The Stigma of Salads

I tried to order a salad today.

I was eating lunch with a couple of friends and even before I opened the menu, my mind was made up. I was trying to balance out my weekend of gorging on Chinese take-out on three separate occasions. I was trying to make the healthy choice, for once. And a large part of me really just wanted to eat something that was crunchy without the help of a deep-fryer.

I ended up ordering the braised pork with a side of cheese grits.

This story seems pretty cut-and-dry. It appears that I gave into my gluttony and ordered what I truly wanted, rather than what I thought I needed. In actuality, I gave into peer pressure. If I had not been with company, I would have had that damn salad. I mean, it sounded tasty! Its mix’ins-to-greens ratio was practically 1:1!

So here’s the complete story, then.

In that window of time after you decide on an entrée and before the waiter approaches with his pencil and pad, I had a debate with myself. The dividing question? Did I want to be “that girl” who orders a salad? This question actually comes from a template, which has also spawned such conundrums as, “Do I want to be ‘that girl’ who specifies a skinny latte?” and “Do I want to be ‘that girl’ who picks an entrée from the ‘Weight Watcher’s’ page of the Applebee’s menu?” In other words, do I want to be ‘that girl’ who obviously cares about her weight?

The fact that I am faced with this dilemma each time I try to make a blatantly health-conscious decision is confusing for me, because, why is it so wrong to care about your weight? Why couldn’t I order a salad without feeling like I was trying too hard?

Let me back up by saying that I have done extensive research on the emotions behind ordering salads. And I have gathered from a totally legitimate poll that I posted on my Facebook wall, that six out of seven college students feel self-conscious about ordering a salad. And I’m just going to assume that the seventh student is lying so that I can proclaim that 100% of college students would prefer not to be seen as a “salad-eater.”

Obviously, the core of the problem is that we care too much about what other people think about us. But that’s not interesting, at all. 

What is interesting is why salad has a stigma. Having a nice body certainly doesn’t carry any negative connotation. It’s what so many of us strive for, whether or not we’re upfront about it. And we understand that an occasional salad is necessary to reach the goal of whittling down our collection of cellulite and skin flaps. So why do we feel self-conscious when we choose a Cobb salad at a pizza joint? There’s certainly the external factor. “Salad-eaters” of both genders are treated to the incriminating side-eye, the barely disguised scoff, and the accusation-disguised-as-a-question “Is that all you’re getting?” 

But why do we let that small remark get under our skin? After all, we know why such remarks are made. 

Most people have probably been on both sides of the salad decision. And I admit that I have judged the “salad-eater” as many times as I have been judged. 

I have dug into my spaghetti and meatballs with over-enthusiastic vigor in front of my “salad-eater” friends, dismissing them as eating a rabbit’s fare and sneering at them for trying so hard. “These people clearly don’t know how to live life,” I would think. “When they’re too old to handle a hamburger without a booking a triple bypass first, they’re going to regret this.” I glare at them as they primly spear cherry tomatoes and lightly dip the sphere into the cup of dressing, ordered “on the side,” and tear into my hoagie. I pretend to delight in my bloated belly, practically belching my contentedness. In my heart of hearts, however, I am ashamed of my gluttony. I wish I had ordered a salad as well. 

And yet when I order the salad, knowing that the real, or imagined, snippiness of my companions is rooted in jealousy, I am still wracked with self-consciousness. Where’s the logic in that? 

By ordering a salad, we should feel that little tingle of pride that we are treating our body like a temple for once. WE are the winners here! 

But we certainly don’t feel like winners. In fact, we have just lost the game of “having it all”—the health, the body, and the trans fats. 

It appears that somewhere down the line someone decided it was too easy for people to eat right, work out, and strive for a better body. Everyone can do it, this awful individual (probably some big-shot Hollywood executive) decided, and where’s the fun in that? If everyone can do it, if everyone can choose a salad over pasta, who is the better person?

This evil, noxious being has put forth a new dream. It’s no longer enough to have an enviably svelte body. The new dream is to look that good without putting in any effort. The dream is to eat whatever the hell you want, sleep all day, and still blow people away with your rock-hard bod. And because only a minute percentage of the population has the metabolism or the right kind of thyroid disease to sustain such a dream, the rest of us have to devise new methods to feel superior.

We feel superior by keeping mum about waking up at five to go for a six-mile run. We eat salads only in the comfort of our own bedroom. We brush off compliments on how we look with a, “I’m just rocking what my mama gave me.” And when we’re in public, we eat like pigs and credit our magical metabolism and grade-A genetics for the body we have clearly worked out asses off to get. 

But it’s too easy to blame some faceless fat cat for our dieter-glutton complex. Because in the end, everyone wants to feel superior. And before our scapegoat made dieting shameful, wasn’t part of the thrill of making the healthy choice the feeling of superiority? Yes, the long-term payoff is a better body, lower cholesterol, and the confidence to wear white pants, but what sustains us on our journey are the moments where we can feel like part of the elite, part of a higher order of people that don’t need to eat and don’t have a lazy bone in their body. 

It wasn’t Hollywood or the masterminds in advertising who gave salad a stigma. It was our own fault. No one decided that effortless perfection was the new trend—it was simply the only option left. 

We couldn’t just let “salad-eaters” be, because just as we crave the feeling of being better than everyone else, we absolutely hate feeling like we are inferior. So we try our damnedest to tear down anyone who makes us feel this way. In other words, you can better your health, but I’m going to try to make you cry in the process. 

So now, our feelings of superiority are tempered by shame. And our feelings of shame are tempered by superiority.  What a self-perpetuated pickle we’re all in. Speaking of which, have you tried deep-fried pickles? They are so good. How many calories? Well, I wouldn’t know…I’ve never had to worry about that kind of thing. 

Photo Credit Here.