Eating Professionals vs Eating Disorders

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COMMENTARY

It was a lazy Labor Day weekend. The days were unusually sunny for September. There was little that I was obliged to do. Theoretically, I spend my free time doing extra academic writing, maybe reading some extra medical journals. . . or I could follow the lead of the Netflix commercial and watch their live-from-Las Vegas Labor Day hotdog eating contest between 2 top eaters.

One contestant was Joey Chestnut, the long-time record-holder who had recently been banned from the famed Coney Island Fourth of July hotdog festival because he endorsed meatless “meat.” His opponent was Takeru Kobayashi, a long-haired, lighter weight Japanese man who remains Chestnut’s nemesis and arch-rival. Kobayashi is credited with transforming the world of competitive eating with his so-called Solomon method, where he separates the hotdog from the bun. Named for the Biblical king who suggested splitting a contested baby in 2, his Solomon method was banned from this Netflix competition and perhaps that influenced the outcome.

In theory, I could have justified this off-beat indulgence by claiming that I planned to compare competitive eating with eating disorders, since I often treated individuals with eating disorders in my private practice. However, I confess that those regularly repeating Netflix commercials made an impression—even though I did not yet know that competitive eating is a recognized sport. The commercials aired at 15-minute intervals—or so it seemed—and were broadcast in a loud, deep, authoritative voice that would have been equally appropriate for a world class boxing match. The profile portraits of the 2 contenders, facing off against one another, were worthy of a Frazier vs Ali fight.

Netflix advertised the Las Vegas match as “the wiener takes all” and called it “Chestnut vs Kobayashi: Unfinished Beef.” The contest was so named to avoid infringing on the copyright of “Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July Hotdog Eating Contest,” held annually at Coney Island. The intensity and frequency of the Netflix commercials implied that the streaming service took its contest as seriously as a heavyweight fight, or at least as seriously as Coney Island’s midsummer event which was said to have attracted the NYC mayor.

I had never witnessed the better-known Coney Island hotdog festival firsthand so this sport would be completely new to me. It was far easier to sit on the sofa and stream the spectacle—and it was indeed a Las Vegas-style spectacle—than to contend with Coney Island crowds. Admittedly, it seemed like a silly way to spend an hour, but the hour consumed by the show (pun intended) still left plenty of time for our usual Labor Day cook-out.

The reigning champion, Joey (“Jaws”) Chestnut, was a 220 lb middle-aged man with a curious surname and an unassuming appearance and a long, long list of victories at a wide variety of eating competitions. Kobayashi, who arrived with his wife, weighed in at a mere 158 pounds. Known as the “godfather of competitive eating,” Kobayashi had won the Nathan’s Famous Fourth of July contest 6 consecutive times—from 2001 to 2006—but had been out of the game for the last several years for medical reasons. 

There was clearly something appealing about this contest, even if the quantities consumed sounded sickening to me. The shoulder-to-shoulder crowd was roaring and ready to go and dressed for the occasion. Supporters wore different colored costumes, waving flags, sporting signature hats on their heads, as they jumped up and down with joy or cried with disappointment. After it ended, Chestnut was declared the winner. He beat his own world record by downing 83 hotdogs with buns in 10 minutes. For that he earned a hefty sum along with a super-sized belt.

Anyone who doubted the seriousness of the endeavor could watch the judges, and the conservatively dressed representatives from Guinness Book of Records, who weighed and measured everything in front of them and carefully inspected the mouths of each contestant after the event, to ensure that no food had been hidden beneath their tongues or inside their cheeks. The procedure reminded me of ward nurses who check patients’ mouths on inpatient psychiatric units, to ensure that no one is cheeking unwanted psychotropic meds.

Like prizefights or boxing matches, or even rock concerts, lower profile contestants preceded the match between the top two rivals. Those other “performances” were equally entertaining. Leah Shutkever was the only female competitor showcased that Labor Day. She set the Guinness World Record for the most watermelon eaten in 3 minutes but had previously amassed 35 Guinness World Record titles (according to her Instagram profile, which posts many photos and lists her as the #1 Female Competitive Eater). Shutkever had previously won contests for consuming the most marshmallows without using her hands, and other unrivaled and unimaginable feats.

After the match ended, I was curious to learn even more about the day’s contenders. For starters, I was surprised to come across terms such as “eating professional” and “competitive eater.” I had never heard of such occupations before that Labor Day, even though I have referred many, many patients to various vocational rehabilitation services to help them launch new careers. To alert them to potential job options, I typically direct them to the expansive Department of Labor (DOL) website, which lists all known legitimate occupations. But eating professional? That was a new one for me. And it does not appear on the DOL website.

What surprised me even more was how educated some contenders were. Joey Chestnut holds a degree in engineering and Leah Shutkever, the British watermelon champion, was educated as an architect. She also maintains a high profile on selected social media sites.

A July 2024 article authored by Rachel Sugar for the New York Times profiles other female competitive eaters, elaborating on both their professional and personal lives and on the family challenges that some live with.¹ Some stories are inspiring while others are heart-rending. One female eater lost a child to brain cancer and her other child potentially faces a kidney transplant; nevertheless, she praises the camaraderie of the competitive eating circuit.

As a psychiatrist who has treated many patients with eating disorders, I could not help but wonder about a possible overlap between eating professionals and eating disorders. We know that several entertainment-related occupations, such as classical ballet, modeling, or gymnastics, push participants into eating-disorder-like behavior that is difficult to distinguish from true psychopathology—so why should it be surprising if professional eaters also share such traits?

It is well known that many individuals with eating disorders choose to work in food-related fields, and many credit their ability to control their eating disorder symptoms to this career choice. Yet not a single patient of mine ever mentioned a desire to become an eating professional or a professional eater.

In keeping with the Goldwater Rule, I will not speculate about possible diagnoses of these recently televised eating professionals, except to say that Leah Sutkever comes closest to revealing personal data directly, and even she was vague. She is open about her past history of being overweight and out-of-shape, and posts before and after photos online to prove it. Yet today, she could pass as a professional model. Online, Sutkever explains how she counters the enormous number of calories consumed in preparation for competitive eating contests, and how she maintains her current size and shape by excessive exercising.

In contrast, Joey Chestnut appears outwardly ordinary—even though he admits to gaining 22 lbs after the contest and to losing most of it by fasting for a week afterwards. He says that he also fasts for an indeterminate amount of time before a match. In many ways, this regimen sounds like the restricting-bingeing cycle often reported by individuals seeking treatment for eating disorders—but his methodical planning sounds exactly opposite of the impulsiveness described by many (but not all) those who are diagnosed with binge eating disorder. Still, we cannot diagnose anyone without more data, and we cannot ethically hypothesize about such diagnoses, even in the face of sufficient data.

I feel fortunate that none of my patients speak of plans to become an eating professional because it is a vocation that is not without hazards. Even though no one ever died in a carefully monitored professional contest, which takes such risks into account, casualties among amateurs had been reported. Some say that the overall life span of professional eaters—and especially hot dog champs—is slightly shortened by consumption of so much ultra-processed foods. Yet it appears that seasoned competitors have escaped immediate harm to date—which is more than we can say for many football players or for those who have entered the boxing ring.

In the end, it was a silly but harmless way to spend an hour in September. Even if questions about crossovers between eating disorders and eating professionals remain unanswered, that hour on Netflix still gives me food for thought.

Dr Packer is an assistant clinical professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai in New York, New York.

Reference

1. Sugar R. Competitive eaters are just like us. Give or take a dozen hot dogs. New York Times. July 23, 2024. Accessed October 1, 2024. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/07/03/dining/chestnut-kobayashi-competitive-eaters.html#