Social Workout

True Story

My Life As A Diet Pill Model

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Long, long ago, in a land called June my commercial agent called me and said, “Hey Kim, you’ve got an audition Friday.”

“Great.” I said, “What for?”

“Diet pill campaign. Listen, you need to wear a bikini.”

Outwardly, I said, “Okay, no problem.” Inwardly, I said, “Fuck.”

Off to a magical casting office I went, summer dress and bikini on bod. Of course I got the job—I’m someone who writes about fitness, teaches aerobics, and could probably lose 10lbs. I’m a diet company’s dream.

They felt great, I felt like a giant sell out. Landing a national ad campaign is no joke…especially in regard to one's bank account. BUT, is this really the national ad campaign I want to be landing on? I, A) don’t believe in diets, B) most especially don’t believe in taking diet pills, and C) am not overjoyed about the idea of my bikini clad self gracing the pages of magazines.

But I signed up anyway. Recently, however, I had a serious change of heart, and I called the company to back out of my contract. Here’s why:

When I left my “before” photo shoot, I was armed with a digital scale, food scale, and a giant tub of diet pills. For the next 5-months I was expected to take six pills a day, exercise two-hours a day, and send almost-naked pictures of myself to some random email address weekly.

Along with my, “You only get paid if you lose 40 lbs" contract, I was fitted with my own personal “nutritionist.” She was an almost unbelievably sweet woman who dissected my food selections weekly. Here’s the problem: I do not need to lose 40 lbs, and I know A LOT about nutrition.

I also happened to know a lot about these pills, having researched every ingredient before I signed on the dotted line.  If you're really wondering what's in those pricey pills, here goes: caffeine and a bunch of herbs that make you poop.

You basically need to have really low self-esteem, and have survived most of your life on Hostess cupcakes for their program to work because this experience was total mental warfare. First they break you down. The casting agent basically tells you you’re a fat ass. The company sends you savior-esque emails about how all they want is for you to be happy and lose weight to live a better life.

Wait, did I miss something? I’m in it for the money. You didn’t find me wallowing around a stripmall crying over my milkshake. But, that’s how they treated me. Poor little fat girl, we’re here to help you.

I was contractually obligated to lose 3lbs a week. But for someone who already ate well and exercised regularly, none of this was particularly jarring to my system. I didn’t lose much my first few weeks, or months. As the weeks went by my diet was stripped more and more. Things like no sugar or dairy made sense to me. Things like no mustard, olives, bananas, cabbage, egg yolks were a little harder to swallow.

After three months with only a modest 10 lb loss to show (I should have, by their standards lost almost 30lbs at this point), I called the company and quit. It was when they told me to stop eating mustard that I really lost it, or the time I passed out in yoga, or perhaps the fact that they wanted me to do yet another hour of exercise a day to my regimen (that would make 3 hours), or possibly the strongly worded email reminding me that I’m a failure for not being able to shed 3lbs a week every week over a four month period.

To be fair, the company was always very nice to me. They did not send their lawyers after me when I backed out of my contract. I thank them muchly for that.

To you I say, be highly aware of the asterisk at the bottom of those after pictures. "With diet and exercise," could actually mean with sweatshop conditions and the diet of an anorexic.