact that short-term suffering for weight loss is a skill set that humanity has assiduously cultivated for at least the past 100 years. We’re really good at it!

It’s the keeping the weight off, though, that’s the hitch. Which leads me to the question, why are medical journals, even preeminent nonpredatory ones, publishing 12-week weight-loss program studies as if they have value? And does anyone truly imagine that after over 100 years of trying, there’ll be a short-term diet or program that’ll have the durable, reproducible results that no other short-term diet or program ever has? Why are we still pretending that there’s a magic bullet out there?

Take this study published by Obesity: “Pragmatic implementation of a fully automated online obesity treatment in primary care.” It details a 12-week online, automated, weight-loss program that led completers to lose the roughly 5% of weight that many diets and programs see lost over their first 12 weeks. By its description, aside from its automated provision, the program sounds like pretty much the same boilerplate weight management advice and recommendations that haven’t been shown to lead large numbers of people to sustain long-term weight loss.

Participants were provided with weekly lessons which no doubt in some manner told them that high-calorie foods had high numbers of calories and should be minimized, along with other weight-loss secrets. Users were to upload weekly self-monitored weight, energy intake, and exercise minutes and were told to use a food diary. Their goal was losing 10% of their body weight by consuming 1,200-1,500 calories per day if they weighed less than 250 pounds (113 kg) and 1,500-1,800 calories if they weighed more than 250 pounds, while also telling them to aim for 200 minutes per week of moderate- to vigorous-intensity physical activity.

What was found was wholly unsurprising. Perhaps speaking to the tremendous and wide-ranging degrees of privilege that are required to prioritize intentional behavior change in the name of health, 79% of those who were given a prescription for the program either didn’t start it or stopped it before the end of the first week.

Of those who actually started the program and completed more than 1 week, despite having been selected as appropriate and interested participants by their physicians, only 20% watched all of the automated programs’ video lessons while only 32% actually bothered to submit all 12 weeks of weight data. Of course, the authors found that those who watched the greatest number of videos and submitted the most self-reported weights lost more weight and ascribed that loss to the program. What the authors did not entertain was the possibility that those who weren’t losing weight, or who were gaining, might simply be less inclined to continue with a program that wasn’t leading them to their desired outcomes or to want to submit their lack of loss or gains.

Short-term weight-loss studies help no one and when, as in this case, the outcomes aren’t even mediocre, and the completion and engagement rates are terrible, the study is still presented as significant and important. This bolsters the harmful stereotype that weight management is achievable by way of simple messages and generic goals. It suggests that it’s individuals who fail programs by not trying hard enough and that those who do, or who want it the most, will succeed. It may also lead patients and clinicians to second-guess the use of antiobesity medications, the current generation of which lead to far greater weight loss and reproducibility than any behavioral program or diet ever has.

The good news here at least is that the small percentage of participants who made it through this program’s 12 weeks are being randomly assigned to differing 9-month maintenance programs which at least will then lead to a 1-year analysis on the completers.

Why this study was published now, rather than pushed until the 1-year data were available, speaks to the pervasiveness of the toxic weight-biased notion that simple education will overcome the physiology forged over millions of years of extreme dietary insecurity.

Our food environment is a veritable floodplain of hyperpalatable foods, and social determinants of health make intentional behavior change in the name of health an unattainable luxury for a huge swath of the population.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute. He reported serving as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health and receiving research grants from Novo Nordisk. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Is there a diet or weight-loss program out there that doesn’t work for those who stick with it during its first 12 weeks?

Truly, the world’s most backwards, upside-down, anti-science, nonsensical diets work over the short haul, fueled by the fact that short-term suffering for weight loss is a skill set that humanity has assiduously cultivated for at least the past 100 years. We’re really good at it!

It’s the keeping the weight off, though, that’s the hitch. Which leads me to the question, why are medical journals, even preeminent nonpredatory ones, publishing 12-week weight-loss program studies as if they have value? And does anyone truly imagine that after over 100 years of trying, there’ll be a short-term diet or program that’ll have the durable, reproducible results that no other short-term diet or program ever has? Why are we still pretending that there’s a magic bullet out there?

Take this study published by Obesity: “Pragmatic implementation of a fully automated online obesity treatment in primary care.” It details a 12-week online, automated, weight-loss program that led completers to lose the roughly 5% of weight that many diets and programs see lost over their first 12 weeks. By its description, aside from its automated provision, the program sounds like pretty much the same boilerplate weight management advice and recommendations that haven’t been shown to lead large numbers of people to sustain long-term weight loss.

Participants were provided with weekly lessons which no doubt in some manner told them that high-calorie foods had high numbers of calories and should be minimized, along with other weight-loss secrets. Users were to upload weekly self-monitored weight, energy intake, and exercise minutes and were told to use a food diary. Their goal was losing 10% of their body weight by consuming 1,200-1,500 calories per day if they weighed less than 250 pounds (113 kg) and 1,500-1,800 calories if they weighed more than 250 pounds, while also telling them to aim for 200 minutes per week of moderate- to vigorous-intensity physical activity.

What was found was wholly unsurprising. Perhaps speaking to the tremendous and wide-ranging degrees of privilege that are required to prioritize intentional behavior change in the name of health, 79% of those who were given a prescription for the program either didn’t start it or stopped it before the end of the first week.

Of those who actually started the program and completed more than 1 week, despite having been selected as appropriate and interested participants by their physicians, only 20% watched all of the automated programs’ video lessons while only 32% actually bothered to submit all 12 weeks of weight data. Of course, the authors found that those who watched the greatest number of videos and submitted the most self-reported weights lost more weight and ascribed that loss to the program. What the authors did not entertain was the possibility that those who weren’t losing weight, or who were gaining, might simply be less inclined to continue with a program that wasn’t leading them to their desired outcomes or to want to submit their lack of loss or gains.

Short-term weight-loss studies help no one and when, as in this case, the outcomes aren’t even mediocre, and the completion and engagement rates are terrible, the study is still presented as significant and important. This bolsters the harmful stereotype that weight management is achievable by way of simple messages and generic goals. It suggests that it’s individuals who fail programs by not trying hard enough and that those who do, or who want it the most, will succeed. It may also lead patients and clinicians to second-guess the use of antiobesity medications, the current generation of which lead to far greater weight loss and reproducibility than any behavioral program or diet ever has.

The good news here at least is that the small percentage of participants who made it through this program’s 12 weeks are being randomly assigned to differing 9-month maintenance programs which at least will then lead to a 1-year analysis on the completers.

Why this study was published now, rather than pushed until the 1-year data were available, speaks to the pervasiveness of the toxic weight-biased notion that simple education will overcome the physiology forged over millions of years of extreme dietary insecurity.

Our food environment is a veritable floodplain of hyperpalatable foods, and social determinants of health make intentional behavior change in the name of health an unattainable luxury for a huge swath of the population.
 

Dr. Freedhoff is an associate professor of family medicine at the University of Ottawa and medical director of the Bariatric Medical Institute. He reported serving as a director, officer, partner, employee, adviser, consultant, or trustee for Bariatric Medical Institute and Constant Health and receiving research grants from Novo Nordisk. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.