Protein Brands Are the New Celebrity Beauty Line

Makeup and skin care are out; bars, shakes, and powders are in.

January 8, 2026

A group of celebrities gathered in front of their respective protein products.

Earlier this week, I opened a Slack notification to see that another big celebrity name was launching a protein brand. On January 5, Mel Robbins, a lawyer who turned a viral 2011 TedX talk into a lucrative second career as a self-help guru, introduced PureGenius Protein, a line of pocket-sized “protein shots” packing 23 grams per three-ounce bottle. “It is unlike any other protein you’ve ever had,” Robbins wrote in the caption of a Facebook post breaking the news. (She has around 90 million followers across platforms.)

This kind of bulletin has become increasingly common among actors, influencers, and athletes. Khloe Kardashian has Khloud Protein Popcorn. Venus Williams has Happy Viking, a plant-based protein powder company. In 2021, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s son, actor Patrick Schwarzenegger (a.k.a. the fuckboy character on the most recent season of The White Lotus), embarked on a much more G-rated family affair: partnering with his mother, former first lady of California Maria Shriver, to develop MOSH Protein Bars. Other celebrity businesses have hopped on the bandwagon too: Tom Brady’s TB12, Kate Hudson’s InBloom, Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop, Mark Wahlberg’s Performance Inspired, Jennifer Lopez’s BodyLab, and Arnold Schwarzenegger and LeBron James’s Ladder Sport currently offer or recently offered an extensive array of protein products.

Meanwhile, other celebrities have adopted a different approach to pushing protein: taking roles at existing brands rather than starting their own or partnering with brands to advertise specific products. As recently as this fall, Jennifer Aniston was listed as a chief creative officer for Vital Proteins. Zac Efron serves as chief brand officer for Kodiak Cakes, which is known for its high-protein oatmeal and pancake and waffle mixes. And as we were wrapping up this piece, Dunkin' released an ad starring Megan Thee Stallion to promote its new Dunkin' Protein Refreshers drinks, and influencer Peter Attia’s David Protein (yep, yet another celebrity protein brand) centered Julia Fox in a provocative campaign for its new Bronze Bars. “These are actually so good. And I swear I’m not just saying that because you guys paid me a lot of money,” Fox says in a video ad mid-makeup touchup, the bar wrapper audibly crinkling.

If you felt a flash of déjà vu reading the Mel Robbins announcement, I wouldn’t blame you. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you’ve seen this movie before—around 10 years ago, when another type of business venture took hold of Hollywood: the celebrity beauty line. From 2015 to 2022, we were inundated with new options: Kylie Jenner’s Kylie Cosmetics, Jessica Alba’s Honest Beauty, Rihanna’s Fenty Beauty (and, later, Fenty Skin), Kim Kardashian’s KKW Beauty, Lady Gaga’s Haus Labs, Tracee Ellis Ross’s Pattern Beauty, Millie Bobby Brown’s Florence by Mills, Selena Gomez’s Rare Beauty, Victoria Beckham’s Victoria Beckham Beauty, Alica Keys’s Keys Soulcare, Ariana Grande’s R.E.M. Beauty, Jennifer Aniston’s LolaVie, and Hailey Bieber’s Rhode, among (many, many) others.

Thinking about the increasingly crowded field of celebrity protein brands, it’s hard not to be reminded of that day and age (or the preceding one, which consisted of endless celebrity fragrances, as a 2023 Forbes article astutely points out). With the COVID-era decline of daily full glam, the corresponding rise of a “clean girl” look that emphasizes subtle enhancements over dramatic overhauls, and the backslide into a “thin is in” mentality, celebs seem to have moved away from cosmetics and made protein their new commercial focus, pivoting to shakes, bars, and powders. Protein brands, in short, have become the new beauty line.

To anyone who has followed nutrition trends closely in recent years, this direction is hardly surprising. Fueled by the longstanding tie between protein consumption and muscle growth, and newer internet-wide alarmism about insufficient protein intake, something akin to a cult of personality has sprung up around the macro, elevating it from a regular nutrient to a miracle cure for a wide range of ailments. Between July 2022 and April 2025, the percentage of US consumers who wanted to eat more protein increased from 33% to 44%, according to a 2025 Bain & Company survey—never mind that medical experts say most Americans actually consume more than enough already.

Regardless of whether the obsession is justified, the effect is the same: Protein is everywhere—blaring in bubble letters on supermarket labels, flogged relentlessly by fitness influencers on TikTok, and, of course, shouted out in celebrity interviews and social media posts. What’s more, protein is increasingly showing up in items where it’s not naturally found, from water to coffee to cookies, as retailers seeking to capitalize on the phenomenon shoehorn it into their offerings. Likewise, celebrity protein brands represent simple supply and demand: stars recognizing that there is money to be made from protein products in light of the current craze.

Of course, concluding that protein products are the new celebrity beauty line raises a larger question: What does this say about societal priorities and beauty standards at this moment in time, especially considering the return of thinness as a body ideal and the boom in GLP-1 weight loss drugs? Like we alluded to earlier, working toward a higher protein intake has historically been associated with athletes and fitness enthusiasts—communities that are generally associated with a certain physical look (read “slim and toned”). In this climate, does that mean the current protein hype represents something more insidious than people simply trying to “feel better” or “take charge of their health,” as marketing experts would spin it? Put simply, is it essentially a modern manifestation of diet culture—and if so, are the protein-pushing celebs complicit?

Having lived through the dark body image days of the early 2000s—and in an overwhelmingly white community that prized blond hair, blue eyes, and a complete absence of curves, no less—I, for one, really hope that “eat more protein” isn’t just modern code for “lose weight” or “tone up,” but I worry that it signifies exactly that. If so, it could herald a dispiriting return to tradition: a society that openly treats thinness as the most important measure of not only aesthetic appeal, but also human worth.