Protein’s ubiquity shows no sign of slowing. Once the preserve of gym-goers and bodybuilders, it is now well-established as the food industry’s favourite selling point.
Big bold protein claims are found plastered across an increasingly bewildering array of products – Starbucks now even sells a protein-laced foam - promising benefits such as stronger muscles, slimmer waistlines and better health.
And it seems shoppers can’t get enough. More than half of Americans consider themselves ‘someone who is actively trying to get more protein’, according to a survey by The New Consumer, a familiar pattern across Western markets.
But why? What it is about protein that shoppers are so hungry for?
Psychological or cultural
Digging into the psychological drivers behind protein is complicated slightly by the fact it is a crucial element of any balanced diet.
Along with fats and carbohydrates, protein is one of the three basic macronutrients we all need. Without it, our energy levels plummet, our immune system is compromised, and we can’t grow and replenish healthy bones and muscle.
In most developed countries, this is usuallt not a problem. In Britain, for example, official data shows that on average, men eat 85g protein and women 67g protein each day, well inside most nutritionists’ daily guidelines of 0.8g per kilo of body weight.
As such, it seems that there is something else happening that goes beyond a pure physical need.
Ramon Velazquez, a neuroscientist and scientific advisor at Mind Lab Pro, is among a number of experts who suggest the protein mania reflects a broader cultural trend focused on self-improvement and calculated optimisation.
The idea of ‘wellness’ has exploded in recent years with more and more people interested in particular workout routines, supplements, and nutrition. Food is an obvious way in which people feel they can take steps towards an optimal version of health.
And that’s nothing new. Fad diets have been part of western culture now for decades with Michael Pollan coining the term ‘nutritionism’ almost 20 years ago to describe the tendency to think about a food’s health in terms of its isolated nutrients rather than the whole product.
Protein clearly fits into this same trend. Where it differs however is that while previous trends of counting calories and cutting out fat and carbs were about tracking numbers and counting down. Protein is all about counting up.
This taps into a mechanism called ‘dopamine-driven goal pursuit’, Velazquez says. Dopamine is involved in motivation, anticipation and learning from rewards, so when someone sets a daily protein target, each shake, bar or high-protein meal they consume becomes another opportunity to feel they’ve accomplished something.
That satisfaction isn’t necessarily coming from the protein itself, but from successfully completing a self-imposed task. For some people, that structure is helpful. For others, it can become psychologically rigid, particularly when missing a target produces anxiety or guilt.
“Brands have become exceptionally good at exploiting this mindset,” says Velazquez. “Putting ‘20g protein’ on a chocolate pudding effectively changes the psychological category of the product. Instead of seeing an indulgence, consumers see an investment in their health.”
The permission dimension
This resembles what’s known as the health halo effect in which a food with one desirable nutritional characteristic can influence how we judge the entire product. A protein-enriched dessert, for example, may feel more permissible than an ordinary dessert even when its overall nutritional profile isn’t dramatically different.
The protein label has simple given someone permission to enjoy that dessert without feeling they’ve abandoned their goals.
Caitlin Artiaga, clinical director at mental health clinic Blume Behavioral Health, calls it ‘permission-based eating’.
“That isn’t necessarily harmful, but it becomes concerning when people feel they must justify every enjoyable food through its nutritional benefits,” she says.
While there is nothing inherently wrong with choosing a higher-protein dessert or enjoying the reassurance of meeting a nutritional target, Artiaga suggests a problem can arise when foods are judged primarily by their ability to serve a health objective, rather than by their taste, convenience, affordability or the pleasure they provide.
In this case, protein tracking could become a form of disordered eating. “When a meal starts to feel unacceptable unless it reaches a particular number, or somebody feels they’ve wasted calories on food without enough protein, this can lead to increasingly rigid behaviour,” agrees Ludovica Colella, a psychotherapist.
That might mean avoiding meals where the nutritional content is difficult to calculate, or feeling anxious about ordinary foods because they do not seem sufficiently ‘efficient’, she says.
“For some people, that can start resembling the same rule-making and guilt we see in disordered eating, just dressed up in language that sounds healthy.”
Protein can be particularly potent in this respect because the behaviour may look constructive. Instead of consciously cutting foods out, someone believes they are adding something beneficial. Yet the underlying preoccupation with rules, numbers and dietary control remains much the same.
Who should protein be targeting?
For food manufacturers, much of protein’s commercial appeal lies in its ability to speak to several different consumer priorities at once.
For gym-goers, protein means muscle growth and recovery. For people trying to lose weight, it’s associated with satiety and maintaining muscle mass. Older consumers may link it to strength and independence, while for people taking GLP-1 weight-loss medications, it may be about maintaining nutritional needs with a reduced appetite.
This breadth of appeal helps explain why the ingredient has moved so far beyond sports nutrition - because the result is a remarkably flexible marketing proposition. Protein can be sold as a route to a better body, a healthier future, or a more disciplined version of oneself.
For consumers, the effect is often to see protein as a ‘generally good thing to add to our regular diet, says psychotherapist Eloise Skinner, even if many people may not necessarily know exactly why.
Some experts are worried, however, that protein often seems marketed at a younger demographic with most of the biggest, boldest protein claims targeted at fitness-conscious consumers for whom bars, shakes and fortified snacks fit neatly into an existing culture of performance and self-optimisation.
Yet it is older consumers who are most typically in need of boosting their protein intake. Protein malnutrition is strikingly common among elderly people admitted to hospital – often a consequence of a growing need for protein to maintain deteriorating muscle mass which unfortunately often happens to coincide with falling appetites.
For these people, heavily marketed functional snacks will often hold less appeal. Instead, they arguably need more access to affordable, whole foods such as eggs, dairy, beans and lentils.
All this of course relies on the assumption that an individual’s decision to boost their protein intake is a conscious choice. One theory, however, suggests that our modern protein obsession is less about actually chasing protein, and more about a subconscious drive to counter balance the abundance of fat and sugar in our diet.
The ‘protein leverage hypothesis’ was put forward by David Raubenheimer and Stephen Simpson in 2005 with the two biologists arguing that while the absolute level of protein eaten by the average westerner has not changed since the 1960s, a big jump in calorie intake means what has changed is the proportion of protein in our overall diets.
In the early 60s, the average American got around 15% of their calories from protein, a number that had fallen to 12.5% by the time of Raubenheimer and Simpson’s study. While seemingly not a huge drop, the pair said even this small difference can lead to a notable response characterised by overeating.
Like many species, humans have what is called a ‘dominant appetite’ for protein meaning if given a diet high in carbohydrates and fats, they will binge to try and extract the amount of protein they need.
In a modern context, the obvious issue is that people’s efforts to turbocharge their protein intake won’t lead to more healthy bodies if the underlying charge of too much sugar and fat remains the same.
If people are really concerned about being healthy, Raubenheimer and Simpson say the solution is not eat more protein, but eat less fat and sugar and allow the body to get enough protein from fewer calories.
This is of course a radical directional change and one far beyond the reach of any given food manufacturer. But it is clear that protein’s rise is not just about one single nutrient but reflects modern relationship with food, nutrition, and the perception of health.
But in the rush to add more, we risk losing sight of the bigger picture: who actually needs extra protein, what they need it for, and whether the foods delivering it are genuinely healthier.
The real challenge may not be getting more protein into our diets, but learning when enough is enough.