Remember Skechers Shape-ups? The footwear that Crocs outlived, a generation of us are still trying to forget that time we convinced ourselves that we’d get better butts from wearing rockabye shoes. With an advertising campaign that suggested these fugly ass shoes could perhaps help obtain an ass like a literal Kardashian, it was inevitable that people would catch on when such a derriere failed to appear.
I’m people. I bought Shape-ups. Ditto a few “get yerself some abs” dohickeys and some other random chunks of plastic that made spectacular promises. I never bought a Shake Weight, but not for lack of perverse curiosity.
So, do any of these work?
Today’s Moment of Science… Unfit for fitness gadgets.
After countless products have been declared by various agencies to be ‘fraudulent,’ ‘quackery,’ and my personal favorite, ‘hokum,’ it’s right to be skeptical when something claims to make you fitter faster. Thanks to the continuous flow of douchcockery in advertising, it can be hard to tell a legitimate piece of exercise equipment from the next vibrating belt machine.
I wasn’t always so skeptical when a company gave me something that looked like data. Sprinkle some numbers into your advertising and along with it comes instant credibility, deserved or not. So when Skechers said their giant shoes could “promote weight loss,” “help increase gluteus medius muscle activation up to 71%” and “help burn up to 13.2% more calories,” not many of us demanded data en route to the shoe store.
But the study this all came from was commissioned by Skechers, completed by three chiropractors, and from what I can tell, published absofuckinglutely nowhere. I could only locate it in documentation of the Federal Trade Commission’s (FTC) investigation into the new swayed shoes. Further analysis could not duplicate the claims. The company denied the allegations of making unfounded claims, but settled for $40 million of refunds to customers.
I have lawyer friends who will point out that paying a settlement isn’t necessarily an admission of shit (which I’m pointing out because I love not getting sued). Even when companies pay, settlements are generally for a partial refund and you have to hunt it down with some paperwork. Skechers was an industry leader in toning shoes, a billion dollar a year industry for, give or take, a year. In the unlikely event that everyone claimed their refund, the company likely still made a tidy profit.
Then came the stripped down Vibrams, shoes generally described as foot gloves. Originally marketed to the wide open field of yacht racing, the company capitalized on the barefoot running craze. Promises were made that they could help “improve posture and foot health, reduce risk of injury, strengthen muscles in feet and lower legs, and promote spine alignment.” Which is some swing-for-the-fences level bullshit for a product designed to mimic wearing nothing.
(I obviously bought two pairs).
Unfortunately, the claims were backed by anecdotes, wishful thinking, and a lot of tight calf muscles. This time a customer sued for false claims, and Vibram paid out a lot of money while likewise denying any wrongdoing.
A lot of the weirder stuff we’ve seen in the marketplace of broken fitness ideas has to do with abs. Remember those electrified belts with their specious claims of zapping away inches and carving out washboard abs? In 2002, the FTC came down hard on three companies for these in a feisty little campaign called Project ABsurd. The companies were accused of running infomercials with false advertising, leading to millions in settlements.
Ab belt not your style? Try the Ab Circle Pro or the Pro-Form Ab Glider if you want bulky fitness devices that have paid out millions for overblown claims. Because sliding your ass back and forth on a smooth track for “just three minutes a day” is not a well-established fitness technique.
So why do we keep buying into claims that, in retrospect, seem like clear money grabs? Because we really want this shit to work. And speaking from personal experience, after so many things haven’t worked, they’re not selling you abs or fancy shoes for a toned bottom. They’re selling you false hope, dressed up with rippling muscles and a tan to look a lot like hope.
How can you tell if a fitness gizmo works? Odds are that there will never be a gadget that can make good on promises of safe, easy, instant fitness. If it claims to have revolutionized fitness, it probably hasn’t. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is. So eat a balanced diet. Go on some long walks with your dog (if necessary, acquire a dog). Lift some heavy things. Find an activity that you enjoy and can keep doing long term. If you’re in the gadget market, ask to see the evidence and talk to an expert first, preferably one who isn’t paid by the gadget company.
If all else has failed, maybe jerk off a Shake Weight.
This has been your Moment of Science, assuring you that I will continue to make more dumbass decisions regarding footwear.
To get the MOS delivered to your inbox five days a week with only occasional mention of phallic exercise equipment, head to patreon.com/scibabe.
Join the discussion!