A disturbing trend on TikTok, known as SkinnyTok, is bringing pro-eating disorder content into the mainstream, exposing millions to harmful messages that glorify extreme weight loss and disordered eating.

Unlike the shadowy corners of the internet where such ideas were once confined, this viral hashtag pushes dangerous levels of dietary restriction and verbal abuse under the guise of wellness, posing serious health risks, particularly to young women.

According to CNN, SkinnyTok, often labeled as “thinspo” or “pro-ana,” goes beyond typical fitness and nutrition advice.

Its videos promote behaviors associated with eating disorders, such as severe calorie restriction, and are amplified by TikTok’s powerful algorithm and engaging video format.

While pro-eating disorder content is not new—previously found on platforms like Tumblr or X in more niche communities—SkinnyTok’s accessibility makes it far more pervasive, reaching users who may not actively seek it out.

Mallary Tenore Tarpley, an assistant professor at the University of Texas at Austin and author of the upcoming book Slip: Life in the Middle of Eating Disorder Recovery, highlights the deceptive nature of this content.

“Because they are framed as just this sort of wellness movement or healthy eating, they become more mainstream, and therefore people don’t necessarily see the toxicity in them,” she says.

Unlike older platforms where such content was directed at those already struggling with eating disorders, SkinnyTok presents itself as aspirational, making it harder for the average viewer to recognize its dangers.

TikTok’s policies explicitly prohibit “showing or promoting disordered eating and dangerous weight loss behaviors.”

The company claims to take steps like interrupting repetitive content and directing users to mental health resources, including eating disorder recovery organizations.

Users can also filter out specific words or hashtags to limit exposure to weight-loss content. However, these measures seem insufficient, as SkinnyTok videos continue to proliferate on the platform.

Shira Rosenbluth, a Los Angeles-based licensed clinical social worker, was shocked to see the resurgence of such harmful messages.

“We’re still doing this twentysomething years later?” she asks. “We’re still in exactly the same place where we’re glorifying not just fitness, we’re glorifying eating disorders and disordered eating?”

Rosenbluth questions the claim that SkinnyTok is about health, pointing out the contradiction in its branding: “Why is it called SkinnyTok?”

Some SkinnyTok content is so extreme that Rosenbluth suspects it may be “rage-bait,” designed to provoke reactions and boost engagement. Regardless of intent, the impact is undeniable.

The primary audience—teen girls and young women—is particularly vulnerable to these messages, which can trigger or exacerbate eating disorders.

For those in recovery, like Tarpley, the trend is a painful reminder of the challenges of maintaining mental and physical health in a culture that often normalizes harmful behaviors.

As SkinnyTok continues to spread, it raises urgent questions about the responsibility of social media platforms to curb dangerous content and protect their users.

While TikTok’s algorithm fuels the trend’s reach, the human cost—particularly for young, impressionable viewers—cannot be ignored.