The dark side of optimizing your metabolism | The VergeSkip to main contentThe homepageThe VergeThe Verge logo.The VergeThe Verge logo.TechReviewsScienceEntertainmentAIHamburger Navigation ButtonThe homepageThe VergeThe Verge logo.Hamburger Navigation ButtonNavigation DrawerThe VergeThe Verge logo.Login / Sign UpcloseCloseSearchTechExpandAmazonAppleFacebookGoogleMicrosoftSamsungBusinessCreatorsMobilePolicySecurityTransportationReviewsExpandLaptopsPhonesHeadphonesTabletsSmart HomeSmartwatchesSpeakersDronesScienceExpandSpaceEnergyEnvironmentHealthEntertainmentExpandGamesTV ShowsMoviesAudioAIVerge ShoppingExpandBuying GuidesDealsGift GuidesSee All ShoppingCarsExpandElectric CarsAutonomous CarsRide-sharingScootersOther TransportationFeaturesVideosExpandYouTubeTikTokInstagramPodcastsExpandDecoderThe VergecastVersion HistoryNewslettersExpandThe Verge DailyInstallerVerge DealsNotepadOptimizerRegulatorThe StepbackArchivesStoreSubscribeFacebookThreadsInstagramYoutubeRSSThe VergeThe Verge logo.The dark side of optimizing your metabolismComments DrawerCommentsLoading commentsGetting the conversation ready...ColumnCloseColumnPosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All ColumnGadgetsCloseGadgetsPosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All GadgetsScienceCloseSciencePosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All ScienceThe dark side of optimizing your metabolismThere are known benefits to tracking your glucose levels, but it can also be a slippery slope into disordered eating.If you buy something from a Verge link, Vox Media may earn a commission. See our ethics statement.by Victoria SongCloseVictoria SongSenior Reviewer, Wearable TechPosts from this author will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All by Victoria SongNov 28, 2025, 3:00 PM UTCLinkShareIf you buy something from a Verge link, Vox Media may earn a commission. See our ethics statement.After about a year of using over the counter CGMs, I’ve realized I shouldn’t use them during holidays. | Photo by Amelia Holowaty Krales / The VergeVictoria SongCloseVictoria SongPosts from this author will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All by Victoria Song is a senior reporter and author of the Optimizer newsletter. She has more than 13 years of experience reporting on wearables, health tech, and more. Before coming to The Verge, she worked for Gizmodo and PC Magazine.This is Optimizer, a weekly newsletter sent every Friday from Verge senior reviewer Victoria Song that dissects and discusses the latest phones, smartwatches, apps, and other gizmos that swear they’re going to change your life. Optimizer arrives in our subscribers’ inboxes at 10AM ET. Opt in for Optimizer here.In the last few years, I’ve seen an increasing number of wellness and fitness influencers yap about fixing their metabolisms. For some, that means hawking supplements like Foodology’s Coleology Cutting Jelly, NAD+ pills for improving insulin sensitivity, or powders that claim to “balance your hormones.” Right now, my TikTok FYP is full of girls talking about the viral Korean Switch-On diet — a seemingly brutal regimen of intermittent fasting, protein shakes, and tofu. An obesity researcher purportedly designed the diet, which will “reset your metabolism.”It’s easy to scroll past these diet fads. What strikes me is the verbiage. “Optimizing your metabolism.” What’s even the goal behind that? And where my alarm bells start ringing is when the algorithm mixes in a video of an influencer talking about optimizing their metabolism using continuous glucose monitors (CGMs).CGMs are tiny wearable devices that measure glucose levels in the interstitial fluid just beneath your skin. They’re life-saving devices for diabetics, and now that they’re available over the counter, they can be helpful tools for folks with prediabetes and Type 2 diabetics who aren’t dependent on insulin. Their usefulness here is undeniable.A larger question — and one I’ve been investigating for over a year — is whether there are tangible benefits for people who aren’t diabetic or prediabetic. I’ll be doing a deep dive into that soon, but right now, let me tell you how using CGMs this past year nearly wrecked my relationship with food.CGMs are undeniably helpful for diabetics and prediabetics. But “metabolism optimization” requires a much more nuanced conversation. Photo by Amelia Holowaty Krales / The VergeI think a lot about food before any holiday. Some years, that’s all I think about. But not in a fun, “Oh, I can’t wait for a bite of stuffing or pumpkin pie!” kind of way. Think more of a hellish “What will I allow myself to eat?” or “Is there a race I can sign up for to mitigate the damage?”I hardly think I’m alone in that. Whether it’s for weight loss or to manage a condition, anyone on a diet will tell you that holiday feasts can be a major source of anxiety. Partaking in the deliciousness can trigger waves of guilt, particularly if you struggle to manage portions. Personal discipline isn’t always a good thing, either. I’ll never forget the hurt look on my mom’s face when I declined a slice of the Junior’s cheesecake she’d bought just for me one Christmas.I wore a CGM to Thanksgiving dinner last year. My relatives were curious, but cautiously supportive. But I noticed I was reluctant to eat certain foods, aware of how they might spike my glucose. Normally, I enjoy mashed potatoes with gravy. I love Ocean Spray canned cranberry jelly with my entire being. Sweet potato casserole with marshmallows is glorious. To make my spouse feel welcome, my Korean family had even baked a pretzel salad — an unholy Southern concoction of Cool Whip, cream cheese, frozen strawberries, crushed pretzels in butter, and Jell-O. (Yes, my in-laws insist it’s a “salad” and serve it as an entree, not a dessert.)Instead of heaping my plate with my favorites, I had a half plate of actual salad, dressing on the side, a quarter plate of protein, and a single slice of canned cranberry jelly. I nursed half a glass of wine the entire night. When my aunt despaired, prodding me to eat more, I checked two separate CGM apps to see if I could swing a second plate. I argued with myself in my head. Maybe I could? I’d run my customary Turkey Trot that morning, and even though I’d treated myself to one of Wawa’s Gobbler Bowls after, it had only cost 620 calories and caused a modest glucose spike. I’d walked into dinner with a borderline low glucose level. Maybe I could offer to run an errand and sneak in a 10-15 minute walk before leaving?Then, in the morning, I wouldn’t have to rationalize a less-than-favorable summary as a “holiday one-off.” I could safely say I’d had a “healthy” Thanksgiving. Doctors often recommend loading up your plate with leafy greens, prioritizing protein and fiber, and limiting processed sugars. All things I did. I’d been training regularly and ran a 5K that morning. Walking after meals has been shown in research to boost your metabolism significantly. Limiting alcohol is good.I had half a second plate, mostly to soothe my aunt, and left half my dessert. My glucose charts looked good at the end of the night. I resolved to do better at Christmas. True to my word, I did the same exact thing a month later. And on my birthday. For the latter, I didn’t let myself eat cake.I’ve spent far too time obsessing over these glucose graphs. Photo by Amelia Holowaty Krales / The VergeA year later, I’ve had time to reflect. On the surface, I crushed the holidays last year. In reality, I didn’t enjoy a single bite. I didn’t appreciate the effort my family had put into a home-cooked meal. I don’t even remember much of the time I spent with my loved ones — my brain was too preoccupied with my glucose levels. And for what? After all these months, was my metabolism truly optimized?Ironically, after losing about 15 pounds pre-CGM testing, I started gaining weight. I found myself skipping meals, particularly breakfast, more often. It was frustrating to deny myself the occasional dessert or after-dinner snack and still wake up with higher-than-ideal glucose levels. I found ways to avoid eating out or socializing. It wasn’t until my running performance started truly tanking that I realized I was relapsing into old disordered eating habits — ones I’d worked so hard to kick and had returned so stealthily. Things weren’t adding up. I set up a doctor’s appointment soon after. Two months and several tests later, we’re still trying to figure out why my metabolism isn’t operating as it should and how to address it.This isn’t a categorical dismissal of CGMs. Like any wearable, they’re a tool. I wholeheartedly believe that many people — particularly self-quantifying nerds and people embarking on lifestyle changes — may find them helpful. Arguably, that I’m working with my doctor to find a successful treatment is a positive outcome.We have to think critically about when, how, and by whom these tools are used. CGMs could help many non-diabetics. They will also inevitably harm some people. It’s why I reacted so viscerally when, earlier this year, health secretary RFK Jr. suggested that every American ought to use wearables, specifically highlighting CGMs as a means of “taking responsibility” over their health. The sense that these gadgets are backed by scientific research adds another layer of complexity. Yes, there’s a strong scientific basis. Yes, CGMs can be powerful tools. But they aren’t a panacea for any and every metabolic issue.I’m lucky and self-aware enough to recognize when the tools are using me. And yet, it still took me months to realize that I’m not someone who can healthily use CGMs during holidays. That, for me, optimizing my metabolism isn’t something I can just do with a gadget. That all my expertise in this space doesn’t make me immune to health anxiety.By the time you read this, I’ll have already run a Turkey trot and eaten Thanksgiving dinner. I won’t have worn a CGM. I suspect I’ll have struggled a bit when loading my plate. But, I’m also hopeful that I’ll have eaten two slices of my canned cranberry jelly and enjoyed every bite.Follow topics and authors from this story to see more like this in your personalized homepage feed and to receive email updates.Victoria SongCloseVictoria SongSenior Reviewer, Wearable TechPosts from this author will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All by Victoria SongColumnCloseColumnPosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All ColumnGadgetsCloseGadgetsPosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All GadgetsHealthCloseHealthPosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All HealthOptimizerCloseOptimizerPosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All OptimizerScienceCloseSciencePosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All ScienceWearableCloseWearablePosts from this topic will be added to your daily email digest and your homepage feed.FollowFollowSee All WearableMost PopularMost PopularThe VPN panic is only getting startedYou can play classic Nintendo games on these custom SNES-inspired Nike sneakersWyze’s new security camera watches your yard from inside your homeWhy can’t ChatGPT tell time?The 148 best Black Friday deals we’ve found so far — a ton of tech is over half offThe Verge DailyA free daily digest of the news that matters most.Email (required)Sign UpBy submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice. 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The rise of “metabolic optimization” – a trend fueled by influencers and readily available continuous glucose monitors (CGMs) – presents a complex and potentially detrimental shift in how individuals approach their health. Victoria Song’s personal experience, documented in her “Optimizer” newsletter, highlights the insidious nature of this trend, demonstrating how the pursuit of quantifiable data can lead to obsessive behaviors, disordered eating patterns, and a distorted relationship with food. The core of the issue lies in the conflation of readily available data with genuine, sustainable health practices. CGMs, designed to be life-saving tools for diabetics, are being utilized by individuals without such diagnoses, often driven by a desire for control and a performative understanding of “optimization.”

The allure of “optimizing your metabolism” rests on the idea that a precise number – the glucose reading – offers a key to unlocking better health. However, Song’s journey illustrates how this can quickly devolve into a cycle of anxiety, restriction, and guilt. The constant monitoring triggered a heightened awareness of every bite, leading to a diminished appreciation for the simple pleasure of eating. The focus shifted from nourishing the body to meticulously tracking and manipulating glucose levels, creating a feedback loop of self-monitoring and, ultimately, restriction.

Crucially, the article underscores the psychological impact of quantifying metabolic data. It isn’t simply about the numbers themselves; it’s about the anxiety and pressure that come with obsessively tracking them. This anxiety, in turn, can lead to disordered eating behaviors and a detachment from intuitive eating – the ability to listen to one's body’s hunger and fullness cues. Song's experiences reveal the danger of applying a rigid, data-driven approach to a complex and nuanced process.

Furthermore, the narrative powerfully critiques the commodification of health. The trend promotes a culture where self-improvement is framed as a measurable game, driven by external validation (through CGM data and influencer endorsements) rather than internal motivation and genuine lifestyle changes. The reliance on technology – specifically CGMs – can create a disconnect from one's body and its natural rhythms. The desire for an "optimized" metabolism, as defined by external trends, can override the more important goal of overall well-being and a healthy relationship with food.

Ultimately, Song’s story is a cautionary tale about the potential pitfalls of technological obsession and the importance of grounding health practices in mindful awareness and intuition. It serves as a reminder that true wellness goes beyond metrics and numbers, centering instead on the fundamental connection between the body, mind, and food.