By Patrick Hynes on 10.15.04 @ 12:06AM
Political operatives are its biggest dieters -- literally.
I'll admit it. I'm a man of ample carriage. At this time every
two years I and my fellow political hacks tend to, how shall I say
this, bulk up? Sure, after the election we'll hop back on the
treadmill and gobble down salads again. But for now the pressures
of demanding clients, the stressful anticipation of the next poll,
and the sleepless hours in editing suites and campaign headquarters
will mean excessive corpulence for a few more weeks. It is a
bipartisan problem. But what can we say? We suffer for our
work.
Sadly, too many of my compatriots turn in their desperation to
fad diets to offset the ruinous effects of campaign life. One such
regimen, the Atkins Diet, has ensnared so many of my friends and
colleagues, I am compelled finally to speak out. This strange
cultural phenomenon leads perfectly normal and intelligent people
to consume things like steak and Diet Coke for breakfast, cheese
cubes for lunch and bacon with a side of pork rinds for dinner.
You see, Atkins isn't really a diet at all. It's a cult. And
political professionals all over Washington, D.C. have drunk the
Kool-Aid, sweetened with Splenda, of course.
Don't take my word for it. Just run down the Cultic Studies
Review's checklist on how to identify a cult and
cross-reference it with your own personal experience with this
cultural blight known as Atkins.
Mind-numbing techniques are used to suppress doubts about
the group. How else would you describe a grueling two-week
"induction phase" during which dieters are to consume 20 or fewer
grams of carbohydrates a day? In his book Dr. Atkins' New Diet
Revolution, Robert Atkins acknowledged that probable
side-effects of this induction are lethargy and diminished mental
acuity.
The group is pre-occupied with bringing in new members.
My own copy of Dr. Atkins' New Diet Revolution (its
"bible," if you will) is battered and worn. I am probably its third
or fourth owner. It has been pushed from one friend to the next
with the proselytizing fervor of a Jehovah's Witness.
The group is preoccupied with making money. Ahem.
"Atkins-approved Low Carb Bread"? "Atkins-approved" choices on your
local sprawl diner's menu? Notice the little ® on those labels?
They aren't approving this junk for their health. Or yours. The
Atkins Nutritionals gets a cut. Of everything.
The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for
itself, its leaders, and its members. There's an almost
Gnostic component to the Atkins Diet. It's a club with secret
knowledge about how to lose weight. All other tried and true weight
loss avenues (Weight Watchers, exercise, Slim Fast) are heretical
for ignoring the immutable truths as laid out by Robert Atkins. The
Atkins cultist snickers at the very concept of the FDA's food
pyramid. He who follows it is an ignoramus.
The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which
causes conflict within the larger society. One need only look
at the mysterious circumstances surrounding the release of Robert
Atkins' medical report upon his death to know the larger society
has been affected. Apparently People for the Ethical Treatment of
Animals (who, I admit, have their own issues) had something to do
with revealing Dr. Atkins died at 260 lbs. In fact, there is an
underground war raging between the PETA establishment types and the
Atkins revolutionaries. I once brought up an argument against the
Atkins Diet often used by PETA to a cultist friend, who then
actually accused me of being a tool for the Department of
Agriculture.
Members' subservience to the group causes them to cut ties
with family and friends, and to give up personal goals and
activities that were of interest before joining the group.
There was a time when a couple of pizzas and about fifteen beers
apiece were all my friends and I needed for a good time. Then came
Atkins. The beer was replaced with gin or vodka. Only the cheese
and meat toppings of the pizza were consumed, leaving triangle
shards of dough in the box. Eventually, it stopped being fun. I
don't even see many of my friends anymore, so tight are they
wrapped in the clutches of the cult.
The group is focused on a living leader to whom members seem
to display excessively zealous, unquestioned commitment.
Robert Atkins is dead. So here, at least, is one point in favor of
the cultists. And yet again, the death of Dr. Atkins is mired in
mystery and intrigue. He slipped on an icy sidewalk. One doesn't
generally die from slipping on a sidewalk (unless your bones have
turned to cheese, as may have been the case with Atkins.) But his
spirit lives on at Atkins Nutritionals, a global enterprise that
carries on his, um, mission.
I worry about my friends and colleagues in the campaign
business. Is it not enough that we belong to a strange subculture
of political hobbyists and news fetishists?
topics:
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