The term 'ultraprocessed food' has become a modern-day boogeyman, haunting the aisles of grocery stores and the pages of health journals alike. But here’s the kicker: it’s a label that’s more about vibes than science. Personally, I think this is where the conversation about ultraprocessed foods (UPFs) starts to get interesting—and a little absurd. What many people don’t realize is that the term itself is barely defined, yet it’s being wielded as if it holds the key to all our dietary woes.
Take the Nova classification system, for instance, which introduced the term in 2009. It’s supposed to measure food processing, but in reality, it’s more of a subjective judgment call. Foods are either unprocessed, minimally processed, or ultraprocessed—with no middle ground. This binary approach feels less like science and more like a moral judgment: good vs. bad. If you take a step back and think about it, this oversimplification does more harm than good. It ignores the spectrum of processing and lumps together foods that have little in common beyond being ‘separated from nature,’ whatever that means.
One thing that immediately stands out is how the Nova system relies on researchers’ opinions rather than objective criteria. For example, corn chips—which you can easily make at home with minimal ingredients—are often labeled as UPFs simply because they’re ‘branded’ or ‘convenient.’ This raises a deeper question: Are we demonizing foods based on their packaging or marketing rather than their actual nutritional content? In my opinion, this is where the UPF debate goes off the rails. It’s not about the food itself but about the cultural and economic forces surrounding it.
What this really suggests is that the UPF label is more of a social construct than a scientific one. Professor Carlos Augusto Monteiro, the mind behind Nova, has even admitted that the issue isn’t processing itself but foods being ‘highly profitable’ and ‘marketed intensively.’ While I agree that the food industry’s practices are problematic, conflating profit motives with nutritional value feels like a red herring. It distracts us from the real issue: the lack of robust evidence linking UPFs to poor health.
Speaking of evidence, the studies that claim UPFs are harmful are often observational and low-quality. They rely on self-reported data, which is notoriously unreliable. The few randomized trials that exist show minimal negative effects, and even those are contested. A recent study in Science argued that the modest weight gain associated with UPF diets might be due to higher calorie density, not processing. This is a detail that I find especially interesting—it suggests we’re blaming processing for issues that are actually about portion size and dietary balance.
From my perspective, the UPF label is a scapegoat. It allows us to avoid harder conversations about why we eat the way we do. Instead of focusing on vague, emotionally charged terms, we should be talking about saturated fats, sugar, and fiber—tangible things we can measure and control. The U.K.’s Food Standards Agency got it right when they discarded the UPF concept in their 2025 guidance, advising people to focus on a balanced diet instead.
If you ask me, the UPF label is a prime example of how we let fear and moral panic drive policy. It’s easier to vilify ‘ultraprocessed’ foods than to address the systemic issues in our food system. But here’s the thing: regulating based on vibes is a recipe for confusion, not clarity. What we need is a more nuanced approach—one that acknowledges the complexity of food processing and prioritizes evidence over emotion.
In the end, the UPF label is a cautionary tale about how language shapes our understanding of the world. It’s a reminder that just because a term sounds scientific doesn’t mean it is. Personally, I think it’s time to retire ‘ultraprocessed’ and start having more honest conversations about food. After all, the real boogeyman isn’t the food itself—it’s the way we talk about it.
