By Вen Li
I am not an 18-year-old girl entering university, but it doesn’t take one to recognize the poor quality of this book. Fighting the Freshman Fifteen tries to cover health, nutrition, psychology and cooking in an easy-to-read 180-page literary identity crisis. Redundancy, logical inconsistencies and a lack of focus sabotage a potentially competent book about not gaining 15 pounds in university.
Author and Registered Dietician Robyn Flipse starts by funneling every first-year female college student into one of nine caloric intake categories, but Flipse later acknowledges no two bodies are alike. She also denies the utility of the book, stating: "You can start by accepting your body exactly as it is… Once you feel good about yourself in your present size and shape, there’s little chance you’re going to get too upset if other people tell you otherwise."
Also included in the byline are Marisa and Marchelle Bradanini, whose less than insightful commentary and recipes are sprinkled throughout. Most of the 60 or so recipes are simply variations of a few different dishes. Even student leaders can make Power Toast–toasted wheat bread, peanut butter and cheese–but making thin slice jellied cranberry sauce may prove difficult without substantial culinary skill.
While they include caloric and food group information, both the recipes and the book lack nutritional content information about fat, vitamins, minerals, and essential amino acids–useful in avoiding nutrient deficiencies with the suggested diets. Further, the book is targeted at an American audience, referring to unfamiliar brands, products and units of measure, which Flipse repeatedly mixes to show calories generally increase with food quantity. Marchelle, however, sometimes misses even the obvious.
"After eating and drinking too much, I’d wake up feeling like a truck ran over my head. Then if I tried to go without eating for a day, I would splurge again later on. I finally realized that it wasn’t working," writes Marchelle, whose described social life largely consisted of ordering late-night pizza and uncontrolled consumption at fast food places.
Perhaps this book tries to create its own market by insulting the readers’ intelligence. Besides the obsession with how men undo diets, there’s guilt and self-depreciation, accented by the almost anorexic belly on the cover. The author also suggests lying to loved ones to control weight.
"If you… return home to cupboards full of your prepubescent fixations, like Twizzlers red licorice and Drake’s coffee cakes… you need to level with them [parents]. Tell them you are auditioning for a spot on the college debate team and a requirement is that you must fit into one of the existing blazers."
While it suggests ways to get the most healthy food out of a meal plan, the book also absurdly suggestions one can successfully build muscle, lose weight, finish puberty and remain mentally alert on 1,200 calories a day–about half of what both Health Canada and the U.S. Food and Drug Administration recommend. The emphasis on improving physical appearance over academic needs or health management is objectionable.
"I would arrange my schedule so all my classes were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then I had plenty of time the other three days for some physical activity," says Marchelle. They acknowledge exercise is important but ignore fat and calorie-burning, muscle-building activities like walking a few kilometers a day carrying heavy texts.
The not-so-subtle intimation that follows–please men by micromanaging food intake because both partners will have a better time–make little sense.
"When he compares your body/appearance to a celebrity’s or supermodel’s [retort] ‘If I looked like that, I certainly wouldn’t be here with you.’"
In short, buy something else for $14.95. This self-classified work of "juvenile nonfiction" only aids weight loss by forcing readers to repeatedly exercise their heads against the wall out of frustration.