Hello my friends,

The new Dietary Guidelines for Americans dropped last month.

I deliberately waited before writing about them.

Partly because I wanted to gather my thoughts. Partly because I was debating whether to write about this topic at all. 

Science shouldn't be politicized, and I have no interest in turning this newsletter into political commentary.

But I know many of you may have seen social media posts about these guidelines—hot takes from influencers, alarming headlines, claims about "ending the war on fat."

I worry that's caused confusion. 

And if you're confused, you deserve clarity, not my silence.

So here's my honest breakdown: what I noticed, what's genuinely good, what's misleading, and why the fundamentals haven't changed.

When I opened the guidelines, the first thing I saw was a large steak. A whole chicken. Cheese. Butter.

This wasn't an accident.

English readers process information from left to right, top to bottom.

The visual hierarchy of that pyramid puts animal-based proteins front and center, right where your eyes land first. 

Plant proteins? You have to squint to find them—tiny images tucked in the middle, almost an afterthought.

The website itself is beautiful. Sleek, modern, Apple-level design. 

I genuinely wish academic publications could look this polished. But beautiful design serves marketing. 

And I have to admit—as someone learning digital marketing to grow this newsletter—I recognize the tactics. 

Usually when dietary guidelines are updated every five years, it makes news for a day or two. This one stayed in the headlines for weeks.

Their marketing team did their job well.

But marketing serves a purpose that isn't always the same as informing you accurately.

Then I looked closer at the recommendations.

For fruits and vegetables, they give you concrete guidance: 3 servings of vegetables per day, 2 servings of fruit. For whole grains: 2-4 servings.

Clear. Easy to picture.

For protein? They recommend 1.2 to 1.6 grams per kilogram of body weight.

Why the switch to grams per kilogram? Why not servings, like everything else?

Because "protein" in this context is often a euphemism for meat. And framing it in grams makes it sound scientific while obscuring what it actually looks like on your plate.

When you compare the serving sizes listed on the website to the images in the pyramid, they don't match.

The visuals communicate one message. The fine print says something else.

That was my first red flag.

I want to be fair. These guidelines get some things right.

The emphasis on whole foods over ultra-processed foods is sound. Reducing added sugars and refined carbohydrates is good advice. The general direction of "eat real food" aligns with what science has supported for decades.

If someone was eating mostly fast food and packaged snacks, and these guidelines nudged them toward cooking with actual ingredients, that's a win.

I'll give credit where it's due.

But the good parts make the misleading parts more dangerous—because they give the whole document a veneer of credibility.

This is where it falls apart.

In press conferences, RFK Jr. and FDA Commissioner Dr. Marty Makary announced they were "ending the war on saturated fat." The rhetoric was bold: decades of flawed science, finally overturned.

But here's what the actual document says: keep saturated fat under 10% of your daily calories.

That's the same cap we've had for years.

The messaging says one thing. The document says another.

If you only watched the press conference—which most people did—you'd walk away thinking butter and beef tallow are back on the menu without limits.

But the fine print hasn't changed.

As Dr. Gil Carvalho, a nutrition scientist, pointed out: if you believe the 10% cap isn't based on good science, why are you recommending it to 330 million people?

And if the science does support that cap, why are you telling people otherwise in a press conference?

The image prominently features large cuts of red meat, full-fat dairy, and whole chickens. The text, meanwhile, lists plant proteins as equivalent options—beans, lentils, nuts, seeds.

But most people don't read the text. They glance at the picture. And the picture tells a very specific story.

When Dr. Carvalho ran the recommended serving sizes through a typical day of eating—choosing lean cuts, skinless chicken, using olive oil for half the added fats—he still exceeded the 10% saturated fat cap.

The recommendations and the visual simply don't align.

The higher protein recommendation (1.2-1.6g/kg) comes primarily from studies on people who were actively losing weight or exercising intensively.

That's a specific context—not general guidance for the whole population.

Meanwhile, most Americans already meet or exceed their protein needs.

The actual deficiency? Fiber. Ninety-seven percent of Americans don't get enough of it.

Fiber comes from plants—the very foods minimized in that pyramid image.

The guidelines tell you to avoid "highly processed" foods.

Sounds reasonable. But they don't define what that means.

Without a definition, how do schools plan lunches? How do hospitals design patient menus? How does the FDA develop labeling standards?

A recommendation without a definition is a recommendation without teeth.

Previous guidelines gave specific limits on alcohol consumption.

This edition? "Drink less."

That's it. No quantities. No thresholds.

This is despite the U.S. Surgeon General's clear statement that there is no amount of alcohol that is completely safe.

The science got stronger. The guidelines got vaguer.

The administration came in criticizing "corporate capture" of federal health agencies.

Yet the committee that produced these guidelines includes members with documented financial ties to the beef and dairy industries.

I'm not here to make political accusations.

But when scientists from Norway, Canada, Japan, and Switzerland—countries with far better health outcomes than ours—look at these guidelines with confusion, it's worth asking why.

Their guidelines minimize red meat. Some countries have removed it from recommendations entirely. Their scientists don't have the same industry funding conflicts.

Here's what struck me as a clinician: I rely on official documents to guide my patients and clients.

I reference them. I trust them—or I used to.

These guidelines replaced the usual 100+ page policy-ready report with a 10-page consumer-facing document.

It's beautiful. It's simple. And it's too vague to implement.

How does a school district translate "avoid highly processed foods" into a cafeteria menu when there's no official definition of what counts as highly processed?

How does a hospital nutrition program apply "drink less alcohol" when there's no threshold to measure against?

I'm genuinely curious to see how RFK Jr. and his team will support institutions—schools, hospitals, federal programs—in implementing these recommendations.

Because right now, the gap between the rhetoric and the practical application is wide.

When guidance is this vague, confusion becomes the product—not the bug.

Here's what I want you to take away from all of this:

The evidence hasn't shifted.

The fundamentals that have been validated across decades of research—across continents, across populations—remain exactly the same.

Countries with the best health outcomes still recommend the same things: more vegetables, fruits, whole grains, legumes, nuts, and seeds. Less red meat, less processed food, less added sugar.

Norway. Canada. Japan. Switzerland. Their guidelines are boring. They're stable. They're created by scientists without beef industry funding.

And their populations are healthier than the US.

Last month, the U.S. News & World Report published their annual analysis of the best diets for various health conditions, as evaluated by a panel of nutrition and health experts.

In contrast to these new guidelines, every recommended diet emphasizes nutrient-dense, fiber-rich, plant-focused foods.

The six pillars of lifestyle medicine—nutrition, movement, sleep, stress management, connection, avoiding harmful substances—remain the foundation.

Nothing in these new guidelines changes that.

My personal approach hasn't changed.

Yours doesn't need to either.

If these guidelines taught me anything, it's that we all need better skills for evaluating health information—even when it comes from official sources.

Here's what I'd suggest:

You don't need government approval to eat well.

The fundamentals aren't sexy. They don't make headlines. They don't generate viral social media debates. But they work.

The science hasn't shifted. The politics have.

Let the headlines generate noise. Let the influencers argue about seed oils and saturated fat. You don't have to engage with every controversy.

Stay anchored in what the evidence actually supports. Consistent in principle, flexible in method.

That's always been the approach—and nothing about these guidelines changes it.

The fundamentals still win.

With clarity,

Grazelle 🌱

P.S. Here's what happened with my exercise routine in January with the baby. I planned to do strength training 3x/week. Reality looked a little different (see my tracker below 😅). But I've progressed from bodyweight exercises to adding weights, and I almost forgot how good lifting makes me feel. Always something rather than nothing. I'll keep on trying.

Whenever you’re ready, here are some other (free) resources you can check out: