Food, Status, and the Recessionary Aesthetic: A Political Analysis of Culinary Consumption in Crisis

As a political communicator and feminist advocate, I have become increasingly attuned to how everyday choices, particularly around food, reflect deeper structures of class, power, and identity. One of the clearest indicators of this phenomenon today is the way food is positioned as a symbol of status in a time of economic decline. I will explore how the politics of food are shaped by recessionary aesthetics, neoliberal self-styling, and the desire for stability in precarity and argue that food consumption is not apolitical but a cultural and material site of class struggle and social signaling that deserves urgent political scrutiny.

In periods of economic uncertainty, consumption patterns do not disappear; instead, they transform. The so-called “lipstick index” originally coined to describe increased cosmetic purchases during economic downturns, illustrates this dynamic. Rather than abandoning consumerism, individuals pivot to “modest luxuries”. Today, the currency of comfort is often found in food. The popularity of rustic sourdough, small-batch oat milk, and premium grocery-store pastries is not simply a trend. They are coded acts of cultural performance. As inflation and precarious employment reshape middle-class life in Canada, these foods serve both as coping mechanisms and as means of asserting taste, discernment, and control.

Drawing on Pierre Bourdieu’s theory of cultural capital, it becomes evident that food is a medium through which people express class identity and claim symbolic power. In Distinction, Bourdieu argues that taste is never merely an individual preference. It is a structured expression of social positioning. Today’s Canadian consumer landscape echoes this precisely. It is not just what one eats, but how one eats, how a croissant is plated, how a matcha is photographed, and where groceries are sourced. These choices broadcast economic resilience and aesthetic control in an unstable world.

What I have observed in digital spaces, particularly Instagram, TikTok, and niche lifestyle forums, is a growing aesthetic of stability. Users do not flaunt extravagance. Instead, they curate domestic calm: neatly labeled pantry items, handmade bread, balanced lunches in bamboo containers. This is what I refer to as the trend of “middle class normalities.” It reveals a collective aspiration for control and calm through familiarity, order, and predictability. In effect, this aesthetic becomes a buffer against the psychological and material chaos of capitalism in crisis.

However, this return to minimalism and comfort is not as inclusive as it appears. While some Canadians are able to style their consumption to reflect restraint and simplicity, others are struggling with deepening food insecurity. In 2023, Food Banks Canada reported that nearly 2 million people visited food banks in March alone, representing a 32% increase  over the previous year. These figures expose the disparity between food as a lifestyle performance and food as a basic necessity. The Instagrammable pantry and the emergency food hamper occupy the same policy universe but rarely the same cultural one.

Moreover, the recessionary food aesthetic must be understood in the context of capitalism’s extraordinary capacity to absorb critique. As Naomi Klein argued in No Logo, anti-corporate sentiments can be commodified and sold back to consumers. The current wave of “quiet luxury” in food—heritage grains, small-batch jams, and zero-waste kitchens—repackages scarcity as virtue and subtly reinscribes inequality. What was once a sign of economic necessity, such as home cooking or pantry meals, is now stylized as moral superiority and refined living.

The political implications extend beyond economics into questions of national identity. In Canada, there has been a parallel rise in culinary nationalism: farmers’ markets, “local first” campaigns, and nostalgic recipe revivalism. While these movements often frame themselves as sustainable and community-oriented, they can also reproduce exclusionary narratives about belonging. As DeSoucey notes in her study of gastronationalism in the European Union, food is frequently deployed to reinforce narrow ideas of cultural authenticity and heritage. In a country as diverse as Canada, culinary nationalism risks flattening multicultural realities in favor of settler-colonial nostalgia and consumer patriotism.

All of this leads to a necessary political intervention. We must take food seriously as a vector of policy, identity, and equity. Aestheticized food culture, especially during periods of economic contraction, can obscure the very real material disparities that shape who gets to consume what, when, and how. To counter this, we need more than critiques of lifestyle trends. We need a robust political framework that treats access to nutritious, dignified food as a human right. This includes increasing funding to community food programs, regulating corporate grocery pricing, and challenging the structures that allow inequality to masquerade as taste.

In sum, food in Canada today is far more than nourishment. It is a status symbol, a cultural script, and a political terrain. The recessionary shift from opulence to aesthetic modesty reflects both an attempt to assert control and a deeper anxiety about loss: of class position, of stability, and of the future. Understanding food as a political signifier allows us to ask more precise questions about who benefits from this aesthetic shift and who is left out. As scholars and citizens, we must interrogate the stories we tell through what we eat and demand a policy that ensures no one is excluded from the table.

About the author:

Leisha Toory  is the founder of the Human Rights Award–nominated Period Priority Project and a seven-time award-nominated policy analyst and consultant specializing in sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR). She holds a BA in Political Science from Memorial University and is the recipient of the 2025 Feminist Creator Prize awarded by the Canadian Women’s Foundation.