There’s a 2021 InStyle cover story of Jennifer Aniston that I think about more often than I’d like to. Specifically, it’s Aniston’s response to being asked what she eats when she’s stressed.
“A chip. Crunch, crunch, crunch,” she says. Emphasis on the singular “chip” and the lack of the word “bag.”
Aniston goes on to mention that she’s usually pretty good about limiting herself to just one chip, even one M&M. “I know, that’s so annoying,” she adds.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Aniston isn’t fond of indulgences, considering that she has just celery juice and black coffee for breakfast and, amid the pandemic’s peak, overcame her longstanding fear of the bread basket. But it’s still baffling, to say the least. And certainly, the kind of extreme, celebrity-endorsed diet hack that would have done irreparable damage to my younger self’s own body image and understanding of healthy eating.
Lately, I’ve been inundated by viral foods and trends, whether they’re on the Internet or formally explained to me in press emails. Many of them compel me to yank my hair out, bang my head on the table, or do both simultaneously — if that’s possible. There’s proteinmaxxing (eyeroll) along with its competitor, fibermaxxing. There’s also something called Man Cereal, which deserves no further explanation because it really is that absurd.
It was during a moment of pre-bedtime doomscrolling when I came across a trend so ludicrous that I had to set my phone down and laugh. Called the “snack tin” trend, it features influencers, namely women, packing palm-sized tins (the kind that can hold a handful of mints, not a bento box) with a few measly items to enjoy as an afternoon snack. The appeal is aesthetics — both assembling and filling the tins are supposed to be a pretty activity. Some include a wedge of tangerine, an eighth of a KitKat bar topped with a dusting of maybe three or four nuts (cashews, almonds and pistachios seem to be popular choices). Others hold at most a single raspberry and two tiny peanut butter sandwich crackers. A more savory rendition features half of a hard-boiled egg alongside two small bites of an avocado toast and brie on toast.
The simplicity of the tins, their demure size and dainty contents, which often feature organic health foods, are meant to embody whimsy. Or at least they’re trying to, courtesy of the influencers who emulate a similar aura across their social media platforms. “This is a snack for the girlies who nibble, not the bitches who devour,” the tins scream. God forbid a lady feels ravenous during her three p.m. slump.
The trend was popularized by an influencer named Anastasia, who is known on Instagram and TikTok as TheNakedLight. In an April report by Vogue, titled “The Snack Tin Is Here to Save You From the Afternoon Slump,” Anastasia explains that her snack philosophy “is not really about snacks, and snacks are not really about food.” Instead, it’s “about the moment.”
Cue my facepalm.
“Instead of eating something on autopilot, you turn it into a small ritual, and over time that awareness starts to shape your everyday choices too,” she explains. Anastasia, who has a background in banking and is trained in holistic coaching, also uses the opportunity to promote her Snack Tin Guide, which teaches people how to stash their personal itty-bitty snack tins. It’s available for purchase for just $19.99.
The concept of packing aesthetically pleasing snacks in a container isn’t new. Take, for example, the viral “snackle box,” which contains multiple compartments to hold everything from your favorite packaged snacks and candies to cut up fruit and vegetables. Videos on social media show people stashing their boxes in their pantries or taking their boxes to the movies, the beach and on flights.
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The problem with the snack tin craze lies in its rhetoric. Last week, I wrote about the overuse of the slang-suffix “-maxxing” in nutritional spaces, underscoring why the rhetoric we use to define how we nourish ourselves matters so greatly. It’s especially important now, with the revival of diet culture and a newfound surge in weight-loss medication usage. The language used to describe snack tins is so flowery — and muddled by hyper-wellness jargon — it’s almost nonsensical. As paraphrased by Vogue, Anastasia says the tins are “all about reinventing the ordinary” into “something special and bespoke.” What does that even mean? Bespoke for whom? She goes on to mention that the mere sight of her small snack(s) “fills my heart with joy” and “grounds me.” Ok, then. What about a Ziplock bag of chips? Or a whole tangerine and an entire avocado toast, as opposed to a sliver? Are they not joyful or grounding enough to be worthy of enjoyment?
In a recent Instagram post, Anastasia doubles down on what pleasurable eating actually looks like. “7 KitKats in a row is not pleasure,” she writes on a photo of a snack tin. “Pleasure is not quantity. It is our ability to truly enjoy what is pleasurable. And that requires presence.”
The unspoken truth about the whole snack tin craze is that it’s restriction disguised as mindful eating. It suggests that snacking beyond the confines of a mouse-sized tin is gluttonous, both nutritionally and spiritually. It shames indulgence. And it equates small portions to elegance, chicness and peak femininity.
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Frankly, it’s all exhausting. For so long, gendered eating has dictated what women can and can’t consume. Yogurt with fruit, salads, white wine and chocolate are classified as feminine. Anything with high protein or high in calories isn’t. A random assortment of small bites is called “Girl Dinner,” while a bowl of ground meat and rice is called “Boy Kibble.” Eurocentric and Western beauty standards, further reinforced by 90s diet culture, also promoted skinny as the new sexy. The policing of what we choose to put in our bodies has been — and continues to be — relentless. Back in December, the U.K. government’s obesity advisor called for restaurants and supermarkets to provide smaller, 25% reduced-calorie portions, specifically for women.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t enjoy snack tins. I’ll admit, they are cute. But they shouldn’t be hailed as peak snacking — or ultimate wellness.
One of the greatest joys in life is enjoying and savoring really good food. Food is pleasurable. Snacking is pleasurable. If you’re craving seven KitKat bars, enjoy them! If you’re stressed and craving a bag of chips or a bag of M&M’s, please, enjoy them! Life is too short. Snack wholeheartedly and unapologetically.
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