Why are we counting proteins amidst all this chaos?

Why are health trends growing as the world gets worse?

As crises in the world grow, the scope for intervention shrinks, leaving only one piece of land we can control: our own bodies. All the health trends of the last decade have emerged from this shrinking space.

Norman Fucking Rockwell! was released on August 30, 2019, exactly six months before the pandemic. The cover shows a boat, an outstretched hand, and a burning shore in the background. If this is what we call apocalypse pop, it might be a black box that, instead of offering solutions, simply accurately measures the atmosphere and captures the spirit of the times, even if we listen to it years later.

Something else was growing during those same years: wellness trends. According to the Global Wellness Institute, the sector has doubled since 2013, reaching $6.8 trillion in 2024. In other words, as the world gets worse, wellness trends accelerate.

The most striking historical example of this is the AIDS crisis. Why did muscle become so central among gay men in the 1980s and 90s? First, control: in a time when the state deliberately failed to help people, the gym became the center of self-control. Second, visibility: muscle mass was a legible sign of "I'm not sick," while thinness was a stigma. Third, medical: testosterone prescribed against "wasting" syndrome stood as the foundation of this aesthetic. This is what Susan Sontag described in AIDS and Its Metaphors (1989): illness is never just illness, it is transformed into a moral metaphor.

Today's protein obsession comes from the same breath. Now you can find a protein version of everything on the shelves. Counting grams is the only thing we can count in an era when we can't count anything else, from the economy to the climate.

Why are we so afraid? As the crisis grows, our scope for intervention shrinks, and the only piece of land we can control becomes our bodies. We think about muscle instead of refuge, macro instead of politics.

That's why I find NFR!'s apocalyptic pop honesty so precious. This album doesn't promise recovery, it doesn't suggest optimization. It looks at the fire and extends a friendly hand to our boat lost in the water.