At first glance, powdered supplements may seem outside the purview of Eater, a publication that is ostensibly about restaurants and food culture. There's the question of whether or not a product like AG1 even qualifies as food, optimized not for satiety but for "health." The latter point even runs counter to what I believe is a core tenet of Eater's perspective —— the idea that food serves more of a function than pure nutrition. But this is precisely why the trend of people swirling greens powders into their drinks and blending collagen into their cookies is so curious and compelling. So when Rachel Khong, author of the novels Goodbye, Vitamin and the recently published Real Americans, expressed interest in diving deep into the world of adaptogens, ashwagandha, and other dusts, we jumped at the opportunity.
Khong wanted to know why she and so many others are drawn to powdered supplements right now. She dug into the past to suss out this answer, finding that we "have a history of ingesting powders of doubtful utility." Back then, as now, we sought self-improvement. In the bygone age of "longevity elixirs," powders were administered under the guise of medicine, but these days, the healing is more a promise of marketing. "What all these brands are selling is the idea that you can feel better than you do," Khong writes. "That you might be improved. That you might look better, and live longer. That you have some control over your uncontrollable life."
What I appreciate most about Khong's piece is her personalization of the supplements trend. While exploring her own reasons for turning to powders, she makes their appeal seem inevitable, even for someone who hasn't yet bought into them. She explains: "Wanting to feel in control in a system that strips us of control, we're turning to individualistic solutions to systemic problems: self-diagnosing and hoping to heal ourselves with various dusts." These dusts might not solve our woes, but I think we all can relate.
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