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Food manufacturers know that protein sells — both as a food additive and as a brand.

It sells in vending machines. It sells in flashy packaging. It sells when students are rushing to class with a protein bar in hand or chugging a protein shake after a workout. This is because we’re told it’s the golden ticket to building health and fitness.

This fast track to better health is manufactured as an illusion. The protein that consumers are promised is inflated and incomplete, designed more to drive sales than support well-being.

Amino spiking is a practice so deceptive and quietly ingrained in the American food industry that it continues to thrive, even after multiple lawsuits and public scrutiny.

It’s the process of adding cheap amino acids like glycine, taurine or the infamous creatine to protein powders and bars. Since most protein content is measured by nitrogen levels, this inflates the nitrogen content and artificially boosts the protein count on the label.

And it’s done without actually delivering all nine essential amino acids — in the right proportions — that complete proteins require and contain.

In essence, that “25 grams of protein” label is deliberately lying to you.

The scandal isn’t just that amino spiking exists, but that students are surrounded by it. The snack bars and shakes lining many of Syracuse University’s campus cafes and vending machines aren’t just convenient — they’re marketed as essential.

Multiple class-action lawsuits have already targeted major supplement brands for this over the past decade, including MusclePharm, Giant Sports and Body Fortress. But legal action hasn’t stopped these companies from continuing to contaminate their products with harmful ingredients. It’s still here, disguised behind ingredient lists students don’t have the time to decode. That, in itself, is the heart of the problem.

The food and supplement industry thrives on confusion. In a country where food labeling is already complicated and the FDA doesn’t require third-party testing for supplements, consumers like college students are easy targets.

Unlike pharmaceuticals, supplements are governed by the Dietary Supplement Health and Education Act of 1994, which puts the burden of proof on the consumer instead of the manufacturer.

“Fuel your day,” Pure Protein’s catchy slogan, is one example of the loud, confident branding these companies often use. It’s an incredibly convincing sell for a student juggling a stressful workload along with a desire to stay healthy.

But what’s left unsaid is just as critical. Most of these products are packed with saturated fat, sodium and sugar alcohols.

They’re processed to the point of offering little nutritional value, but sold at a premium. It’s a textbook example of regulatory loopholes allowing manufacturers to exploit scientific gaps and consumers’ trust to prioritize profit over public health.

Joe Zhao | Design Editor

When student athletes turn to these products for genuine nutritional support like building muscle, fueling a workout or stimulating recovery, they likely aren’t getting what they think they are.

Companies don’t need to disclose amino acid breakdowns, so you’ll never really know how much leucine, the amino acid critical for muscle synthesis, or tryptophan, needed for mood regulation and metabolism, is actually present.

This isn’t a niche issue solely for athletes. It’s a larger story about how the food industry — especially the products popular on college campuses — preys on students’ trust. It’s about how the promise of nutrition is packaged, sold and distorted until what’s left is purely marketing jargon and a long list of unreadable ingredients.

This becomes more than a labeling problem on a campus like SU, where students with packed schedules feel like quick meals and vending machine snacks are the only realistic options. Sitting down for a balanced meal isn’t always practical. So instead, they grab what’s accessible.

These “protein” labeled products promise energy and satiety all wrapped in one package. But this misleading marketing becomes a health equity issue. When these products turn out to be nutritionally empty, it hits hardest for students without the time, knowledge or access to better alternatives.

Amino spiking isn’t an exception; it’s a symptom of a much larger, more problematic system where profit wins are pushed forward and nutrition becomes a branding strategy instead of a science. The truth — that appealing, easy snacks contain as much saturated fat as a small hamburger — doesn’t sell.

This isn’t about demonizing all supplements. Protein powders can be helpful when verified and used appropriately. But we need transparency and education. We need food systems that prioritize evidence-based nutrition and not profit-driven pseudoscience.

As students, we must make the effort to read beyond the front label. Look for complete protein sources with all nine essential amino acids and scrutinize the ingredient list. Be wary of proprietary blends and vague protein claims. Prioritize products with transparency and third-party testing. Choose real protein-rich foods like eggs, yogurt, tofu and lentils when possible.

The issue isn’t just that we’re buying fake protein. It’s that we’re being taught to accept it. The more we normalize these products as everyday fuel, the further we drift from what actual nourishment looks like. And if we don’t start asking questions, no one’s going to provide answers.

The food system has made one thing clear: it will continue selling us less for more so long as we thoughtlessly consume. On a college campus, where wellness is a buzzword and junk food is often the only option after dark, it’s easy to fall for the system.

Sudiksha Khemka is a freshman nutrition major. Her column appears bi-weekly. She can be reached at skhemka@syr.edu.

Published on April 9, 2025 at 11:29 pm