I neither envy nor pity Jordan Younger, the blonde ex-vegan blogger who recently released a book blaming her lifelong eating disorder on a rashly-adopted, ill-advised vegan diet.
If you are reading this ten years from the date I wrote it, say in November 2025 -- assuming the internet is still up and the world hasn’t burst into a spitting lava inferno because of global warming, world war, or other human mischief -- Jordan Younger is a now-forgotten flash in the pan. Like many before and after her, Younger self-identified as vegan when she sensed the now-ubiquitous worldwide shift towards treating non-human animals with respect and compassion and thought...
“HOW CAN I PERSONALLY BENEFIT FROM LATCHING ON TO THAT SHIT?” ($$$cha-ching$$$)
I don’t envy Younger mainly because she is anorexic and I am not. During the exact same period of time in which Younger wasted away in her self-induced concentration camp of one, I experienced the best health of my life. My vegan diet, which in my case also happened to be a vegan lifestyle, had various side effects which still include high energy levels, immunity to most colds and flus, improved digestion, regulated sleep, natural slimness, and clear, radiant skin.
Anorexia, on the other hand, is a living hell. I’ve watched four of my close female friends go through it. The preoccupation with psychotic weight loss strategies; the insane rules pertaining to every bite of food; the loss of the period; the chronic constipation and subsequent laxative abuse; the pain of starvation; the brief but ephemeral moments of I LOOK GREAT engulfed by surrounding oceans of jealousy and depression; the permanent organ and metabolic damage… Not fun!
Anorexia is a complex addiction that is to some degree the byproduct of deeper yearnings. Caroline Knapp, who died tragically after finally triumphing over her anorexia, said in her memoir, Appetites:
“Emaciated thinness is a shortcut of sorts, a detour around painful and confusing feelings, a way to take all hungers -- so varied and vast -- and boil them down to their essence, one appetite to manage, just one.”
Jenny Lauren, author of Home Sick: A Memoir of Food, Family, and Hope, prolapsed her own intestines through her pelvic floor via compulsive running and extreme dieting. By age twenty, anorexia permanently destroyed the physical health of the otherwise-charmed Lauren beyond any possibility of recovery.
Anorexia is an addiction and Younger is a classic addict. Younger’s poisonous relationship with food is still ongoing, no matter whose diet she appropriates. Younger’s horrible addiction to being skinny will likely haunt her until the day she dies. To make it worse, if Younger ever does relax her control-freak mechanism when she’s lifting a fork to her mouth, she now will almost surely become rather zaftig due to the metabolic damage she has already sustained. She’ll become pleasantly plump, as my dearly departed grandmother used to say, or perhaps obese. Consider the case of a formerly skinny, blandly pretty blogger for whom food fixation is the beginning and end of her personal development, a nice girl you’d forget five minutes after she waited on your table at the White Chocolate Grill or scanned your card at LifeTime Fitness.
Getting fat might as well be a fate worse than death.
Now that she’s eating cholesterol-bomb eggs, phthalate-radiation-loaded fish, and W.H.O. warning carcinogenic meats, Younger will also face an additional uphill battle of avoiding excess calories and calorie-multipliers like growth hormones, antibiotics, and poultry obesity viruses simply not found in a plant-based diet. She’s either going to stay skinny and miserable or she is going to get fat, and for people of Younger’s mindset, getting fat is not allowed. So no, I don’t envy Jordan Younger.
Now to why I don’t pity Jordan Younger, which begs this question:
How crappy of a person do you have to be to try to make money off throwing the animal rights movement under the bus?
I have done low, low things I’m not proud of as a human being, but at least I can live knowing I never attempted to make a buck by whoring myself to parasitic meat industry shills who couldn’t be more evil if they wore signs on their foreheads advertising “I am the Great Satan.” Younger, having fallen off the vegan wagon, has now chosen to ride the fully-engorged desperation of the animal abuse industry, which is all too happy to have her. Back in the day, cigarette companies loved to get in bed with any famous or media-connected addict stupid enough to give them free advertising, though in the long game, it was always the addict who got screwed. More doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.
If the year was 1942 and the place was Warsaw, Poland, Younger would be the one shouting at the top of her lungs about the Jews hiding in the neighbor’s basement because Herr Commandant promised her a couple of chocolate bars. If the year was 1847, she would be the ditzy Alabama debutante who insisted her family plantation’s slaves received only the best of treatment while forcing the slaves who were not yet murder victims to scrub incriminating bloodstains from the Oriental carpet in the grand parlor.
Despicable. Villainous. Scummy. In short, Jordan Younger and other spineless, First World diet faddists are on the losing side of history.
Jordan Younger may be cute for the current fifteen minutes, but she’s absolutely hideous on the inside. Let’s forget about her, yes? Now if we could only manage to erase Kim Kardashian from the national consciousness...