By Priya Fielding-Singh
The verdict is in: Food deserts donít drive nutritional disparities in the United States the way we thought. Over the past decade, study after study has shown that differences in access to healthful food canít fully explain why wealthy Americans consume a more healthful diet than poor Americans.
If food deserts arenít to blame, then what is?
Iíve spent the better part of a decade working to answer this question. I interviewed 73 California families ó more than 150 parents and kids ó and spent more than 100 hours observing their daily dietary habits, tagging along to grocery stores and drive-through windows. My research suggests that familiesí socioeconomic status affected not just their access to healthful food, but something even more fundamental: the meaning of food.
Most of the parents I interviewed ó poor and affluent ó wanted their kids to eat nutritious food and believed in the importance of a healthful diet.
But parents were also constantly bombarded with requests for junk food from their kids. Across households, children asked for foods high in sugar, salt and fat. They wanted Cheetos and Dr Pepper, not broccoli and sweet potatoes. One mom echoed countless others when she told me that her kids "always want junk."
While both wealthy and poor kids asked for junk food, the parents responded differently to these pleas.
An overwhelming majority of the wealthy parents told me that they routinely said "no" to requests for junk food. In 96 percent of high-income families, at least one parent reported that they regularly decline such requests.
Parents from poor families, however, almost always said "yes" to junk food. Only 13 percent of low-income families had a parent that reported regularly declining their kidsí requests.
One reason for this disparity is that kidsí food requests meant drastically different things to the parents.
For parents raising their kids in poverty, having to say "no" was a part of daily life. Their financial circumstances forced them to deny their childrenís requests ó for a new pair of Nikes, say, or a trip to Disney World ó all the time. This wasnít tough for the kids alone; it also left the poor parents feeling guilty and inadequate.
Next to all the things poor parents truly couldnít afford, junk food was something they could often say "yes" to. Poor parents told me they could almost always scrounge up a dollar to buy their kids a can of soda or a bag of chips. So when poor parents could afford to oblige such requests, they did.
Honoring requests for junk food allowed poor parents to show their children that they loved them, heard them and could meet their needs. As one low-income single mother told me: "They want it, theyíll get it. One day theyíll know. Theyíll know I love them, and thatís all that matters."
Junk food purchases not only brought smiles to kidsí faces, but also gave parents something equally vital: a sense of worth and competence as parents in an environment where those feelings were constantly jeopardized.
To wealthy parents, kidsí food requests meant something entirely different. Raising their kids in affluent environment, wealthy parents were regularly able to meet most of their childrenís material needs and wants. Wealthy parents could almost always say "yes," whether it was to the latest iPhone or a college education.
With an abundance of opportunities to honor their kidsí desires, high-income parents could more readily stomach saying "no" to requests for junk food. Doing so wasnít always easy, but it also wasnít nearly as distressing for wealthy parents as for poor ones.
Denying kids Skittles and Oreos wasnít just emotionally easier for wealthy parents. These parents also saw withholding junk food as an act of responsible parenting. Wealthy parents told me that saying "no" to kidsí pleas for candy was a way to teach kids how to say "no" themselves. Wealthy parents denied junk food to instill healthful dietary habits, such as portion control, as well as more general values, such as willpower.
Both wealthy and poor parents used food to care for their children. But the different meanings they attached to food shaped how they pursued this goal.
Poor parents honored their kidsí junk food requests to nourish them emotionally, not to harm their health. Similarly, wealthy parents who denied their kids processed foods did so to teach them healthful lifelong habits, not to deprive them.
Nutritional inequality in the United States has more to do with peopleís socioeconomic status than their geographic location. Living in poverty or affluence affects more than our access to healthful food: It shapes the very meanings we attach to food.
Tackling nutritional inequality will require more than putting supermarkets in low-income neighborhoods. These interventions wonít change what food means to the poor families I met.
But lifting them out of poverty could. If low-income parents had the resources to consistently meet their kidsí desires, maybe a bag of Doritos would be just a bag of Doritos, rather than a uniquely potent symbol of parental love and care.
Priya Fielding-Singh is a doctoral candidate in sociology at Stanford University.
© 2018 Los Angeles Times