Feasting For Fame

Suddenly, all of the food is gone, leaving just the wrapping behind. As you continue to scroll, you’re met with the same cycle over and over again: a meal, a face, exaggerated portions and something that changes food from a necessity to a performance. These videos, however, were not always so secretive and performative.

Mukbangs first began in Korea in 2011, where they were used to foster connection. In a culture where eating is seen as a social activity, the rise of individual housing in the 2010s left many people feeling alone, and mukbangs were used to recreate the feeling of eating together. Mukbangs, once a way to foster comfort and community, have now become a global performance, creating a negative culture around health and food to draw as many views as possible.

Enter the pandemic. During lockdown, connections around the world were severed, and social media soon became a primary platform for reconnection. As social media use rose, so did mukbangs. As they gained more traction, the dynamic began to shift. With so many mukbangs posted every day, it became harder to stand out.

As a result, creators took increasingly drastic measures to attract attention. Portion sizes grew as presentation became the main focus, rather than nutrition. Fast food chains such as Crumbl Cookies, Dave's Hot Chicken and Wingstop became common features, drawing viewers with large quantities of familiar, appealing food.

Mukbangs now prioritize appearance over nutrition, and audiences are often drawn to the spectacle, becoming accustomed to these portion sizes and, to some extent, expecting them. In the process, we not only consume content but also fuel the system that distorts the image of food online.  

Looking at the comment section of mukbang videos, many viewers say, “There’s no way they eat all that!” These responses create distrust between the creator and the audience, weakening any remaining sense of connection from mukbangs' original purpose. They also cause viewers to question what a “normal” serving size looks like.

Constant exposure to oversized portions can normalize behaviors such as binge eating, as the line between harmful habits and entertainment becomes blurred. It creates a culture of scrutiny where meals are judged based on appearance rather than individual needs. Broadcasting overconsumption to millions not only puts the creator’s health at risk but may also influence viewers in harmful ways.

One of the most well-known mukbang creators is Nikocado Avocado, who amassed more than 4.7 million subscribers on YouTube. While his early videos featured relatively simple meals, his content shifted as his popularity grew.

Over time, Avocado gained more than 200 pounds, documenting his journey across videos totaling over a billion views. One of his most-watched videos shows him eating four party-sized bags of Takis and 18 packs of Buldak noodles in a single sitting. Such content has drawn attention for showcasing both extreme eating and visible emotional distress, as he often becomes visibly upset during videos. This shift underscores how far the genre has shifted toward performance.

Food isn’t the only thing that becomes distorted as a result of these mukbangs. The audience's consumption of this content is another form of overconsumption. Social media platforms amplify this cycle, exposing millions of people to these videos daily. The more people who see them, the more normalized they become. 

At the end of the day, mukbangs were originally created for connection — to allow for a shared experience around food. But the rise of mukbangs on social media has created unrealistic expectations, turning eating into a performance to maintain relevance.

Somewhere along the way, between oversized portions and viral fast food trends, we have lost the original meaning of sharing a meal.