Diet Culture Review: Joggo

There are plenty of reviews available online about the Joggo app, although very few seem to offer a critical perspective. If you want the details of what the app can do, I suggest you look elsewhere, because this review is focussed on all the ways the app’s creators and marketers will help you hate your body before you even get started.

What is Joggo?

The first thing to note is that, depending on where you go to read about Joggo, you might get a different impression of its goals. Early reviews of Joggo suggest it was always intended as a weight loss app, while its recent marketing pitches it as a fitness app. On both Apple App Store and the Google Play Store, it’s called Joggo - Run Tracker & Coach. But on Apple, it also gets a subtitle: “Weight loss running plans”. (See figure 1.)

Figure 1. (a) At first glance, the Joggo website (left) looks like it might be about fitness and running. But by the time you reach the body text, they’re talking about your body shape. (b) The App Store Preview page (centre) seems more honest; here, Joggo is clearly about weight loss through running and an optional meal plan. (c) On its Google Play blurb (right), Joggo apparently assumes that having a running goal means you have a weight loss goal.

The Google Play blurb was updated on 29 June 2023, and seems to pitch it as a running app while simultaneously assuming that having a fitness goal means you have a weight loss goal:

Joggo is a running app for beginners and pros alike — great for both outdoor and treadmill training. With a personalized running program, custom meal plan, and a convenient running tracker, you can reach your fitness and weight loss goals in a way that works for you.

I stumbled across Joggo through an advertisement in my Instagram feed, which was probably an algorithmic response to having looked at a different but equally fatphobic fitness app a few days earlier. (Yes, I still click through sometimes because I live in hope of one day finding an app that is genuinely about fitness, not weight.) I was hoping it was like a couch-to-5km style app that could be tailored to a bunch of different starting points (i.e., not quite the couch) and targets (fun run distances).

Getting started

I joined on the mobile app, but thought I would try the web version as well, to see if it was any different (and because it’ll be easier to grab screenshots here). To start, you click “Take our quiz” on the home screen (see figure 1a) and answer 14 questions.

The first one (figure 2) stumped me, and not because I’m questioning my identity right now:

Figure 2. The first thing Joggo needs to know about you is whether you want a running program of the Man type or the Woman type, which is clearly a

First, there’s the obvious point: they’ve given me only two options to choose from. I’m guessing they’re asking about my biological sex here, but I’d like these “experts” to recognise that still doesn’t fit into two neat categories, which is probably why some other apps have included an “other” category. I’m not feeling excited about the prospect of this app being fat friendly, given it’s already excluding anyone who doesn’t fit a neat gender binary.

But also, why is Man/Woman a type of program I’m choosing? On a list of things I’d consider when writing a basic, introductory running program, this is not right up the top. It’s something you might consider if an athlete is targeting a record or a podium finish, or if a menstruating athlete wants to synchronise their training with their cycle, or if you want to manage their micronutrient intake carefully, but this is all the nuanced stuff that I’d expect down the track in a tailor-made program…not the first screen.

In case you’re wondering if they did somehow incorporate this fancy information…no. I went back and entered exactly the same details, but selected the “Man” program type instead of “Woman”, and I got EXACTLY the same results.

Goal-setting

It went on to ask whether I had been running recently, and then asked me for my main goal: to lose weight, improve mental health, run a distance, improve pace, or stay fit? (See figure 3.)

Figure 3. The third question of Joggo’s start-up quiz asks about my goals. Don’t worry, it doesn’t really want to know…everyone gets “lose weight”!

I chose to “improve pace”, because this is the sort of performance-focused goal that my trusted coaches would tie in with important elements such as adequately fuelling my body and getting plenty of recovery between sessions; that is, not seeking weight loss.

When Joggo asked me, “How far do you think you could run right now?” I chose the furthest option: 26 miles / 42km or more. (I did this a few weeks ago.) It went on to ask me preferred days and times for running and, appropriately, suggested allowing more rest between sessions “to prevent injury” when I chose back-to-back days.

It also asked about existing health conditions, so it could modify my program, and options included running-related injuries and diabetes. (I selected diabetes in one run through the quiz, and it didn’t seem to change my results at all, so I guess you only see those details once you pay the big bucks.) And it asked about my mood…but disregarded that too.

How about a meal plan?

Joggo also offered me a meal plan (figure 4), which makes sense because they’re not really interested in helping me run faster (my goal) but would like me to lose weight (their goal).

Figure 4. Would you like a meal plan with that, by which we mean a diet plan? No, thank you, I’d prefer a large fries and a real–sugar soda.

Spoiler alert: I went back and tried declining their meal plan in another run through the quiz, but it didn’t make any difference in the overall results — Joggo still felt compelled to suggest a daily caloric intake to either optimise or maximise my weight loss.

So I opted in to the meal plan, and Joggo went on to ask about specific foods I’d like to exclude from my diet before checking in with what diet I’d like to follow: low-fat, Mediterranean, vegan, diabetes, gluten-free, lacto vegetarian, ovo vegetarian, lacto-ovo vegetarian, pescetarian, GERD or none. I’m curious about the choices here because of their obvious overlap with the food exclusions already recorded. I’m also reasonably confident diabetes and GERD (or GORD for those who speak English rather than American) are not diets but medical conditions, which we were also asked about. Anyway, this is just illogical design rather than fatphobia, so I’ll move along.

And who are you again?

Finally, I entered the rest of my demographics: age, height and current weight. And then my target weight. If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice in figure 5 that I entered the exact same weight for both, consistent with my goal being to improve my running pace rather than lose weight.

Figure 5. As the very last steps, Joggo asked me to enter my weight and my target weight. The astute reader will note I entered the same value for both. “You won’t believe what happens next!” (I’m sorry I didn’t crop the images perfectly to line up. Yes, it bothers me, too, but not enough to sit through that quiz one more time.)

Now I’m not sure why Joggo even asked me about my weight, given that I hadn’t mentioned weight loss as a goal, but that’s what it does, because that’s Joggo’s goal.

In case you were wondering what happens if you tell Joggo you want to increase your weight, here it is in figure 6:

Figure 6. Once again, I’ve failed to crop properly, but it’s pretty clear that no matter how low you go, Joggo knows your “Desired weight should be lower than your current weight”.

You may have noticed that I’ve inserted a very, very low current weight. It’s actually the lowest weight that Joggo will accept in the form — entering 39kg throws an error.

I’m hoping we all know that BMI is a terrible metric and irrelevant as a health indicator, but it’s still used in a lot of settings, including clinical guidelines. So it’s worth noting that a 172 cm tall individual weighing 40 kg has a BMI of just 13.5, which is incredibly low. Under Queensland Health guidelines, if this person presented with no other health conditions, they would be considered for psychiatric admission to an inpatient unit for treatment of an eating disorder. They would get a full medical assessment to check they don’t have other symptoms that would warrant a medical admission. (I have real concerns with the diagnostic criteria for anorexia including a specification of body weight, but that’s a totally separate topic.)

And yet Joggo not only suggested weight loss, but suggested weight gain — the precise goal of medical or psychiatric intervention in the clinical guidelines — was an invalid goal.

Are you ready to see results?

“First, give us your email address.”

I dutifully responded, largely because I was curious about what spam I might receive.

The next screen showed results and they were rather underwhelming, largely because they didn’t seem to address my inputs at all. I even went back and tried answering questions differently, but the vast majority of the results remained unchanged.

Figure 6. Congratulations! It’s a heap of crap! I especially like the graph showing my proposed mileage “increasing” from 42 km to 21 km over the next four months.

First, there’s that meaningless graph on the right in figure 6. It actually shows me going from where I am now to where I should be in November if I follow Joggo’s program. Interestingly, this is not a chart showing my improvement in pace, which was my goal. It shows distance, and the line curves upwards before tapering to flat again…but the numbers get smaller. First, this is a very strange way to communicate a distance change. Second, I can tell you now that if I went out and ran 21 km, I would manage a faster pace than I would over 42 km, so Joggo isn’t really promising much here.

But wait, there’s more!

Figure 7. Not me, but people with profiles similar to mine.

Remember how I said in my intro post that these apps want to make you feel bad about your body? Check out the language and imagery used here. The same image was shown whether I chose the Man or Woman running plan (figure 2) and despite setting a pace goal (figure 3) with no weight loss (figure 5). It’s just a standard element of the response page, not tailored at all.

I’m definitely showing the privilege of my thinness, general health and fitness, and awareness of diet culture when I look at this and think, ha! Why would I want to lose girth off any of those areas?! I’d actually wish this reaction for everyone, because this part of Joggo’s strategy is foul and toxic. It’s suggesting that the body on the left is wrong, and the body on the right is better. What if

• you look more like the body on the left and you’re happy with how you look and feel?
• you already look like the body on the right?
• your body dysmorphia keeps telling you that you’re too fat, even though you’re already of very low body weight?
• you’re much fatter than either of these bodies?

How might you feel about this messaging then? And I don’t want to head down a rabbit hole here, but I definitely wondered how a trans man might feel looking at this, or an amputee, or someone who has lost a lot of weight during a medical illness and treatment, or someone with any of the other millions of different but equally valid human experiences from that depicted here.

Also, don’t miss the subtle dig at mood in the text on the right of figure 7. Joggo knows my mood needs to improve, regardless of how I described it, and the way to do that is by being leaner.

Diets, diets, diets

The next component of the results page suggested calorie restriction (figure 8), even when I had declined a meal plan and entered a weight target equal to my current weight.

Figure 8. While acknowledging I’m in the “Normal” BMI range (as if BMI is a valid indicator for anything), Joggo would also like to advise how I should restrict calories for optimal or maximal weight loss.

You might be wondering how these numbers stack up. I asked the Mayo Clinic, because they have pretty good health information for the general public. As someone who is very active, I should be getting 2400 kCal of energy through my daily food intake (figure 9), to fuel my training and keep my weight relatively stable. (I also used an Australian Government Calculator and got a slightly higher figure at 11,700 kJ or around 2800 kCal.) If I were totally sedentary, I’d still need around 1700 kCal for basic function — to keep my heart pumping blood, gastrointestinal tract digesting, kidneys filtering, brain thinking, and so on. But Joggo wants me to get by on significantly less than that (figure 8).

Figure 9. The Mayo Clinic disagrees with Joggo.

When I entered a very low current weight at 40 kg, Joggo was kind enough to point out my very low BMI on the results page, and mentioned not once, but twice, that

Your target weight would put your BMI (Body mass index) blow 18.5, which is considered unhealthy. Please consult your doctor before starting any diets.

However, Joggo still made daily calorie recommendations for optimal and maximum weight loss (see figure 10), and these are lower than the Mayo Clinic calculator recommended for even inactive individuals.

Figure 10. Joggo’s quiz results page flags an alarmingly low bodyweight but

Remember how I didn’t ask for a meal plan (or weight loss)? Joggo wanted to remind me I can lose fat with their meal plan (figure 11).

Figure 11. Here’s Joggo’s helpful and unsolicited reminder that they think I need to lose some fat.

In case you had any lingering doubt that Joggo is 100% a weight loss app, here’s the head coach making a promise to you, taken straight from that results page (figure 12):

Figure 12. Head Coach Chris Zibutis knows it’s difficult for me to reach my goals, but has he realised it’s because his quiz never actually considered them before trying to sell me some weight loss?

It discusses…weight loss! And helpfully suggests that other plans don’t work because they’re hard to follow, while Joggo is here to help you improve your habits.

We believe in a balanced way to lose weight and keep the weight off. We know that most of the diets or weight loss programs that you have tried in the past don’t work — they are just too hard to follow. I wish for people to build healthier, more confident bodies through science-backed methods with custom programs based on data.

It’s really difficult to reach your goals. That’s why our nutritionists and personal coaches work around the clock to prepare the most effective plans you love. We want to make sure that it becomes a part of your life. We don’t change habits — we help you improve them.

Try it out, and we guarantee you will be satisfied.

At any rate, Chris seems quite confident, and this almost feels like a promise that users will “lose weight and keep the weight off” (regardless of whether they actually just wanted to run faster. Alas, if you check out their General Terms and Conditions, they’re making no such guarantee (figure 13):

12.5. Due to the nature of Services and/or Goods that the Company provides and as the Company cannot control the Client’s adherence to the provided use instructions, the Company provides no warranty as to any results or outcomes coming from using Services and/or Goods.

Figure 13. Joggo’s General Terms and Conditions

It turns out Joggo is just another brand telling us it’s our fault if we don’t lose weight. But they’re basing that on research, they claim. When you look at the reference list (figure 14), some of the research dates back to 1972. There’s a lot of BMI content in there, which should be a red flag, as well as an article that claims other energy requirement calculators are wrong and one that describes a study of “obese patients” with hypertension (high blood pressure)…which wouldn’t seem relevant in this case, especially seeing as I didn’t report hypertension.

Figure 14. Reference list on the results page of the Joggo quiz. This is not a good reference list for the claims they’re making.

At this point, I hope you’ve realised that Joggo is just another toxic weight loss app.

The follow-up

I hope you didn’t think the process was over. They failed to convert this time, so they emailed me. But you’ll have to wait until my next instalment to get all that gossip.