Pacific Standard: Why Are So Many Low-Income People So Overweight?
… More recently, in Slate, Heather Tirado Gilligan cites peer-reviewed research to conclude: "[M]ore fresh food closer to home likely does nothing for folks at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder. Obesity levels don't drop when low-income city neighborhoods have or get grocery stores."…
… That said, I worry about this counter-argument's implications. If healthy food is available and affordable, and if obese, low-income consumers aren't choosing it, it becomes very, very easy to blame the overweight victim in this scenario. In a country that places a big rhetorical premium on individual responsibility, we tend to not only do a lot of blaming the victim—we also seem to kind of enjoy it. …
… The recent rebuttal to the conventional wisdom that food access doesn't necessarily equal healthier choices—in essence, that poor people could eat well but don't—hardly gives us license to rant, as another commenter did, that "the fact they can't feed themselves is THEIR fault." Instead, it suggests the need for a more nuanced way to think about why so many Americans end up trashing their bodies with corn dogs and cookies when other options are on hand. It's an opportunity, in other words, to rethink the very nature of eating.
We might begin this process by trying to understand diet as a psycho-socioeconomic phenomenon rather than as a matter of food access. There's a critically important aspect to McMillan's story that's essential to this shift in perspective: the people she profiles live lives defined by persistent scarcity—not necessarily food scarcity, but a generalized and even traumatizing kind of material instability. Absolutely nothing about their lives is secure. …
… The subjects pictured and videotaped in McMillan's story are not just overweight. They're scared out of their minds.
And being scared out of your mind affects how you eat. In their book Scarcity: Why Having Too Little Means So Much, Sendhil Mullainathan and Eldar Shafir write that "scarcity captures the mind." Scarcity, they note, "has its own logic." It doesn't take much imagination to hypothesize that, if your entire material existence teetered on the edge of loss—that is, if you were obsessed with scarcity because you had to be—that you'd likely blow your limited food budget on a bag of cookies and fried gizzards rather than a peck of apples and sweet potatoes. Nobody's saying such a choice would be advisable in terms of maximizing personal or public health. To the contrary, buying crap over carrots means that you are driven to eat by a scarcity-induced craving for the most immediate and gratifying satiation—the kind that sugar, salt, and fat excel at providing. But you remain, in fact, a victim. …
Reading this post, my mind immediately returned to a post I wrote seven years ago, reviewing Charles Karelis' book, The Persistence of Poverty: Why the Economics of the Well-Off Can't Help the Poor.
… Karelis asks us to imagine being on a picnic when suddenly we are stung by a bee, on the hand, let's say. Our mind is now directed toward the pain in our hand to the exclusion of whatever other physical discomfort we may be experiencing. Karelis has one dab of salve at hand, and he applies it to our bee sting. Our pain is relieved. The salve has a high degree of utility for us.
Now instead of one sting on the hand, we are stung on the hand and the neck. There is still only one dab of salve. Its application to one sting will decrease pain but still be left in considerable distracted discomfort. A second dab of salve would have more marginal utility than the first.
But now let's say we have six bee stings at various locations on our body and still only on dab of salve. The one dab of salve provides minimal relief for us. But each successive dab supplies an increasing quantity of relief.
So what if you woke up daily with six bee stings and had been supplied with six dabs of salve to cover your next six days? Would you allocate them one a day across the next six days, or would you use them all in one day to have at least one day out of the six pain-free? The chronically poor routinely choose the one blissful day. …
… Therefore, the poor are rationally inclined to spend a small pile of money in one big bang. Buying expensive clothes gets you esteem for at least a moment. Entertainment, gambling, or substance abuse provides at least temporary distraction and relief. Experience tells you there is an inadequate supply of relievers around, so when you have the fortune to get an amount that gives you complete temporary relief, do it! …
I suspect something similar is at work with food. Food provides comfort from chronic fear and pain. Better to buy some really satisfying food that relieves pain at the moment than to make healthy food choices aimed at long-term health. And that points to another challenge. The chronically poor typically have no long-term time horizon. Debates go on about whether poverty leads to a short-term horizon or the other way around, but expanding time horizons is a piece of the puzzle, as well as finding stability.
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