This is Optimizer, a weekly newsletter sent every Friday from Verge senior reviewer Victoria Song that dissects and discusses the latest phones, smartwatches, apps, and other gizmos that swear they’re going to change your life. Optimizer arrives in our subscribers’ inboxes at 10AM ET. Opt in for Optimizer here.
In the last few years, I’ve seen an increasing number of wellness and fitness influencers yap about fixing their metabolisms. For some, that means hawking supplements like Foodology’s Coleology Cutting Jelly, NAD+ pills for improving insulin sensitivity, or powders that claim to “balance your hormones.” Right now, my TikTok FYP is full of girls talking about the viral Korean Switch-On diet — a seemingly brutal regimen of intermittent fasting, protein shakes, and tofu. An obesity researcher purportedly designed the diet, which will “reset your metabolism.”
It’s easy to scroll past these diet fads. What strikes me is the verbiage. “Optimizing your metabolism.” What’s even the goal behind that? And where my alarm bells start ringing is when the algorithm mixes in a video of an influencer talking about optimizing their metabolism using continuous glucose monitors (CGMs).
CGMs are tiny wearable devices that measure glucose levels in the interstitial fluid just beneath your skin. They’re life-saving devices for diabetics, and now that they’re available over the counter, they can be helpful tools for folks with prediabetes and Type 2 diabetics who aren’t dependent on insulin. Their usefulness here is undeniable.
A larger question — and one I’ve been investigating for over a year — is whether there are tangible benefits for people who aren’t diabetic or prediabetic. I’ll be doing a deep dive into that soon, but right now, let me tell you how using CGMs this past year nearly wrecked my relationship with food.
CGMs are undeniably helpful for diabetics and prediabetics. But “metabolism optimization” requires a much more nuanced conversation. Photo by Amelia Holowaty Krales / The Verge
I think a lot about food before any holiday. Some years, that’s all I think about. But not in a fun, “Oh, I can’t wait for a bite of stuffing or pumpkin pie!” kind of way. Think more of a hellish “What will I allow myself to eat?” or “Is there a race I can sign up for to mitigate the damage?”
I hardly think I’m alone in that. Whether it’s for weight loss or to manage a condition, anyone on a diet will tell you that holiday feasts can be a major source of anxiety. Partaking in the deliciousness can trigger waves of guilt, particularly if you struggle to manage portions. Personal discipline isn’t always a good thing, either. I’ll never forget the hurt look on my mom’s face when I declined a slice of the Junior’s cheesecake she’d bought just for me one Christmas.
I wore a CGM to Thanksgiving dinner last year. My relatives were curious, but cautiously supportive. But I noticed I was reluctant to eat certain foods, aware of how they might spike my glucose. Normally, I enjoy mashed potatoes with gravy. I love Ocean Spray canned cranberry jelly with my entire being. Sweet potato casserole with marshmallows is glorious. To make my spouse feel welcome, my Korean family had even baked a pretzel salad — an unholy Southern concoction of Cool Whip, cream cheese, frozen strawberries, crushed pretzels in butter, and Jell-O. (Yes, my in-laws insist it’s a “salad” and serve it as an entree, not a dessert.)
Instead of heaping my plate with my favorites, I had a half plate of actual salad, dressing on the side, a quarter plate of protein, and a single slice of canned cranberry jelly. I nursed half a glass of wine the entire night. When my aunt despaired, prodding me to eat more, I checked two separate CGM apps to see if I could swing a second plate. I argued with myself in my head. Maybe I could? I’d run my customary Turkey Trot that morning, and even though I’d treated myself to one of Wawa’s Gobbler Bowls after, it had only cost 620 calories and caused a modest glucose spike. I’d walked into dinner with a borderline low glucose level. Maybe I could offer to run an errand and sneak in a 10-15 minute walk before leaving?
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