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The moment Saxon Ratliff arrived at the White Lotus hotel in Thailand, he asked for a blender—he didn’t want to miss his protein shakes. It’s casting kismet—or perhaps no coincidence at all—that the workout- and protein-obsessed bro in the hit Max TV show was played by Patrick Schwarzenegger, none other than weightlifting god Arnold Schwarzenegger’s son. Saxon’s protein smoothies and Khloe Kardashian’s “Khloud dust” smothered protein-enhanced popcorn are clear signs that our culture has reached a fever-pitch obsession with the organic compound and nutritious food group. Walk into any American supermarket and you’ll find everything from breakfast cereals to corn chips, now with added protein!
As most things in mainstream culture go, there are fashion and style components to the craze. We should have known that we’d entered a new era when the hemlines on men’s shorts started to hike up to reveal more, way more, than knees and thighs. Today, we’re living in the age of “Protein Chic,” a just-as-terrifying, even if healthier at face-value, cousin of the ’90s style known widely as heroin chic.
It’s not that consuming protein is bad. It’s not. And it’s certainly and obviously better than romanticizing drug use. It’s that our one-track minded, wellness-obsessed culture doesn’t know where to draw the line with this latest health craze. Our enthusiasm for enhancing, reshaping, and modifying our bodies doesn’t stop.
Heroin chic was, in part, a swing of the pendulum from the über healthy look of the ’80s—think supermodels Cindy Crawford and Elle Macpherson, Jane Fonda’s workout tapes, and Schwarzenegger’s Terminator physique. Protein chic is related to our fascination with wellness, but it’s also a cultural side effect of the abundance of weight loss drugs in the market now—what does one do after getting thinner? “Tone” with more muscle definition. The Ozempic craze has all but changed the look of now. On the runway, female models are thinner than ever, and the same goes for women celebrities on the red carpet. Men, by and large, are overloading on protein, creatine, and other muscle-building supplements.
The weather is getting warmer, which means clothes are getting tighter, skimpier, and in some cases optional. Bodies will soon be on display once more, and, inevitably, fitness is top of mind. “I have protein goals to think about!” a friend of mine quipped as they reached for a cheeseburger at a Met Gala after-party on Monday night—though, quite frankly it was already Tuesday morning by then. “Yeah, think of your macros!” laughed another. They were almost definitely kidding, except that they weren’t—these are the kinds of jokes you only make when you live them, and they’re only funny for an audience that does too. (I did laugh, in case you were wondering. This call, dear reader, is coming from inside the house.)
A few weeks ago, when Simon Porte Jacquemus announced the opening of his label’s Los Angeles destination, he shared a video on Instagram that featured, among other caricatures of the city, the super buff model Jake Boffman lifting outside the store. During Paris Fashion Week in September, the designer Duran Lantink went viral for putting a male model wearing a pair of large silicone breats—basically a drag queen’s chest plate. He had also had Mica Argañaraz wearing a silicone rendition of a super jacked masc torso. Demna, in his swansong collection for Balenciaga, sent three super buff dudes down the runway in cut-off gym tanks—a critique or parody, the designer has always been one to hold a mirror up to society. And a year earlier, Hilary Taymour made puffy, muscular hoodies and sent them down her Collina Strada runway. The idea, she said, was “about being a strong woman or a strong feminine power,” navigating the chaos of the world. Our cult of the body has never been sharper in focus
TikTok can’t stop discussing the hemlines of men’s shorts. How short should they be? Five inches from the crotch down seems to be the general consensus, though some argue for three or even two. The better to show off your quads. Speaking of, Paul Mescal, the unequivocal short-shorts king, has made the male upper thigh a true erogenous zone. Since when are men so comfortable with wearing small shorts? Since they started obsessively squatting and deadlifting, of course. Plus becoming part of all those trendy running clubs.
It used to be that tiny shorts were seen as “for the gays,” but they no longer enhance anyone’s gaydar anymore. Short-shorts are part of the gym bro uniform. (That trends often start with the gays and go to die in the hetero world is an aside this writer can’t help but make here.)
Earlier this year, Men’s Health reported that powerlifting is “picking up.” For those blissfully unaware, powerlifting consists of “the big three” exercises, all done with a barbell: squats, deadlifts, and bench presses. Everyone I know who goes to the gym consistently partakes in at least one of these workouts. Men, in particular, can’t get away from the weight bench. In addition to thighs, it’s the chest that’s become a preoccupation. How to get the juiciest set of pecs that will pop out of your tank top? Protein, protein, protein—to maximize all the hard work you’ve put in to beat your bench press PR (personal record), that is.
Ah, tank tops! Two summers ago, I wrote about how “the complicated tank top” had become the It-going out top for gay men. Now everywhere I look, be it at the gym, the office (yes, this office), or the club, I see a set of bare arms. Tank tops are in, meaning biceps and shoulders and triceps are too. Every time I log on TikTok I see ads for tank tops that hide your belly and enhance your chest, or that distract from your chest, disguising your “gyno” (meaning Gynecomastia, the enlargement of breast tissue in men, often caused by hormonal imbalances or other underlying conditions), making you look fitter and better. They’re the menswear cousin of Spanx and Skims.
The clothes we wear, of course, tend to dictate what we obsess about in terms of our bodies. It’s an undeniable, uncomfortable truth about fashion, but designers are merely reacting to what we collectively seem to find attractive. Fashion proposes, but always in reaction to our collective standards and obsessions: Consider the “Marvel body”—those implausible superhero physiques that men like Tom Holland and the Chrises (Evans, Hemsworth, Pratt) show off on screen and on magazine covers. Or think of the fuss that was stirred up by Jeremy Allen White’s Calvin Klein billboards and Mescal in his Gladiator II skirt.
We openly glamorize these men, and consider them the very picture of health and wellness. But are they? They train for weeks or months and eat nothing but chicken breasts. What is the regular guy left with? Tiny shorts and tank tops to try to look good in, plus powerlifting, and a scoop or two of protein.
