Oreos (Courtesy of Wikipedia Commons)
This piece is from the CU Independent’s opinion section. Any opinions or views do not represent the CU Independent.
Just over 10 years ago, OREO launched OREO Thins. This posed as a particularly innovative product for health-conscious sweet tooths desperately clinging to some kind of perceived control.
Since I can remember, my indulgence has been dictated by the magic number three: three pieces of candy every day following Halloween; three Otter Pops on a July afternoon (they’re just flavored juice!); and, of course, three OREOs. Astonishingly, Thins altered my rule. Suddenly, six instead of three didn’t sound so bad. More of a smaller unit felt safer than less of a larger unit. It took two years of teenage cystic acne to completely reconstruct my rules.
In 2019, I got my first real taste of self-discipline. My hormones were in a disarray. Itchy bumps burgeoned deep under the skin on my T-zone, jaw and forehead. I quit competitive swimming following a shoulder injury and could no longer rely on youthful metabolism to keep my weight in control. I had a mouth full of metal to maintain. For the first time, I felt conscious of what was expected of a blooming young girl like me, and, worst of all, I felt ashamed. I wanted control and I wanted it fast.
During the pandemic, I went vegan—cold turkey. I didn’t hold meat, fish or dairy in close regard anyway, so cutting them out was initially easier than I thought. The world lulled, but my mind raced with an unattainable morality, political clarity and climate anxiety. Straight out of one of Marx’s wet dreams, I had so much time to think about the products that I was eating, what I wasn’t eating, and where all of it came from. I reduced my diet to that of a damn bug. I dabbled in nuts and fake meat substitutes, but a classic was an IKEA bowl of brown rice and legumes from a bulk market dressed in salsa. Oddly enough, I was happy to report that OREOs are naturally vegan. I could keep them around a little longer, though in much smaller and less frequent indulgences. I didn’t realize how much energy I was used to getting from richer sources of protein until I stripped them away. And yet, it worked. Alongside a strict topical regimen, my skin cleared within a year.
But I knew it wasn’t a sustainable solution. In a family of Vietnamese immigrants, food fills the connection that a language barrier can’t. I was self-esteemed at the cost of seeing my grandmother’s brows knit in a frown when I stopped reaching for her pork spring rolls or tomato-fish soup in favor of garlic-sautéed choy or water spinach. So, it came down to an ultimatum supported by a quarantine-driven moral compass and a dreadful disillusionment that capitalism existed: was I practicing discipline or depravity?
For centuries, sugar and other stimulants have served as core drivers of capitalism. In its earlier consumption, they were symbols of wealth and power: A seventeenth-century European viscount sipped his tea with a cube and milk in the afternoon, hunched over a table of scattered administrative papers holding all of his expenses and estates. Then, they were a coping strategy to soothe the disciplining routine of the everyday laborer: cigarette tendrils clouded a young man’s face as he slumped over the brick exterior of a Gilded Age factory.
I am in no way a Victorian child headed home after my 14-hour shift with a sore neck and a soot-covered face. However, I draw comparisons between earlier times and the morning coffee I refuse to skip on a full workday.
Except now, things are different. We are to work, create and achieve; that still is true. But now, we are told to do it without the sweet incentives. It’s everywhere.“How to start eating clean!” I saw some Instagram New Year’s resolution posts spew. Or, “A healthy substitute to your favorite candy.” I admit, this one got me. I started buying $9 organic Medjool dates and stuffing them with peanut butter and dark chocolate in a rather effective attempt at abating my cravings for Snickers. Every corner you turn, there’s a blatant reminder that capitalism is alive and well. But now, it wears Lululemon studio pants and asks if you want to try a new energy-revitalizing supplement to add to your diet.
Marx was a man of little excessive consumption. I doubt he would be too happy with the OREO company’s fallacious attempt to make me feel better about eating more Thins. Nonetheless, I think he would understand my little daily indulgences as small rebellions of the growing disciplines of our capitalistic culture.
As I sit here eating from a small pile of mini chocolate chips on the dinner table, I implore you: have your sweet treat. Do not feel guilty about it. Enjoy it. And then, have it tomorrow.
Contact CU Independent Writer Sarah Taylor at sarah.taylor@colorado.edu
