Why “Just Eat Less and Move More” Is a Dangerous Myth: The Real Causes of Obesity in the UK

Debunking the Simplistic Solutions to Obesity and Addressing the Complex Societal Issues Behind the UK’s Public Health Crisis

"Just eat less and move more."

The apparent magic bullet for solving the obesity crisis, beloved by fitness gurus, Twitter nutritionists, and everyone who’s ever glanced at a salad and felt superior. It’s the kind of simplistic advice that’s thrown around like confetti at a wedding, as if years of research into public health, psychology, and socio-economics can all be distilled into this one brilliantly obvious solution. If only the millions of people struggling with their weight had thought of it sooner!

The reality, of course, is that “just eat less and move more” is about as helpful as telling someone drowning to “just swim harder.” It reduces an incredibly complex issue to a catchphrase that sounds good on a motivational poster but ignores the staggering intricacies behind why people gain weight in the first place. You’d think, in 2024, we’d have moved beyond this level of superficial thinking, yet here we are, still trotting out the same tired mantra as if it’s the solution to all our public health problems.

Let’s be clear about this right from the start: the obesity crisis in the United Kingdom isn’t caused by people sitting around and refusing to engage in basic arithmetic between calories in and calories out. It’s driven by an unholy tangled mess of factors—genetics, mental health, socio-economic status, the availability of healthy food, the time and knowledge required to prepare it, and a thousand other things the “eat less, move more” crowd couldn’t even be bothered to consider. To suggest that someone’s failure to lose weight is purely down to a lack of self-discipline is not just ignorant—it’s insulting.

The fact is that this smug little four-word phrase doesn’t just miss the point; it actively harms people. It reinforces the idea that anyone struggling with their weight is simply too lazy, too weak, or too stupid to follow the “simple” rules. Never mind that some people are battling a whirlwind of challenges from poverty to medical conditions—just eat less, mate. Problem solved!

Except, it isn’t. It’s the sort of advice that assumes life is a level playing field, and if you’re not reaching your goals, well, you’re clearly just not trying hard enough. So, let’s tear this oversimplified nonsense apart and talk about what’s really going on behind the UK’s obesity crisis.

My Hatred of the BMI Method and My Own Story

I hate the Body Mass Index (BMI). I hate it with a fiery passion that I would usually reserve for the worst of the Tories. It’s a blunt instrument used by people who should know better to determine whether you’re “healthy” or “obese” based on one ridiculously simplistic metric: height and weight. Apparently, that’s all you need to decide if someone’s a walking health hazard. Forget muscle mass, fitness levels, or, you know, the fact that people’s bodies are all different.

Let me take you back to my rugby days, an era now long gone, but looked back at with a certain fondness (and a bit of regret at the state of my knees on a cold day). At my lightest adult weight, I clocked in at 115kg, and that’s after hours of training every week, playing as a Lock (Number 5) on weekends, and smashing through Wednesday practice like I actually enjoyed the pain. I had a 36-inch waist, and my build was mostly muscle. My resting heart rate? A cool 65 bpm—practically zen for a guy my size. And yet, according to the BMI chart, I was still “obese.” Yup, that’s right, me, the bloke who looked like he could probably shoulder a small car was apparently a walking heart attack risk because of some arbitrary formula. Makes sense, doesn’t it?

The sheer, unbridled stupidity of it all boggles the mind. It’s as if the BMI system was designed by someone who’s never seen a person with muscle mass in their life. Apparently, if you're not built like a scarecrow, you're just not healthy. If I’d taken BMI seriously back then, I’d have been stuck in a perpetual cycle of self-flagellation, convinced I was one pie away from death’s door.

Fast forward to 2020, and my rugby-playing days were long behind me. I had two abdominal surgeries that year—because life loves to throw a curveball when you least expect it. The second surgery came with complications, because why do anything the easy way? The recovery period dragged on far longer than I’d anticipated, and as you might imagine, my activity level dropped like a lead balloon. Throw in lockdowns and a world that felt like it was on fire, and before I knew it, I’d gained a lot of weight.

Now, this is the part where people would smugly chime in with, “Well, just eat less and move more!” Sure, Cupcake, you try “moving more” when you’re recovering from surgery, and every step feels like someone’s digging a fork into your gut. And as for “eating less,” that’s a laugh when you’re lying in bed with nothing but Netflix and Deliveroo to keep you company. Spoiler: It didn’t go well.

By the time 2022 rolled around, I was ready to shake off the weight. Or so I thought. I tried. I really did. But the thing is, when you’re working long hours, juggling responsibilities, and barely have time to breathe, let alone cook a gourmet meal or squeeze in an hour at the gym, losing weight isn’t exactly straightforward.

I’d start the week with the best intentions—healthy meals prepped, gym gear at the ready—and then reality would slap me in the face. Late meetings, deadlines, exhaustion, and before I knew it, I was grabbing whatever food was easiest to shove in my face. Getting into an exercise rhythm was even harder. Sure, I’d manage a few sessions, but sustaining it week after week? That was a whole different story. Life, it turns out, just doesn’t give the tiniest blue fuck about your fitness goals.

Then came 2024, and things started to change. And before anyone goes there, it wasn’t just because I “wanted it more.” No, what made the difference was something many don’t have the luxury of: money. I had the privilege of being able to spend on things that made losing weight easier. I hired a dietician—because understanding nutrition is a lot harder than reading an Instagram post. We swapped out our usual grocery shopping for healthy food boxes with recipes and all the ingredients included, making sure we had nutritious, calorie-controlled meals at our fingertips without needing to master the art of meal planning.

I worked with a personal trainer—not just to get me moving, but to help me do it in a way that was sustainable. After all, what’s the point of exercising for a month if you burn out by month two? For lunch, I started having Huel shakes (yes, the infamous ones responsible for the great Huelocalypse of 2024) and yoghurt for breakfast. The food boxes took care of dinner, and suddenly, I was in a routine that worked.

And the honest truth of it all? I wouldn’t have been able to do this without financial privilege. Hiring a dietician, paying for a personal trainer, replacing grocery shopping with food boxes—this stuff isn’t cheap. Yes, technically, I was “eating less and moving more,” but it wasn’t willpower alone that got me there. It was education, access to resources, and a support system that costs money.

The truth is, the “just eat less and move more” brigade forgets that for many people, the steps I took aren’t an option. You can’t just magic up the time, energy, or money to overhaul your life. It took more than self-discipline—it took privilege. And pretending otherwise is a disservice to anyone who’s genuinely trying but doesn’t have the same resources at their disposal.

The Obesity Crisis in the UK and Its Causes

Now, let’s talk about the reality of obesity in the UK—a country that’s now officially one of the fattest in Europe. As of 2023, around 63% of adults in the UK are classified as overweight or obese, with the issue being especially prevalent in people aged 45 to 75. Childhood obesity is no better, with over 22% of children aged 4-5 and 37% aged 10-11 classified as overweight or obese. We’re not talking about a small, isolated problem here. It’s a public health crisis that’s only getting worse, and the costs—both human and financial—are staggering.

Obesity is linked to a laundry list of health issues: heart disease, type 2 diabetes, stroke, certain types of cancer, and let’s not forget the mental health toll, from depression to anxiety. The NHS spends around £6.1 billion a year on obesity-related illnesses, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. So yes, obesity is a growing issue, and one that needs to be rapidly addressed, but we’re not going to achieve it by merely telling people to eat less and move more, because the causes which we’ll discuss below are legion and very, very tricky to deal with.

Poverty and Obesity are BFFs

If obesity was just a matter of willpower, why do we see higher rates of obesity in poorer areas? The fact is, socio-economic status is one of the strongest predictors of obesity. According to Public Health England, people living in deprived areas are far more likely to be overweight or obese than those in wealthier regions. For example, obesity rates in the most deprived areas are noticeably higher than in the least deprived areas. The idea that everyone has equal access to healthy food and exercise options is a myth peddled by those who’ve never had to choose between paying the rent and buying groceries.

In many low-income areas, fresh produce and nutritious options are either too expensive or simply unavailable. These areas are often referred to as “food deserts”, where access to affordable, healthy food is limited, and people are left with little choice but to rely on cheaper, calorie-dense, and nutritionally poor options. If you’re working two jobs, raising kids, and barely scraping by, you’re not going to be whipping up a quinoa salad for dinner every night. You’re grabbing what’s convenient, what’s cheap, and what will fill your family’s stomachs—even if that means relying on takeaways and processed foods.

Lack of Education and Nutrition Knowledge

Another key issue in the UK’s obesity crisis is a lack of education around nutrition. Many people simply don’t know how to eat healthily, and why would they? We don’t exactly teach it properly. The food industry is also doing a bang-up job of confusing the hell out of everyone with their misleading labels, advertising low-fat this, sugar-free that, and pretending a cereal bar is a health food when it’s really just a chocolate bar with oats.

The average person’s understanding of nutrition is often pieced together from Instagram posts, dubious "wellness" influencers, and whatever diet fad is trending at the moment. And, surprise, surprise, this approach doesn’t exactly lead to balanced, sustainable eating habits. How can people be expected to make informed choices about their health when they’re bombarded with contradictory advice, or worse, manipulated by food companies eager to sell their latest “health” product? Without proper education, the idea of “just eat less” becomes little more than a frustrating, vague directive with no roadmap.

Mental Health: The Elephant in the Room

Oh, and while we’re on the topic, can we talk about mental health for a second? The relationship between mental health and obesity is well-documented. According to the NHS, people with mental health conditions are significantly more likely to be obese. Conditions like depression, anxiety, and binge eating disorder can contribute to overeating, emotional eating, and weight gain. But of course, the “just eat less” crowd rarely mentions this because, in their world, it’s all about discipline, right?

Here’s the thing that is so often overlooked: food isn’t just fuel. It’s comfort, it’s pleasure, it’s a coping mechanism for a lot of people who are struggling emotionally. Telling someone battling depression or anxiety to “just move more” is about as useful as telling them to just smile more. It’s not going to address the root of the problem, which is far deeper than what’s on their plate.

The Role of Big Food: Processed Profits

The food industry also plays a rather outsized role in this mess. Ultra-processed foods are everywhere, and they’re designed to be as addictive as possible. These foods are packed to the brim with sugar, salt, and unhealthy fats, and they’re often much cheaper than healthier alternatives. For someone on a tight budget, the appeal of a cheap, convenient meal is hard to resist. After all, it’s not just about eating less—it’s about what you’re eating.

The food industry knows this, of course. They’re not in the business of promoting health; they’re in the business of selling products, and the more processed and palatable, the better. The truth is, we’re surrounded by an environment that promotes overeating. You can’t walk ten feet without being bombarded by an ad for fast food, sugary drinks, or snacks. In a world where unhealthy options are often the easiest and cheapest, the blame for obesity can’t just be pinned on personal choices.

Here’s the bottom line: obesity isn’t a matter of lacking willpower. It’s not about people being lazy or greedy or unable to control themselves at the buffet. It’s about a system that’s stacked against people from the get-go, whether it’s poverty, lack of education, mental health struggles, or a food industry that profits from our addiction to sugar and salt.

The idea that individuals can simply “will” themselves into losing weight ignores the bigger picture. It absolves the government, the food industry, and society at large of any responsibility and places the blame squarely on the individual. It’s a convenient way to sidestep the much more difficult conversation about how we, as a society, are failing to address the root causes of obesity.

Media Portrayal of Obesity

And now, we get to one of the biggest obstacles: the media. For years, the media has been a key player in fuelling the obesity crisis by framing it as a personal failure. If you’ve ever picked up a tabloid, you’ve seen the headlines: “Fatty Britain!” or “Shocking Weight Loss Transformations!” As someone in healthcare, I can tell you firsthand that this kind of messaging is not just counterproductive—it’s toxic. It further reduces obesity to a matter of laziness or greed, conveniently ignoring the systemic issues that drive it.

When the media focuses on quick-fix weight loss stories or “celebrity body transformations,” it perpetuates the idea that if you’re not losing weight, you’re just not trying hard enough. But what these stories never seem to mention is the privilege behind them—celebrities and influencers who can afford personal trainers, nutritionists, and private chefs. The media loves to sell a narrative of individual triumph over fatness, but they rarely discuss the financial, emotional, and logistical support needed to make those transformations happen.

As a healthcare strategist (and just a normal human being), I see the damage these portrayals do. People start to internalise the idea that their obesity is entirely their fault, which leads to shame, guilt, and, often, further weight gain. Meanwhile, the real issues—poverty, food deserts, mental health—are pushed to the side. The media needs to shift its focus away from fat-shaming and instead start talking about obesity as a public health issue. It’s not about demonising individuals; it’s about holding systems accountable.

We also need to push the media towards a narrative of health at every size. Thinness doesn’t always equate to health, just as being overweight doesn’t automatically mean someone is unhealthy. It’s a far more nuanced issue, but nuance doesn’t sell papers, does it?

To make real progress, we need media that informs the public rather than blaming individuals for a crisis they didn’t create. That’s not just a media issue—it’s a public health necessity.

The Issue with Making Fun of “Fatties”

It’s ironic, isn’t it? As obesity rates rise, so does the urge to mock those struggling with their weight. When faced with a complex public health crisis, the laziest response some people can muster is to point, laugh, and shame. Mocking “fatties” has become an easy pastime, but let’s be clear: it’s not just cruel—it’s painfully ignorant. Reducing a nuanced issue like obesity to a punchline only reinforces the toxic idea that people who are overweight are somehow less deserving of respect, health, or happiness.

This knee-jerk mockery is as shallow as it is damaging. When we ridicule people for their weight, we conveniently ignore the root causes of the problem—poverty, lack of access to healthy food, mental health struggles, and the broken systems that keep people stuck in a cycle of poor health. No one ever lost weight because someone in the comments section called them fat. In fact, it does the opposite—deepening feelings of shame and failure, which only makes meaningful change harder. Shaming people doesn’t solve the problem; it just perpetuates the harmful stereotype that obesity is a simple issue of personal responsibility and willpower.

Here’s the truth: obesity isn’t about laziness or weakness. It’s about a system stacked against people from day one. When we mock, when we laugh, when we throw around words like “fatties,” we’re not just being cruel—we’re exposing our own ignorance. We’re telling the world that we’d rather poke fun than confront the uncomfortable reality that obesity is a public health crisis, not a personal failing.

And that’s where the real problem lies: society’s need to blame the individual rather than acknowledge the massive structural failures around them. It’s easy to laugh at someone’s size. It’s a lot harder to take a good, long look at the systems that keep people trapped in cycles of poor health.

So, the next time someone feels tempted to mock a “fatty,” maybe they should consider this: the joke’s not on the person they’re mocking. It’s on all of us for allowing these broken systems to persist, while we stand by, laughing at the symptoms instead of fixing the cause.