The Rise Of Food Porn

Right, let’s get one thing straight. We used to take photos of our kids. Our holidays. Maybe the odd sunset if we were feeling artistic. But now? Now it’s all about The Burger.

Not just any burger, mind you. This is a Wagyu-infused, truffle-drizzled, gold-leaf-wrapped monstrosity balanced precariously on a brioche bun the size of a small country. And sitting underneath it is someone—usually in yoga pants—angling their phone just right to capture “the drip” of molten cheese like they’re David Attenborough documenting the birth of a galaxy.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is “food porn.”

And it’s everywhere.

Scroll through Instagram or TikTok and it’s a never-ending stream of oozing, sizzling, deep-fried nonsense. Pizzas with crusts thicker than a bus tyre. Milkshakes that could legally be classified as a threat to public health. Entire wheels of cheese being melted onto things that absolutely do not need entire wheels of cheese melted onto them.

And we love it.

Our thumbs hover. We drool. We double tap. We save it “for later” (which means never). And then what happens? You look at your sad little tuna sandwich and hate yourself. So you order something filthy on Deliveroo that takes 48 minutes to arrive and gives you indigestion before you’ve even opened the lid.

Here’s the thing: food porn isn’t just harmless fun. It’s turned eating from a basic human need into a high-stakes, slow-motion cinematic experience. But in real life, when you make that quadruple-layered Nutella-stuffed pancake tower with bacon and maple syrup? It doesn’t look like the video. It looks like roadkill. And it tastes like regret.

Nutrition? Forget it.

Food porn is about excess. It’s about shock value. It’s not about health. No one’s posting a kale salad unless it’s got enough goat’s cheese and candied walnuts to tip a horse. We’re being conditioned—like Pavlov’s dogs—to crave bigger, saltier, greasier food. All for the sake of a few likes.

And don't get me started on portion sizes. Back in the day, chips came in a small paper bag. Now they arrive in a steel bucket accompanied by a small flamethrower and a side of aioli you could bathe in.

So what’s the result of all this? Simple. We’re eating more. We're craving things we don’t need. And worst of all, we’re mistaking watching food for actually enjoying it. It’s like watching a marathon and thinking you’ve done exercise. Just because you’ve watched 14 videos of chocolate lava cakes exploding doesn’t mean your body knows what to do with a carrot anymore.

Food porn has tricked us. It’s made us hungry, fat, and strangely unsatisfied. Like going on a date with someone who talks about themselves for three hours and never buys a round.

So next time you see a burger the size of your head being slow-roasted in duck fat, ask yourself: do I want that? Or do I just want the dopamine hit of pressing “like”?

Because if your diet’s being run by Instagram, don’t be surprised when your trousers start making rude noises every time you sit down.