Content warning: This article discusses topics like weight loss, disordered eating, and harmful fitness practices. Reader discretion is advised.
This is the script for the ‘infinite scroll podcast’ episode: “BBG to BBLs to Pilates Princesses: The Toxic Evolution of Fitness Influencer Culture.
From as early as our tween and teenage years, many of us— particularly girls— are exposed to harmful conversations and discourse around our bodies. Whether it’s through social media, film, or TV, this negative messaging can feel inescapable, with the pressure to “lose weight” often shaping how we see ourselves and our self-worth. There has been a lot of discussion about how mainstream media and entertainment influence young women specifically. However, the role of fitness content creators in shaping body image and self-perception has often been overlooked— despite their massive reach on social media.
Whether you exist on the “fitness side” of the internet or not, you have likely come across these creators scrolling through your TikTok FYP or Instagram feed. Sometimes they post content sharing their workout routine, the food they eat in a day or even go through some of their favourite tips to live a healthier lifestyle. While the type of content these influencers produce has evolved over the years, one thing remains constant: even when their intentions are positive, their messaging often leaves social media users feeling pressured to change themselves— for better or worse.
This, of course, was particularly evident among the generation of OG fitness influencers.
If you think back to the late 2000s and early 2010s, influencer culture was just beginning to take shape— and with it came the rise of the fitness girlies.
Much of this early content mirrored the structure of early beauty YouTube, with creators sharing tutorials and informative videos on fitness, health, and wellness. At the time, the barrier to entry into the world of fitness was relatively high, as a lot of us would’ve needed to consult professionals, like personal trainers, to gain a solid understanding of how to exercise. So, when this niche gained traction online, it undoubtedly had its benefits— giving users accessible ways to explore exercise and approach their fitness routines with more confidence.
However, the culture that developed around the early online fitness era was not ideal. And that is not entirely surprising, especially when you consider the entertainment that was popular at the time. Through this era, shows like The Biggest Loser and America’s Next Top Model dominated pop culture. While they did cater to different audiences and had a unique purpose, both of them glamourised an extreme version of health and fitness while using mockery and other humiliation tactics to produce gripping storylines.
For those unfamiliar with The Biggest Loser, it was a reality competition show that debuted in the United States on NBC in 2004. It ended up having other franchises, including one here in Australia.
The premise of the show remained relatively consistent across franchises: contestants competed for a cash prize by losing the highest percentage of weight relative to their starting weight. While there is nothing inherently wrong with wanting to improve one’s health, the show’s focus was less on wellbeing and more about spectacle (as it so often does with reality TV). What may have started as an attempt to encourage healthier lifestyles soon became a competition that prioritised dramatic transformation over sustainable and healthy change.
Many viewers, journalists and health professionals have criticised the show over the years, where it ended up having a 4 year hiatus before moving to USA Network in 2020. As Sophie Gilbert wrote for The Atlantic that same year: “The series, like so many elements of America’s $72-billion-a-year weight-loss industry, positioned itself as a force for change, an empowering cultural product in a country where obesity rates are rising… The longer The Biggest Loser went on, though, the harder it was to maintain this position.”
Gilbert goes on to highlight a range of concerns and allegations against the show, including claims that contestants engaged in disordered eating habits to lose weight and were even given diet pills to accelerate their progress.
She points to a 2016 study conducted by the National Institutes of Health “which revealed not only that the majority of former contestants had regained the weight they’d lost, but that their extreme dieting had also permanently damaged their metabolism. ”
Despite these controversies, The Biggest Loser maintained significant popularity during its run. Pulling from the Hollywood Reporter and Deadline, Season 1 averaged 10.3 million viewers per episode, ranking 37th for the 2004–05 television season. The show’s highest viewership was during Season 8, with an average of 10.41 million viewers, ranking 30th in the 2009–10 season.
By recognising how such programming promotes unhealthy behaviours and body image issues, our understanding of this space has definitely evolved. But The Biggest Loser primed us for transformation-focused weight loss content— something that would come to define early fitness culture online. Ultimately, it was the extreme measures showcased on the show that captivated audiences, mirroring a broader trend in TV at the time that favoured sensationalism and spectacle when it came to our bodies.
On the other end of the spectrum from The Biggest Loser was programming like America’s Next Top Model and The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.
Over the years, America’s Next Top Model has faced widespread criticism for its toxic environment and harmful messaging. The show, which debuted in 2003 and was hosted by supermodel Tyra Banks, perpetuated unrealistic beauty ideals— much of which revolved around extreme thinness. Contestants were frequently subjected to body shaming and scrutiny over their appearances. In 2022, for example, a clip from the show started recirculating online. The subject of the clip was one of the contestants from the first season of the show, Robbyne Manning. In it, the judges labelled Robbyne as “fat” and “huge.” She was a UK size 10.
Journalist Alex Abad-Santos in a piece for Vox from 2020 listed other harmful examples, writing: “[one contestant named] was talked to about her diet during filming and encouraged to eat better to offset her weight gain. In photo shoots, she was forced to dress as the deadly sin of gluttony and an elephant, while the show played sound effects and zoomed in on her stomach. She was scolded for the amount of retouching considered necessary on her photos. In cycle 7, another contestant had a storyline devoted to her weight and had to portray a “giant lady” circus freak and Oprah in photo shoots.”
While much of the criticism for this culture has been directed at Tyra Banks herself, others have pointed to the broader beauty standards of the time, which normalised unrealistic and often harmful expectations for women’s bodies.
The 2000s were renowned for the “heroin chic” aesthetic. Put simply, the beauty standard of the time catered to a very specific person— a thin, white woman. A flat, “washboard” stomach, thigh gap, and straight blonde hair were all integral to this era— which ultimately treated a very specific body type as an accessory in and of itself.
And because the body was treated as the ultimate accessory, it became socially acceptable to go to any and all lengths to achieve it. Take a moment to consider the intrigue with the Victoria Secret Fashion Show. The show has been around since the late 90s and quickly became one of the biggest fashion events of the year.
“First streamed online in 1999, then televised in 2001, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show became a sex-charged spectacle of lingerie watched by millions in 200 countries at its peak,” Tara John recalls for CNN.
Of course, many people tuned in to see these beautiful women walk the runway, alongside iconic performers ranging from Destiny’s Child to the Spice Girls to Justin Bieber. But while many women enjoyed the Victoria’s Secret brand, that wasn’t necessarily the primary reason to tune in. Viewers didn’t just watch for the glamour and the performances— for many, the models represented an ideal body type to aspire to. Even though the show pandered to patriarchal beauty standards, women looked to the models as inspiration for how they believed their own bodies should look.
However, the Victoria’s Secret Angels had their own regimented routines for how they could get their bodies to that state for the show— and many of them were glorified for it. Reports have surfaced of models hitting the gym multiple times a day, following restrictive diets, and ultimately adopting some extreme methods to maintain their physique. The emphasis was always on achieving that “Angel” body, which many viewers felt pressured to mirror. It also took years for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show to begin incorporating a more diverse model base— something the brand continues to struggle with today.
As far as what actually happened behind the scenes, in 2018 Jenny Stevens for The Guardian wrote: “Adriana Lima, the brand’s longest-serving model, told the Telegraph in 2011 that she cuts out all solid food nine days before an appearance. Many models do not drink fluids, either… In 2016, another former Angel, Erin Heatherton, said she had been pressured to lose weight by the company. Despite exercising twice a day, and following a strict meal plan, she was unable to meet the targets set for her.”
While many viewers may have been aware of the tactics that models used to achieve their physiques, the fascination often lay in the extremes they went to, similar to The Biggest Loser. And even though we can acknowledge that this level of discipline was part of their job (whether it should be, is a different conversation entirely), it was easy— especially for young women— to internalise the message that this was what had to be done to be beautiful.
And arguably, this was co-opted by OG fitness creators.
First-wave of fitness influencers & their impact
Now, whether fitness influencers were simply a product of this culture or actively made it worse is up for debate. On one hand, they came about in an era already obsessed with transformation, discipline, and a “skinny” aesthetic. On the other, their content repackaged these body ideals in new ways— making fitness routines feel more personal, attainable, and even necessary.
As we’ve seen time and time again, influencers are largely perceived as “regular” people during their rise to fame. This was especially true in the early days of influencer culture before the creator economy was entirely professionalised. In the context of OG fitness creators, they helped democratise exercise by offering relatability and access that shows like The Biggest Loser and celebrities like the Victoria’s Secret Angels never could. As a result, many of their followers perceived their routines and tips as universally attainable, overlooking that these creators were often health and fitness professionals. In other words, they had the experience, training, and capacity to commit to intense regimens— something that the average person consuming their content simply couldn’t replicate. This, in turn, contributed to a toxic environment where unrealistic body standards and unsustainable fitness routines became the norm.
It became all about self-optimisation. Previously, strict diet and fitness regimes were largely reserved for the elite— like athletes, models, and celebrities— but through these OG fitness influencers, they were marketed to everyday people. And to be clear, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Wanting to be healthy and finding sustainable ways to do so is important. But the challenge comes from the sheer amount of noise and conflicting advice that is put forward, especially when these creators were operating within an already deeply toxic culture.
The advice and behaviour of these influencers are extremely consequential, especially for social media users who were introduced to the digital fitness space from a young age. According to an article in the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, “Fitness or nutrition is the most frequently searched topic online by teenagers… 42% of teenagers aged 11-18 in a nationally representative sample in the USA searched for information on fitness and exercise and 36% on diet and nutrition”.
That said, being influenced from such a young age has the potential to develop toxic behaviours and self-perception that may take years to overcome.
We only need to look to Kayla Itsines, who was already mentioned in the intro, as an example.
Kayla is arguably the most famous fitness creator from this era. She first started her career on Instagram as a personal trainer. She grew a following through sharing before and after pictures of her clients— feeding into our obsession with all things transformational.
“I built up my client base and started my own business, running small group training sessions out of my parents’ backyard in Adelaide. I was using Instagram to store my clients’ progress photos, and over time, people started discovering my page, and I had an influx of women from interstate reaching out asking if I could train them,” Kayla explains in a piece for Harper’s Bazaar.
But what started as a simple Instagram page soon turned into something much bigger. Kayla has since expanded her career into a number of different categories. Perhaps one of her most significant business ventures is Sweat– a popular workout and wellness app that Kayla co-founded back in 2015.
“Originally Sweat with Kayla, the app launched in 2015 as a digital home for co-founder and head trainer Kayla Itsines’ popular 28-minute workout program. Today, Sweat is home to over 50 unique programs and more than 13,000 workouts designed by women, for women,” the about page of the Sweat website reads.
But Sweat with Kayla wasn’t her first foray into programs and guides. In 2014, she launched a series of fitness PDFs called Bikini Body Guide— commonly known as BBG— which quickly gained massive popularity. The program was split into multiple guides: one focused on fitness and the other on nutrition. While Kayla led the charge on the workout routines— alongside her then-boyfriend, Tobi Pearce— she reportedly sought guidance from Julie Dundon and Anne Schneyder, directors of Nutrition Professionals Australia, for the nutrition component.
Soon, the internet was flooded with reviews of BBG, and social media users began exchanging copies of the guides with their friends. By October 2014, the guides had been downloaded more than 1 million times, with people following Kayla’s tips and guidance all over the world. As Kayla told news.com.au at the time: “Girls are loving the fact that it’s easy, they can download it by an e-book, it’s high intensity, it challenges you, it’s something new. It’s not a quick fix, it’s real hard work and it’s a lifestyle change.”
Although the program made structured nutrition and exercise accessible, it soon became evident that some of the advice wasn’t necessarily the best. The sample meal plans for weight loss initially recommended as little as 1200 calories per day before later increasing to 1600–1800. Given that these programs were designed for women aged 16–25, this fell below the generally recommended daily intake of 1800-2400 calories— though, of course, individual needs vary.
While many women swear by the program, others have reflected on its impact with a more critical lens, expressing concerns about the messaging it promoted and the way it may have encouraged disordered eating. In a piece for The Advertiser, a publication based in Adelaide (where Kayla is from), numerous women shared their experiences of how the guides affected them.
As one woman told the journalists: “I would absolutely say that Kayla’s guide was the beginning of my negative relationship with my body… I think a lot of women have a very similar story of going through cycles of restriction and dieting – using the guide, then feeling like they’d burn out from doing that unachievable load.”
This backlash has only intensified since Kayla found herself at the centre of controversy in February. As one creator named Laura Coen Fit put it in a TikTok video: “I just think as a woman who contributed so much to body image in the fitness industry and how women should look a certain way — and doing it in a way that was so unhealthy and triggered so many people’s eating disorders — this statement was never going to go well for you.”
Of course, Kayla wasn’t the only OG influencer who helped shape fitness culture online. Other popular creators included the likes of Ashy Bines, Jen Selter and Sarah’s Day.
Sarah’s Day— whose full name is Sarah Stevenson— was another popular Australia-based fitness creator. She first gained attention by sharing her struggles with hormonal acne online, seeking advice while also offering tips to others. Over time, she expanded her content into broader lifestyle topics, with a strong focus on fitness and wellness. As of March 2025, she has over 1.5 million subscribers on YouTube and 1.2 million followers on Instagram. Like many other creators within this niche, she has also developed various workout programs and recipe books that are available for purchase.
In an episode of the Working Hard, Hardly Working podcast with Grace Beverley, Sarah opened up about the realities of being a fitness influencer and the toxicity of the 2010s. She discussed the pressure of content creation during that era, explaining how she felt compelled to conform to the “fitspo” aesthetic— so much so that, at one point, she was eating “protein powder on toast” and even lost her period seemingly as a result of her dietary habits.
“I looked like a shredded 12-year-old. I was going through a breakup. My job was to work out. I was at the gym for three hours a day, and I only ate protein bread, protein powder, fish, and pumpkin. That’s it,” she said. “I was so encapsulated in that life… I genuinely thought—I was being so healthy and so hashtag wellness.”
On top of this, she reflected on why she had internalised these habits— pointing to her age. At around 22 years old, she noted how young she was and acknowledged that she was still learning even as she was offering advice to her followers. While creators like Sarah should take responsibility for promoting unhealthy habits, she reminded listeners that she was navigating this space in real time, making mistakes along the way.
“In the moment, you’re doing your best. You’re trying to give, I guess, some helpful advice. And that was the core of my channel—always trying to be vulnerable, to give helpful advice. But I look back, and I’m like… yeah. Yeah, maybe,” she continues.
No matter how you feel about the OG fitness influencers, these points hold merit. Like every other niche on YouTube, it’s clear that these early influencers were feeling out the space. Whether or not this should excuse them from promoting problematic messaging is not the main point. Rather, it’s just something we should consider.
In a similar vein, it’s important to note that many of the OG fitness creators were operating in a male-dominated space.
That being said, we need to acknowledge that we’ve primarily focused on female content creators— not out of any misogynistic intent, nor to perpetuate stereotypes about women not knowing how to exercise or go to the gym. Many Gym Bro influencers have also promoted similarly harmful content, but that’s a whole other topic for another deep dive.
The reason we’ve focused on these OG fitness influencers, particularly in how they’ve impacted women, is partly personal— this is the content we’re most familiar with. On top of this, given that this episode was inspired by the recent backlash against Kayla Itsines and her comments, focusing predominantly on women is warranted, especially considering her preoccupation with how female fitness influencers seemingly sexualise themselves for engagement.
The problem with Kayla’s comments wasn’t that they weren’t true. It’s fair to say that some women may use certain angles to highlight their figures, and this is something Kayla herself has done in the past. However, the issue lies in the way she framed it. Blaming women for showing off their bodies, when many of them are operating in a space designed to make them feel insecure— partly due to the way men undermine female fitness creators and partly because of the toxic culture many of these creators emerged from— is not something they should be ashamed of.
Moreover, women’s fitness has long been an integral part of the feminist movement, aimed at empowering women to take control of their bodies and health. As journalist Danielle Friedman tells Julia Foy for Columbia Magazine: “Starting in the 1960s, around the same time that second-wave feminism was taking off, public perceptions began changing around exercise and its health benefits, and female fitness pioneers began to proselytize about the benefits of regularly breaking a sweat. With the rise of aerobics, jogging, and strength training during the 1970s and ’80s, women found community and liberation in working out together. Fitness gurus like Jane Fonda promoted the idea that physical strength was vital for women.”
With that in mind, commentary like Kayla’s only serves to reinforce harmful narratives, feeding into conservative and misogynistic views of women in the fitness space— ultimately reinforcing the very stereotypes and insecurities female fitness influencers are trying to dismantle.
Second-wave fitness influencers: weightlifting & bodybuilding
Now, we did start to see a shift away from the extreme culture that once defined OG fitness influencer content, coinciding with the rise of the body positivity movement. As noted by Anna North, in her comprehensive article for Vox, she pinpointed 2008 as a pivotal year for social media in this space. However, it’s clear that this shift took time to reach mainstream fitness influencers.
By the mid-2010s, the focus of the most popular fitness influencers shifted away from promoting HIIT (High-Intensity Interval Training) workouts and cardio, and instead began to emphasise strength training with weights. This shift was undoubtedly a more positive message compared to what had previously been fed to users, as it championed the idea of being strong rather than just thin. Through this era, creators could move away from selling exercise as a beauty tool, and instead promote strength for strength’s sake.
Think of some of the most popular fitness creators of this time. It was influencers like Tammy Hembrow— who were known for their strong but curvy figures— leading the charge. Tammy gained popularity for posting fitness and wellness content after getting pregnant and having a baby. She has since parlayed her viral fame into Saski, an athleisure e-commerce brand, and TammyFit, a fitness app.
While the fitness community shifted from promoting a “stay skinny” mentality to encouraging women to build muscle, this transition wasn’t without its cons. Around this time, a new form of deception emerged among fitness creators. As cosmetic surgery, particularly the BBL (Brazilian Butt Lift), became more popular and normalised, it introduced a new set of toxic behaviours, pushing women to chase yet another unattainable beauty standard.
Over the years, social media users have taken to platforms like Reddit to call out fitness creators who have undergone various body-altering procedures without disclosing them to their audiences. For many, this lack of transparency has had deeply negative consequences, distorting their expectations of what’s achievable through exercise alone and impacting their own fitness journey and body image. As one user shared on the r/beginnerfitness subreddit: “Found out my favourite fitness influencer had a bbl and it gave me body dysmorphia. I’ve been following her workout for a while and I couldn’t achieve her build at all even a year of eating and working out right. It made me want to quit until I found out she got exposed for having a bbl I’m so mad!”
While many social media users have called out these behaviours, that hasn’t stopped fitness creators from misleading their audiences— bringing us to the current state of the fitness influencer landscape.
The online fitness industry now: The “Ozempic craze” & pilates princesses
In recent years, the ideal body standard has shifted once again— moving away from the curvier aesthetic of the 2010s and back toward the ultra-thin “heroin chic” look of the early 2000s. While the rise of strength training helped showcase different body types online, skinniness never truly went “out” of style. Many strength-focused fitness influencers were still incredibly petite, with defined abs and toned figures that reinforced specific beauty ideals. And while we all understand that body shapes and sizes shouldn’t be treated as trends, celebrities and influencers alike seem to be going to extreme lengths to maintain the illusion of thinness in 2025.
This shift arguably started around 2020. Not only did we see celebrities seemingly opting to have their BBLs removed, but fitness influencers also made a major mainstream comeback. While much of this was driven by the fact that we were all stuck indoors during COVID-19 lockdowns, that didn’t mean it was entirely positive. Looking back at this time, Chloe Ting’s two-week shred workouts exploded in popularity on YouTube. Writing for Elle in 2020, Dana Liebelson noted: “the past several months, as many people hunkered down inside, the #chloetingchallenge has flourished on TikTok. On the video-sharing app hashtags related to “Chloe Ting” clocked more than 800 million views as of mid-August.”
While these challenges kept people active, they also led many social media users down a dangerous path. After spending two weeks doing her workout program, the transformation seemed effortless for some. For others, the pressure to achieve instant results continued, quickly following new fitness challenges to “glo-up.”
As one user on the r/xxfitness subreddit shared: “I have struggled heavily with my body image since I was a young child and the comments she [Chloe Ting] makes just makes me a little bit more discouraged. This then leads to a cycle of punishing myself and it’s just not good for me. I know it’s an inner thing/mental health issue for myself, and maybe she doesn’t realize the impact that can have on someone else, but I’d rather not support it or restart that cycle by watching her videos.”
Of course, this came just before the Ozempic craze— an insulin regulator for pre-diabetic individuals, whose most well-known side effect is rapid and dramatic weight loss. As social media users have noticed celebrities shedding weight seemingly overnight, speculation has run rampant. From Kim Kardashian’s dramatic transformation to fit into Marilyn Monroe’s Met Gala dress in 2022 to Oprah Winfrey openly admitting to using weight loss drugs, Ozempic has been dubbed Hollywood’s “worst-kept secret”— because, apparently, everyone’s in on it.
And by everyone, I mean everyone— including creators who previously claimed they lost weight through exercise but were actually using a weight loss drug.
Amid the uncertainty of a potential US TikTok ban, creators began sharing their secrets— something that, in hindsight, might not have been the smartest move now that TikTok is back online for American users.
While not a fitness creator, Serena Kerrigan made a surprising admission. In her version of the trend, she revealed she had been using an Ozempic-adjacent medication after previously denying it.
Naturally, this has only deepened distrust in influencers— whether they exist in the wellness niche or not— around how they’ve lost weight and whether their claims are genuine. Once again, we’re seeing a new iteration of physique-altering tactics, moving beyond diet and exercise into other solutions that influencers present as “natural” transformations. It’s almost as if Ozempic is the new BBL.
Beyond Ozempic and quick-fix workouts, a new kind of fitness influencer has taken over: the Pilates Princess.
From creators specialising in pilates content to companies like Spotify jumping on the trend giving users the “Pink Pilates Princess” label in last year’s Wrapped, this aesthetic has become inescapable. Of course, it emerged before 2024. Writing for HypeBae, Amber Chow traced its rise back to the end of 2023, explaining that the Pink Pilates Princess aesthetic “revolves around a pastel-hued love affair with pilates, wellness and premium everything: athleisure, beauty products and accessories… [But] the essence of the pink Pilates princess is a mindset. A mindset of wellness and joy in the small rituals, whether it’s meditating, buying flowers or simply swapping doomscrolling for a good book.”
Commentary creator Mina Le recently posted a video essay on the topic, exploring everything from the culture surrounding Pilates to its actual effectiveness as a workout. Pulling from exercise specialist and journalist Anna Maltby, she explained that Pilates is “a great method to support posture, improve upper back strength and scapular stability, and build a stronger mind-body connection… [But] Pilates is not a cardiovascular workout and does not build muscle mass. It doesn’t increase agility, speed, or power, and is unlikely to change your body composition.”
Now, this is where the Pilates Princess aesthetic and lifestyle gets complicated.
It doesn’t necessarily deliver everything that fitness influencers promise, but many Pilates-focused creators blur the line between fitness and wellness, selling an aesthetic rather than a comprehensive workout regimen. As Mina put it: “The Pilates princess aesthetic is an amplification of the Erewhon, juice cleanse, clean girl aesthetic commonly associated with Pilates. What’s also clear is that both these aesthetics glorify a certain thin, toned body that was similarly associated with Jazzercise and barre.”
Ultimately, it seems like the Pilates Princess is just the latest evolution of fitness culture and influencers on social media— one that, like its predecessors, sells an ideal lifestyle as much as a workout.
All in all, while the fitness influencer space has evolved since the days of the OG fitness girlies, social media’s obsession with transformation, extremes, and aesthetics continues to drive and repackage the same toxic body standards that have shaped beauty ideals for decades. And while conversations around inclusivity and diversity have allowed for progress, the battle feels never-ending— especially as users and creators continue to grapple with patriarchal expectations of how women should exercise, what their bodies should look like, and who gets to define health and wellness in the first place.
Listen to the full episode via the ‘infinite scroll podcast’ on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and YouTube.