Could Gen Z’s obsession with health become… unhealthy?
Since the start of 2025, there’s been a lot of talk about Gen Z’s healthy lifestyle habits. Almost every media outlet I follow on Instagram has come out with a story about how my generation has replaced the pub with the gym, the nightclub with run clubs and the weekend ‘sesh’ with a gym ‘sesh’. When my parents use the term ‘lock-in’, they’re talking about getting bolted into a boozer long after its opening hours have ended; on TikTok the same term refers to a state of intense focus entered to achieve a goal.
Although I don’t think this is an accurate description of us all (it certainly doesn’t apply to any of my friends), there is some truth to these dramatic statements. A recent report by UKActive found that Gen Z are the key demographic driving the boom in gym memberships, with sign-ups almost doubling within this age group since 2020. When coupled with the fact that Gen Z are drinking less alcohol (some none at all), it would suggest there are many young people choosing to spend their evenings exercising over socialising. It’s an interesting shift – one that can be presented as positive. But I am struggling to see it that way.
While I completely understand the benefits of looking after yourself through exercising and eating well, I worry about the detrimental effects these habits can have when taken to the extreme or done for the wrong reasons. I worry that these habits might be hindering other forms of self-care that are equally, if not more, important. And I worry that there is a wider issue at play about the mentality and culture that sits behind these habits, a culture that centres individuality, productivity and self-improvement.
With TikTok and Instagram filled with ‘What I eat in a day’ videos (no one cares), strict workout routines and body transformations, there is a constant expectation and pressure to be ‘healthy’, under a very narrow definition of what ‘healthy’ means. The intensity with which some young people are taking care of their bodies, feels excessive – especially when these are the years of a high metabolism and non-existent hangover. While previous generations didn’t start thinking about cutting down on the pints and taking up yoga until the end of their 20s, Gen Z are taking up these concerns far earlier – and foregoing a sense of freedom and carelessness that used to be synonymous with young adulthood.
Many argue that gym memberships have increased due to the cost of living crisis. With drink prices going up, one night at a pub can now cost as much as a full month’s gym membership (with unlimited access). For sure this is an issue, and there should be more places that young people can commune without having to fork out cash. But I think the issue is far deeper and more insidious than this. After all, health and wellness can also be an expensive habit when you are buying into the latest protein powders and dietary supplements.
More and more there is a collective sense that our downtime must be productive, but we see productivity as something we do for ourselves, to reach personal goals. As journalist and activist Ash Sarkar explains: “The idea of making gains has supplanted socially productive labour. You make gains with your body, you make financial gains, you consume and you spend ostentatiously, but your life is very narrow. That takes up so much more space than the idea of being socially useful for other people.”
I am not saying that working on ourselves isn’t sometimes necessary – particularly when it comes to our mental wellbeing, which can be nurtured through physical activity and healthy eating. The problem occurs when this goal becomes perpetually unachievable, leaving us with a sense that we are, and never will be, good enough (or in capitalist words, there are always more products to buy that will make you healthier, hotter and happier).
Exercising and eating healthy as a form of maintenance is very different to exercising and eating healthy as a form of self-improvement. The latter implies a degree of discontentment and need for progress. Social media frames ‘health’ as something we must be constantly striving for, something that can be measured by visible results, or the ‘perfect’ body. It used to be the case that only models, celebrities and athletes would dedicate their time and energy to achieving the ‘perfect’ body, now it has become the goal of the average person. But what for? If our careers don’t rest on the way we look or how well our bodies can perform, then what is it all for?
I guess, it is for ourselves. For our own sense of self-fulfilment and self-achievement. We spend hours in the gym on our own, to perfect our own bodies and make ourselves feel better. There is something inherently individualist in this; a culture of atomisation where we are siloed off into singular, disconnected units and placed in competition with one another. At the end of the day, how do we judge the ‘perfect body’ if not by comparing ourselves to everyone else? And with social media allowing us to compare ourselves with the entire world, the competition becomes even higher.
In an atomised society, individuals become isolated from community structures, encouraged to view health and wellbeing as entirely personal responsibilities. At the pub on the other hand (although not traditionally the most inclusive space), spontaneous gathering encourages collective care and communal living. Problems are shared and health and wellbeing are things we attain together, supported by each other. Perhaps not in the conventional sense, or in the way that social media dictates what health and wellbeing look like, but in the sense that being with people might be one of the healthiest activities we can do for ourselves. After all, the World Health Organisation says that loneliness can be as bad for people’s health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.
Fitness spaces can also foster this sense of community, with team sports and run clubs being activities that encourage both personal and collective productivity. It is not exercise I am coming for but the type of exercise that comes at the expense of a healthy social life.
Social commenter Benjy Kusi says: “When spaces for belonging become less accessible and leisure increasingly revolves around self-optimisation, it affirms the false idea that connection is optional and that self sufficiency is an accessible norm that everyone should aspire to. Inclusion and collective care don't thrive in isolation; they depend on people prioritising connection and having easily accessible spaces to gather and belong. Atomization encourages us to accept the erosion of community without question, and even celebrate it as growth. If we want a society where everyone can belong and thrive, we need to stay alert to the ways in which we are misled into accepting and even celebrating the erosion of community.”