Joe Wicks License to Kill: Why the UPF Debate Needs More Empathy, Not More Ego
When I watched Joe Wicks: License to Kill on Channel 4, my first thought was: this is actually a good piece of television.
Not perfect, not without flaws, but good. Brave, even.
For those who haven’t seen it, Joe Wicks and Dr Chris van Tulleken — with the help of food scientists and marketing experts — set out to create a highly ultra-processed “protein” bar packed with additives, emulsifiers and sweeteners. The point? To show how easy it is to design and sell a food-like substance (to borrow Michael Pollan’s phrase) that looks healthy, reads healthy, and can legally be marketed as healthy — while containing ingredients we know carry health risks when eaten regularly.
It’s a provocative stunt, and deliberately so. And I get why they did it. Chris van Tulleken has worked tirelessly to raise awareness of ultra-processed foods (UPFs) and their health consequences. Yet in the UK, policy change has been glacial. So perhaps it takes something shocking to cut through.
Joe Wicks also deserves credit here. He’s spent years getting people cooking from scratch — often for the first time — and that, in itself, has been one of the most powerful public-health interventions of the last decade. So fair play to both of them.
What the programme revealed
License to Kill wasn’t just about one protein bar. It was about the ease with which food manufacturers can create products that meet every regulatory requirement, while being utterly misaligned with genuine health.
It exposed a system that allows “healthy” claims and “high-protein” labels to sit comfortably on packaging filled with additives, gums, emulsifiers and artificial sweeteners.
And it raised an uncomfortable truth: the illusion of health is often more profitable than health itself.
The divided reaction — and what it says about us
Since the programme aired, the nutrition world has been buzzing — and not always gracefully.
Some praised the show for its honesty and courage. Others criticised it as scaremongering, scientifically simplistic, or unfairly targeting protein bars (which, for many people, are a practical convenience).
But what stood out to me most wasn’t the difference in opinion — it was the tone of many professional responses.
There’s a particular brand of weary superiority that often emerges at times like this. The kind that says, “here we go again — time to correct the misinformation.” You can almost feel the sighs through the screen.
And while I understand the instinct to defend accuracy, I find the academic snobbery and “I’m the only adult in the room” attitude incredibly off-putting.
It’s not clever. It’s not helpful. And it’s not the example our industry should be setting.
Because here’s the thing: Joe and Chris have reached millions. They’ve made people care. And if that requires a bit of discomfort or controversy, maybe that’s okay.
The nuance we can’t afford to lose
Let’s hold a few truths together:
Not all UPFs are equal. Some serve practical purposes — affordability, safety, shelf-life, accessibility. But a food environment dominated by highly engineered, hyper-palatable products isn’t healthy for anyone.
A protein bar isn’t the enemy. The issue is a diet where the majority of calories come from products designed to override appetite regulation.
Fear doesn’t change behaviour. Empathy does. Most people don’t choose UPFs out of ignorance — they choose them because they’re affordable, available, and reliable.
We have a responsibility to lift the conversation, not stand above it.
When nutrition professionals dismiss or sneer at programmes like this, we miss an opportunity to engage meaningfully with the public. Our role should be to add clarity, not superiority.
The privilege problem
Let’s also acknowledge the privilege that colours this debate.
It’s easy for people with disposable income, kitchen space, and flexible schedules to talk about “just cooking from scratch.” For many families, UPFs fill real gaps — time, cost, childcare, energy.
So instead of finger-wagging, we should be working to make real food more accessible, affordable, and possible.
That means practical cooking education, better public health messaging, and pushing for policies that make whole, minimally processed foods the easy choice — not the luxury one.
If we’re honest, we’d all benefit from their success
If Joe Wicks and Chris van Tulleken actually manage to get the Government to take the dangers of UPFs seriously, every one of us in the nutrition world will breathe a sigh of relief.
Because fewer UPFs on supermarket shelves means fewer people battling the physiological and emotional consequences of a diet that hijacks hunger cues.
It might even mean fewer people needing GLP-1 drugs to manage weight — drugs that arguably wouldn’t be in such demand if our food system weren’t so fundamentally broken.
And that’s worth supporting, not scoffing at.
What we can do better
Instead of arguing among ourselves on social media, we could:
Help people reconnect with real food — showing that it can be simple, satisfying, and affordable.
Campaign for stricter rules on misleading marketing and health claims.
Support proper food education in schools and communities.
Advocate for transparency and regulation, not perfectionism or fear.
Meet the public where they are — with understanding, not judgment.
Because every time we choose nuance over noise, we strengthen public trust in nutrition science.
A closing thought
Ultra-processed foods now make up an estimated 60% of the UK diet. Rates of obesity, type 2 diabetes, and metabolic disease continue to rise. And we’re medicating the consequences rather than addressing the cause.
So when a TV programme gets people thinking — really thinking — about what’s in their food, our response shouldn’t be to roll our eyes.
It should be to join the conversation with balance, humility and compassion.
Because, in truth, we all want the same thing:
A healthier population, less confusion around food, and a culture where cooking and eating well feel normal — not elite.
And we won’t get there through ego.
We’ll get there through empathy.
