“Guilt-free” is, of course, not a new turn of phrase. It was used to market Snackwell’s, the insipid, cardboard-reminiscent cookies that I regularly snacked on as a dieting kid in the ’90s. And at Trader Joe’s, you’ve long been able to purchase a tub of “reduced-guilt” spinach and kale Greek yogurt dip. But the purveyors of diet culture will always take an opportunity to bring back an old trend, and it really seems like “guilt-free” is having a resurgence. A quick search of my inbox reveals at least a dozen PR pitches for “guilt-free” products in the last couple of months. There are the “functional sodas” infused with probiotics and artificial sweeteners, the protein shake with mint flavoring intended to evoke a Shamrock Shake from McDonald’s, and plain sprouted pumpkin seeds, advertised as “a superfood add-on to your meal plan recipes, or just a delicious, guilt-free treat.”
But drinking real-sugar soda and eating candy don’t make me feel guilty. They might make my stomach hurt, or cause a nap-inducing blood sugar spike, but guilt never enters the equation. That’s due in large part to the hours of therapy that I’ve undergone after experiencing disordered eating patterns in my teens and early 20s, sessions where I finally figured out how to shed my shame around simply eating food. Now, every time I hear some brand touting its “guilt-free” or “sinless” snacks, I’m reminded of just how frequently we’re taught that food consumption is a kind of moral failure.
Some brands take the “guilt-free” paradigm one step further by encoding our shame around sugar consumption into their DNA. SkinnyDipped is pretty up-front about the fact that its dark chocolate peanut butter cups — a “snack with no strings attached” — will help you, too, stay skinny. The name of Shameless Snacks, known for its low-calorie gummies, implies that some candies should make you feel ashamed, but theirs should not. A chart on the brand’s website compares the Shameless gummies to popular gummy brands Trolli and Haribo, pointing out that its candies are far lower in sugar — and far higher in fiber — than its competitors. There’s also the gummy brand Smart Sweets, a name that sort of implies you’re a dumbass if you choose a sweet other than its fiber-packed gummies.
But why in the world would I need a pack of gummy candies to offer me large doses of dietary fiber? It’s true that many Americans don’t get enough fiber, but experts generally agree that we should be getting our recommended daily intake of fiber from whole foods sources like vegetables and fruit, not a bunch of chicory root powder mixed into a gummy, not to mention the fact that large doses of fiber, like the soluble corn fiber that is the second ingredient in each pack of Shameless Snacks gummies, could easily cause gas, bloating, and other gastric distress if consumed in excess.
The idea that all of our foods must have a “function” in our bodies is deeply misguided. Sometimes a gummy bear can just be a moment of pleasure, a quick dopamine and glucose boost to get you through a mid-afternoon slump. That gummy bear is being broken down by your body for use as fuel in the same way that a floret of broccoli or bowl of quinoa would be, even if it’s not as nutritionally dense as other foods that you eat. Being able to enjoy the occasional gummy bear without worrying about “empty calories” because you already incorporate veggies, fruit, and grains into your meals is the whole point of having a well-rounded diet.
I understand that “healthy candy” can be valuable to people who do have to watch their sugar or fat or protein intake for medical reasons, but there’s no need for the marketing of these products to induce shame in anyone. It is entirely possible to demonstrate that a product is low in sugar or high in protein without making other foods seem inferior or “bad.” Instead of hassling me about my guilt, just print “low in sugar” or “6 grams of sugar” on your bag of gummy bears.
There’s also no need to fear-monger about sugar when you’re literally in the business of making candy and soda — items that most people already consider treats. In fact, it feels especially insidious that these brands are shaming us for loving gummy bears and peanut butter cups as they profit from emulating those very products. Instead of just aiming to satisfy their customers’ sugarcravings, these “healthy candy” purveyors are capitalizing on both fatphobia and the decades of stigmatizing marketing that helped build our diet-obsessed culture.
In 2025, the notion that I should feel bad about eating candy or drinking a can of soda feels particularly outdated. It’s not like this is the 16th century and I have to worry about some overzealous cleric coming to drag me off to a convent in punishment for the sin of gluttony. What I do feel bad about, though, is the idea that there are people out there learning the same bullshit diet-culture lessons I was taught in the 1990s, and feeling actual guilt around the eminently human pursuit of consuming and enjoying sugar — or fat, or salt, or whatever the health bugaboo these “guilt-free” products purport to solve.
