Ultra-processing remains one of the most hotly debated topics in food, but the conversation is becoming more and more fractured. In the absence of a single, agreed-upon definition of what constitutes a UPF, individual definitions, scoring systems and frameworks are emerging.
Several recent developments illustrate this. Zoe has created a ‘risk scale’ tool to counter scaremongering about UPFs and help consumers identify healthy processed foods. Meal planning app Cherrypick has introduced its own scoring system to flag UPF ingredients in recipes. Marks & Spencer has launched products with shorter ingredient lists, which – while not referencing ultra-processing directly – can be seen as its response to the UPF debate.
Then there’s the ‘Yuka effect’, named after the hugely popular scanning app which scores products based on their impact on health and has been linked to reduced UPF consumption.
There also continues to be plenty of media commentary about which UPFs are truly worth avoiding and which ‘can have a place in a healthy diet’ or are ‘actually healthy’, with nutritionists and health experts offering ad hoc reclassifications of products and categories.
The search for clarity… and ownership
Polarised commentary about UPFs, and the Nova framework commonly used to define them, isn’t new. What’s changing is a move from critiquing UPFs to (re)defining them, including through proprietary frameworks and definitions.
The intentions here are good. The UPF concept can be genuinely confusing and all these experts, apps and product ranges are trying to help consumers navigate complexity.
In the process, however, ‘ultra-processed’ is becoming ever fuzzier. Never mind the nuances of Nova. We’re now at a stage where UPFs can be healthy or unhealthy, short ingredient lists mean ‘better’ until they don’t, and different players use different definitions and frameworks.
What started as a rallying cry for food transparency and simplicity is becoming more subjective and, potentially, even more confusing.
This splintering isn’t necessarily the result of food industry lobbyists trying to undermine the UPF concept either (though there clearly has been concerted lobbying). No, even passionate UPF crusaders can’t seem to stop fiddling with the definition.
The focus is narrowing
What’s more, what ‘ultra-processed’ is understood to mean is narrowing. In the US, Robert F Kennedy Jr’s crackdown on UPFs is mostly focused on specific additives, such as artificial dyes, rather than the broader category.
In the UK, the UPF debate is increasingly being conflated with the HFSS framework, which targets foods high in fat, salt and sugar. A headline might declare UPFs as the next target for government action, but the policy details often centre on applying HFSS criteria.
This looks like a tacit admission that tackling UPFs as a whole is too complicated, and so governments (and, soon enough, retailers and brands) are focusing on specific, manageable aspects.
Despite this, the term ‘ultra-processed’ isn’t going away anytime soon. It still holds sway with consumers and campaigners alike, so the food industry can’t afford to ignore it. But its meaning is changing before our eyes.
Taking action against ultra-processing increasingly means taking action against a specific subset: heavily processed products that are also high in fat, salt and sugar, or those containing specific additives, emulsifiers or dyes.
This kind of reframing makes action more feasible and may still lead to positive health outcomes. In some cases it might even make positive health outcomes more achievable.
But let’s be clear: this new, pragmatic approach to UPFs is a long way from the broader, system-level critique that characterised the conversation after the publication of Chris van Tulleken’s seminal book Ultra-Processed People.
This article was originally published in The Trim.
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