The recent revelations that more than 24,000 industrial livestock farms now operate across Europe should come as a wake-up call to European policymakers. In the UK alone, the number of megafarms grew by over 200 between 2017 and 2023. France, Germany and Spain are not far behind. Far from being an outlier, the European food system is becoming more intensive, more environmentally damaging, and more consolidated. Yet the EU continues to invest political capital in the wrong tools.
One of those tools is front-of-pack labelling, most notably Nutri-Score, the colour-coded system first developed in France and, at a certain point, promoted by the European Commission as a solution to rising obesity. It is, by now, abundantly clear that it isn’t working. Not only has Nutri-Score failed to produce any measurable reduction in obesity rates, but it has also encouraged producers to prioritise nutrient “tweaks” over meaningful food system change. The result is a rise in industrialised, uniform food that fits perfectly with factory farming conditions.
An outdated model in a collapsing system
The European food model is at a crossroads. On one side, we hear ambitious rhetoric about agroecology, biodiversity, and healthy diets. On the other side, we see the rapid expansion of intensive livestock farms, producing tens of millions of animals under conditions that routinely breach environmental regulations, pollute protected areas, and contribute to collapsing wildlife populations.
This contradiction is not accidental. It is the direct result of a policy approach that prioritises reformulation over reform, and labelling over systemic change. Nutrition labelling, for all its visibility, has not delivered improved health outcomes in any of the countries where it has been implemented. What it has delivered is a new layer of complexity. Traditional producers are disadvantaged, while industrial production systems benefit from standardisation and scalability.
The Nutri-Score illusion
Nutri-Score is emblematic of this failure. Built on a simplistic algorithm that assigns grades based on fats, sugars, and salt per 100 grams, it ignores where food comes from, how it’s produced, or how it fits into real-world diets. This kind of labelling rewards processed uniformity and penalises diversity. It pushes producers toward nutritionally “optimised” products that suit industrial supply chains rather than sustainable food systems.
More importantly, it misleads consumers into thinking that food can be reduced to a single letter or colour. This illusion of simplicity may serve marketing objectives, but it does nothing to support meaningful dietary change. If it did, we would have seen results by now. Yet obesity rates continue to rise, including in France, the birthplace of Nutri-Score.
Even the industry is walking away
Even some of the food industry’s biggest players are now distancing themselves from the system. In May, Nestlé announced it would withdraw Nutri-Score from its products in Switzerland, its home country, even before Nestlé’s decision, Swiss food giants Migros and Emmi had already withdrawn Nutri-Score from their products. Their reasoning was simple: the system is no longer credible.
When Europe’s largest food manufacturer abandons a label it once promoted—and does so in the country where it is headquartered—it sends a clear signal. Industry sees what policymakers are reluctant to admit: that nutrition labelling is a dead end. It does not shift consumer behaviour at scale. It does not support sustainable production, nor does it build public trust.
A distraction from real reform
The continued focus on front-of-pack labelling reflects a broader institutional failure: the preference for symbolic gestures over structural reform. Labels are easy to promote. They’re visually appealing. They create the appearance of action. But in practice, they distract from deeper policy questions about subsidies, trade, and the true cost of food.
Worse, they reinforce the incentives of industrial-scale production. Labelling schemes reward products based on narrow nutrient profiles while ignoring production methods, ecological impact, or cultural value. This encourages the very trends—efficiency, uniformity, and scale—that underpin the factory farm boom.
The evidence isn’t there. It never was.
Proponents of labelling often cite behavioural studies suggesting that front-of-pack systems can influence consumer choices. But these are short-term, tightly controlled experiments. In the real world, the evidence tells a different story. Countries with the most aggressive labelling strategies continue to experience rising obesity, increasing rates of diet-related illness, and ongoing environmental degradation. For example, in Chile—one of the most aggressive countries in Latin America with mandatory black-octagon labels since 2016—obesity prevalence rose from roughly 68% of adults in 2010 to about 79% by 2022, despite the labelling and other health measures. If labelling worked, the data would reflect that.
The truth is, nutrition cannot be reduced to a traffic light or an algorithm. Eating habits are shaped by culture, price, availability, education, and social norms. The idea that better consumer “information” alone can drive public health outcomes is not just simplistic. It has been repeatedly disproven.
If Europe is serious about fixing its food system, it needs to let go of the illusion that labelling is a shortcut to health. Real solutions lie elsewhere: in supporting sustainable farming, reforming subsidies, regulating marketing to children, improving access to nutritious food, and investing in public health. These are the interventions that work, not stickers on packages.
Lessons from a broken system
The Guardian’s recent reporting on Europe’s megafarms highlights what happens when policy drifts away from reality. The rise of factory farming is not a coincidence. It is the logical outcome of a system built around scale, standardisation, and superficial metrics. Nutri-Score helps prop up those sorts of systems.
The EU must stop pretending that labelling is a public health strategy. It isn’t. It’s a communications tool—and one that has failed to deliver. The sooner Brussels moves past this failed model, the sooner it can begin the serious work of building a food system that serves people, protects animals, and restores the planet.
