In a world shaped by pressing environmental issues, shifting lifestyles, and the shadow of inflation, the significance of food transcends sustenance. It embodies a complex interplay of socioeconomic factors, cultural values, and individual choices. This complexity is starkly evident in contrasting narratives: on one hand, the struggle for survival faced by marginalized populations that are a growing number, and on the other, the burgeoning culture of food obsession and excess, prevalent in more privileged societies.
As someone who has worked closely with food-insecure populations, particularly refugees and asylum seekers, I’ve witnessed firsthand how food can be reduced to its most fundamental role: a means of survival. In such contexts, where individuals have undergone unimaginable hardships and perilous journeys, access to basic nourishment becomes a lifeline. The provision of simple yet nourishing staples like rice, beans, lentils, and vegetables takes precedence over culinary trends or gourmet indulgences. It underscores the stark reality that, for many, food is not a matter of choice but a matter of survival.
Yet, against this backdrop of stark necessity, I also find myself immersed in a culture where food has become a symbol of abundance, indulgence, and social status. The rise of “foodie” culture, fueled by platforms like Instagram and TikTok, has transformed the act of eating into a performative spectacle. From artisanal coffees to meticulously crafted avocado toasts, food trends dominate our social media feeds and conversations. We find ourselves constantly seeking novelty, exoticism, and aesthetic appeal in our culinary experiences. I myself find my social media feeds dominated by food-related content, served to me by my algorithm recognizing that I am captivated by food. I too have bought into many innocuous “health trends”, such as non-dairy milks like almond, oat, or soy, which have taken the world by storm.
However, this obsession with food comes at a cost—both to our planet and to our collective conscience. In the era of the “foodie”, most of us expect ripe avocados at lunch and exotic fruits at breakfast regardless of our proximity to where they are grown. In fact, most of us have no idea where the food we eat comes from, and many of us don’t particularly care. Convenience culture has led to unprecedented levels of waste and environmental degradation. Rainforests are being depleted to grow soybeans to keep up with global demand. From single-use coffee cups to carbon-intensive food imports, our consumption habits contribute to a growing ecological footprint.
Despite heightened awareness of climate change among younger generations, our actions often betray our stated values. We preach sustainability while indulging in extravagance, seemingly oblivious to the environmental consequences of our choices. Veganism, for example, one of the hardest hitting health trends of the last decade, is often marketed as primarily an environmental decision. But while vegans will not eat eggs laid by local chickens, they will eat three avocados a day imported from thousands of kilometers away. This seems hard to reconcile.
I am European and would consider myself and most of my friends as ‘eco-conscious’—we are genuinely concerned with the state of our planet and our future, and many of us take active measures to reduce our carbon footprint. But much of that goes out the window when it comes to food, in ways that generations before ours perhaps didn’t. To my grandmother, meat was a rare and cherished item on the menu, eaten on special occasions and certainly not eaten every day, or even multiple times per day, as is customary for many people of my generation. I grew up hearing “we don’t play with food”, but it seems that my generation has truly made food into a game.
This paradox underscores a fundamental disconnect between our perception of food and its intrinsic value. While food should be regarded as a basic human right, it has been commodified and fetishized to an alarming degree. The obsession with specialty foods and Instagram-worthy creations, particularly in developed countries and younger generations, has distanced us from the reality of food insecurity and environmental degradation. We have lost touch with the inherent dignity of food as a source of sustenance and nourishment, reducing it to an accessory for social media validation.
As we confront the challenges of an increasingly uncertain future, it is imperative that we reassess our relationship with food. We must strive to cultivate a more holistic understanding of food that encompasses both its utilitarian function and its cultural significance. This requires a shift away from consumerism and excess towards a more mindful and sustainable approach to food consumption. It necessitates acknowledging the interconnectedness of food systems, environmental sustainability, and social justice. It also means educating ourselves on how we can eat consciously, paying attention to seasonal and local food production rather than carbon-heavy imports, and investigating the merits of health trends against their impact on the planet.
Ultimately, the way we eat, feed, and nourish ourselves reflects our values, priorities, and aspirations as a society. In a world shaped by environmental crises, economic inequalities, and cultural transformations, our relationship with food serves as a gauge of our collective conscience. It is only by bridging the gap between necessity and obsession, between survival and indulgence, that we can forge a more equitable and sustainable future for generations to come.