杏吧原创

BELLE GIBSON fell a very long way. A little over a year ago, the Australian self-styled health guru seemed to have it all. Built on a claim to have cured her own brain cancer through diet and alternative medicine, she had a huge social media following, a hit recipe app, a glowing reputation as a philanthropist and a glossy cookbook in the works.

Then it all came crashing down. Under scrutiny from reporters, she admitted that the whole thing was a fabrication. She hadn鈥檛 had cancer and hadn鈥檛 made the promised donations to charity. Earlier this month, Gibson fell even further when the consumer affairs regulator of her home state initiated legal action against her and her company for 鈥渕isleading and deceptive conduct鈥�.

Lifestyle gurus whose claims don鈥檛 stand up to scrutiny are nothing new. But Consumer Affairs Victoria also took action against her publisher, , for failing to fact-check the book, ordering it to make a A$30,000 donation to the state鈥檚 Consumer Law Fund and issuing a warning over its future conduct. From now on it will have to 鈥渟ubstantiate鈥� all health claims, train its staff better and publish 鈥渁 prominent warning notice鈥� in books about alternative therapies.

This development is intriguing 鈥� and promising. Lifestyle advice is big business, but it is unusual for those who cash in on it to get their comeuppance. This looks like a rare victory for evidence over charlatanry, even though it was Gibson鈥檚 deception, not health claims, that led to her downfall.

These victories should be commonplace. Other areas of consumer advice are much more tightly regulated. In many jurisdictions, for example, financial advice comes with stringent warnings, and those who provide it must have professional qualifications and adhere to codes of conduct.

鈥淟ifestyle advice is big business, but it is rare for those who cash in to get their comeuppance鈥�

As a society, we seem less protective of our health than our wealth. While aspiring financial advisers are studying to gain proper accreditation, any wellness blogger can pick up a worthless nutritional qualification for a small fee. Pretty much anyone can declare themselves to be a diet expert. And when the only arbiter of authority is popularity, the word 鈥渞ecipe鈥� can quickly be followed by 鈥渇or disaster鈥�.

That is in part driven by an insatiable appetite for quick-fix health advice. The latest example is the Hemsley sisters, UK food bloggers who have been criticised for promoting pseudoscience 鈥� but nonetheless have a TV series about their own brand of healthy eating 鈥渇ree from grains, gluten and refined sugar鈥� (see 鈥�The Hemsley effect: why we fall for celebrity food advice鈥�). Would it have been given the green light if Channel 4 had been ordered to substantiate 鈥渁ll health claims鈥�?

Suggestions of policing frequently draw allegations of censorship and conspiracy. And indeed, we must preserve people鈥檚 freedom to shun grains, gluten and refined sugar 鈥� or conversely, to eat only doughnuts. It is not that you can鈥檛 eat healthily without grains, but casting them as dietary demons is unscientific: the argument for going gluten-free, for example, is flimsy (New 杏吧原创, 12 July 2014, page 28).

But standards could and should be much higher. That means targeting not just those who make unsupported claims, but also those who seem happy to promote and cash in on 鈥渃lean eating鈥� or 鈥渨ellness鈥� gurus with little or no due diligence. They, too, should carry the can for the damage 鈥� financial or otherwise 鈥� that results from their actions.

This article appeared in print under the headline 鈥淒ish the evidence鈥�