
2025 Weight Stigma Awareness Week (“WSAW”) is upon us. Much of what it stands for was clarified in 2023. That year, WSAW produced a white paper entitled, Impact Council White Paper (“ICWP”).
The ICWP states it, “… hosted an Impact Council roundtable with advocates, educators, clinicians, and leaders in healthcare, non-profit organizations, and media to discuss the greatest roadblocks to accessibility and inclusivity, as well as goals for the future.”
The ICWP has two major premises:
Premise 1 — “The medical community has done significant damage by promoting the idea that ‘obesity’ is a greater risk to individual and public health than weight stigma and anti-fatness are.”
Premise 2 — “Lived experience should be treated as credible data and prioritized (as much as or more than textbooks and quantitative research) for clinical recommendations and treatment plans.”
These are foundational, core premises at the heart of the weight stigma awareness movement. If these premises can be objectively proven to be accurate, then the corresponding recommendations and information arguably have more substance and merit and need to be thoroughly explored by a collaboration of organizations and professionals.
However, if the foundation, the core premises collapses, so does everything built upon them. The corresponding recommendations would be grounded in science fiction, not science, and if ever adopted, would inevitably result in doing greater harm to patients.
So, let’s explore more closely these two premises.
Premise One
“The medical community has done significant damage by promoting the idea that ‘obesity’ is a greater risk to individual and public health than weight stigma and anti-fatness are.”
There is no dispute that weight stigma is itself harmful to health. Stigma increases stress, social isolation, depression and anxiety, and can worsen cardiometabolic outcomes through behavioral (avoidance of care, disordered eating) and physiological (stress-axis) pathways. When clinicians stigmatize patients, it reduces trust and adherence and discourages preventive care (fewer screenings, delayed care).
Certainly, focus on BMI alone oversimplifies risk. BMI is an imperfect proxy for health; it doesn’t capture fitness, fat distribution, socioeconomic drivers, or comorbidities. Over-reliance on BMI can miss metabolically healthy people who need care and wrongly pathologize others.
Social determinants and structural drivers matter. Emphasizing individual “weight control” can obscure food access, economic inequality, built environment, racism, trauma, and other upstream determinants that shape both weight and health.
Even with this reality, the obvious flaws in the first premise are legion.
First, the medical and scientific communities without exception embrace the reality that there are measurable health risks associated with higher adiposity for many people. Epidemiologic studies link higher BMI (particularly when accompanied by central adiposity) to type 2 diabetes, osteoarthritis, some cancers, and cardiovascular disease. Discounting these risks wholesale would be irresponsible.
Further, there is a false dichotomy risk at issue. Framing this issue as “either stigma is the main harm or obesity is” sets up a false binary. In reality, both can be true: stigma causes harm and excess adiposity can increase risk for some outcomes. Policies must address both.
There is the aspect of public-health communication challenges. Minimizing messages about risk could reduce motivation for preventive behaviors in those who would benefit. Public health must balance non-stigmatizing language with clear information about risk and actionable steps.
There are other factors involved. There is heterogeneity of evidence and population differences. The magnitude of adiposity-related risk varies by age, sex, race/ethnicity, and metabolic profile. Broad absolute statements risk ignoring subgroups with high absolute risk.
One of the biggest flaws and drawbacks from the ICWP, is that the people behind the ICWP represent that the medical community has caused more damage by emphasizing that obesity is a greater risk to health than weight stigma and anti-fatness. They have phrased this issue using an absolute criterion while needlessly pointing fingers to assess blame. They have placed their own beliefs and interpretation of their own life experience at the forefront of this issue. They erred.
There are different study designs and evidence strength. The obesity→mortality evidence includes very large pooled prospective cohorts and individual-level meta-analyses (GBMC/Di Angelantonio et al.) with millions of participants and long follow-up that estimate dose–response relationships and cause-specific mortality. That level of evidence supports an accepted causal inference for some outcomes.
Contrarily, much of the stigma literature is smaller, newer, and more heterogeneous: cross-sectional studies, smaller cohorts, and observational work using self-reported stigma measures. Even the stronger longitudinal analyses are far smaller in scale than the pooled obesity cohorts. This difference in scale and design limits how directly you can compare effect magnitudes.
Second, there are measurement differences and misalignment of outcomes. Studies of obesity typically measure objective exposures (BMI, waist circumference, body composition) and hard outcomes (incident diabetes, MI, cancer, all-cause mortality).
Studies of stigma usually rely on self-reported experiences (e.g., “have you experienced weight discrimination?”) or internalization scales — valuable but inherently subjective and vulnerable to recall bias and reporting differences. Outcomes often include psychological measures, behavior change, intermediate biomarkers, or, in a few cases, mortality. These are not directly isomorphic to the obesity literature’s end points.
Third, there are confounding and directionality / causality problems. People who experience weight discrimination are, unsurprisingly, often higher weight; disentangling whether worse outcomes are caused by stigma per se or by the underlying higher adiposity (or by shared upstream causes) is difficult. The study conducted by Sutin et al. adjusted for BMI and some covariates and still saw an association, but residual confounding (socioeconomic factors, comorbid illness, lifetime exposures) and reverse causation (illness leading to both weight change and discrimination) remain plausible. Further, establishing causality (stigma → disease → mortality) requires randomized or natural-experiment evidence or sufficiently rich longitudinal mediation analyses; those are scarce.
Fourth, population attributable burden has not been estimated comparably. To claim, “stigma causes more harm than obesity,” we need comparable population-level metrics (e.g., population attributable fraction of mortality or years of life lost due to stigma vs due to elevated BMI). Those metrics exist for BMI (GBMC estimated mortality burden across BMI categories), but do not exist in a comparable, robust form for weight stigma.
The study by Sutin et al. reports an HR for mortality but translating that into population attributable mortality would require representative exposure prevalence estimates, reliable adjustment for confounders, and replication across populations.
What the best current evidence shows: Weight stigma is independently associated with worse mental health, adverse behaviors (disordered eating, activity avoidance), physiological stress markers, and — in at least two cohorts — higher mortality after adjustment for BMI and some covariates.
What the evidence does not show: There is no robust, widely accepted, population-level set of criteria demonstrating that weight stigma causes more total harm to population health (e.g., more deaths, more DALYs) than obesity itself. The obesity→mortality/evidence base is far larger, multi-cohort, and quantifies dose–response relationships; stigma literature is convincing in signaling independent harm but is currently smaller, less consistent, and lacks comparable population attributable estimates.
Clearly, the goal should be to move clinicians toward respectful, trauma-informed care; strengthen social-policy responses (food access, housing, anti-discrimination); and develop interventions that improve health without weight stigma.
So, should we be asking with this shared goal, why would the people behind the ICWP frame this issue as an absolute? Especially when they have no reputable, scientific, medical or socio-economic studies to support their position that an emphasis on obesity has caused more harm than anti-fat bias?
Without any reputable, third-party studies, they framed this issue as an absolute to fit their narrative. The tragic, unfortunate reality is the solution was right in front of them. All they had to do was rephrase this issue in a strong, evidence-based, factual manner … such as …
“Weight stigma and anti-fatness are inextricably intertwined with obesity and should be collectively classified as a public health issue. This would require the medical and scientific research communities to increase their research, study, understanding and treatment of these serious health issues on an equal basis.”
What is there to disagree with in that phraseology? This would have removed the finger pointing blame game perpetrated by the ICWP and would have provided a collaborative way forward together. But that was not to be. And the reasons for that lack of vision are set forth in our analysis of Premise No. 2.
Premise No. 2
“Lived experience should be treated as credible data and prioritized (as much as or more than textbooks and quantitative research) for clinical recommendations and treatment plans.”
The second central premise—that lived experience should be prioritized above textbooks and quantitative data—turns medical practice into witch doctory and personal storytelling. This is not a serious framework for healthcare; it is activism dressed up as evidence.
The problems with this premise are legion.
There are obvious methodological problems. Anecdotes do not constitute medical evidence. Individual stories can be powerful but lack controls, generalizability, and statistical rigor. Treatment guidelines based on lived experience risk being skewed by outliers or vocal subgroups.
There are also bias and recall issues. Patients may unintentionally misreport causes, timelines, or treatment responses due to memory bias, emotional interpretation, or secondary gain.
We are also required to consider over-representation of advocates and activists. Those most active in advocacy or online discourse are often not representative of the broader patient population, creating sampling bias.
Then there is the risk of undermining evidence-based care. There is “treatment drift.” Prioritizing anecdotes could encourage clinicians to substitute “what worked for one person” for protocols validated across thousands in trials.
The medical community must also consider neglect of biological mechanisms. Obesity and eating disorders involve complex neurobiological, metabolic, and genetic components. Patient narratives may not reflect these dimensions.
There is also false equivalence. Equating lived experience with systematic research elevates subjective impressions over reproducible science, undermining evidence hierarchies critical for patient safety.
For obesity, some narratives reject all weight management as “harmful,” ignoring evidence that structured interventions improve metabolic outcomes. This can fuel distrust of effective therapies.
The medical and scientific research communities would inevitably experience ethical and legal challenges and concerns.
There is standard of care liability. If guidelines deviate from established evidence to favor lived experience, clinicians risk malpractice exposure when outcomes are poor.
There are also equity gaps. Vocal groups whose experiences get prioritized, may dominate marginalized, silent or less empowered populations.
Potential conflicts of interest exist. Patient advocates with financial or ideological agendas could influence treatment norms, displacing objective science.
The systemic consequences of this misguided belief are obvious and notorious. This belief would lead to an erosion of research investment at a time when research grants have been eradicated. If lived experience is placed on equal or higher footing, incentives to conduct rigorous trials would diminish, weakening long-term scientific progress.
It would also result in fragmentation of care standards. Different doctors, clinics and treatment centers might prioritize different anecdotal narratives, leading to inconsistent, non-comparable practices.
Most alarmingly, obesity and eating disorders already carry high morbidity and mortality; steering care away from empirically validated interventions risks worsening public health outcomes.
Again, we should be asking why would the people behind the ICWP frame this issue as an absolute? Especially when they have no scientific, medical or socio-economic studies to support their position?
The ICWP had the ability to reconcile both premises into a practical clinical and policy approach. They chose not to. Perhaps one of the co-founders of Weight Stigma Awareness Week gave us the reason for this ill-fated, Quixotic position when she said, “It bothered me that all the air was taken by a white perspective … This is no space for white, straight and thin folks to jump in … Those of us who have done the work around our internalized biases no longer trust the medical establishment to actually help us.” … Public health in this country is getting it so wrong and there is a better way, but we need to be willing to actually listen to those being harmed.”
These people are not embracing science. They are embracing science fiction.
Perhaps the answer to all legitimate questions asked above is simply … to maintain their voice, to assuage their feelings of pain, self-loathing and anger, the maladjusted, militant fat activists must embrace their own reality because society will not.
The ICWP fails
The ICWP fails at the starting line. Its first major claim—that medicine has caused more damage by warning about obesity than by neglecting weight stigma—is not just wrong, it is reckless. It is divisive. It dismisses decades of clinical evidence linking obesity to disease and early death, replacing science with ideology.
Its second central premise—that lived experience should be prioritized above textbooks and quantitative data—turns medical practice into guesswork and personal storytelling. This is not a serious framework for healthcare; it is radical advocacy dressed up as evidence.
Beyond the flawed premises, the rhetoric in the ICWP itself gives the game away. The authors rely on moralizing language and sweeping accusations, framing the medical community as a monolithic villain rather than engaging with the nuance of scientific debate. Raw emotion is substituted for data, using anecdotes and identity politics to demand deference in place of proof. This kind of rhetorical sleight of hand may stir outrage, but it does not withstand scrutiny.
When the core assumptions collapse, so does everything built upon them. The ICWP is not grounded in science but in science fiction. Far from being an authoritative white paper, it is merely a manifesto masquerading as scholarship, and it deserves to be treated as such.
Tragically … it did not have to be like that. But, when so-called leaders place the manifestations of their own mania before reputable, medical and mental health based criteria, their message is lost. The Power of the Message is lost.
And all that is left is chaos, shattered dreams, and the final, weak beats of a Tell-Tale Heart.