When we think about eating disorders, our attention naturally turns to food. We talk about nutrition, meal plans, fear foods and the emotions that can arise around eating. Yet eating is about much more than what’s on the plate.
Every meal is a sensory experience. The temperature of the food, its texture, smell and appearance all contribute to how comfortable (or overwhelming) a meal can feel. But there’s another part of the experience that rarely receives attention: the cutlery we use.
Something as ordinary as a spoon can become part of the sensory experience of eating.
For many people, a fork is simply a fork. For others, particularly those experiencing sensory sensitivities alongside an eating disorder, its weight, texture, shape or material can influence whether a meal feels manageable or distressing. New research from King’s College London and the South London and Maudsley NHS Foundation Trust explores this often-overlooked aspect of eating, revealing how seemingly small details can have a meaningful impact on treatment experiences.
The findings challenge us to think differently about eating disorder care, not by focusing solely on food itself, but by considering the wider sensory environment in which recovery takes place.
Eating Is an Entire Sensory Experience
Eating is about far more than taste. Every bite involves touch, movement, sound, temperature, texture and countless unconscious sensory judgements. For many people these sensations blend seamlessly together. For others, they demand constant attention.
Individuals living with eating disorders frequently describe heightened awareness of sensory experiences during meals. Texture, temperature and predictability can all influence how comfortable eating feels. For autistic people and those with ADHD, these sensory differences may be even more pronounced, although sensory sensitivities are by no means limited to neurodivergent individuals.
When meals already provoke anxiety, uncertainty or emotional distress, additional sensory discomfort can increase the challenge still further.
This understanding has led many treatment services to adopt more sensory-informed approaches to care. Rather than viewing the eating environment as neutral, clinicians are increasingly recognising that lighting, noise, seating, communication and environmental predictability all influence recovery.
Until now, however, very little attention has been given to some of the most basic objects at every meal: the cutlery itself.
Looking Beyond Food
The research explored how adults receiving intensive eating disorder treatment experienced different types of cutlery.
Twenty-four participants attending specialist inpatient and day treatment programmes were invited to handle and evaluate 31 different pieces of cutlery. The collection included forks, knives, spoons and a spork, varying in material, size, weight, texture and design.
Participants were encouraged to hold each item, rank their favourites, explain their choices and discuss how different pieces made them feel.
The purpose wasn’t to identify the “perfect” spoon or fork. Instead, the workshops explored something much more interesting: how people make sensory judgements about everyday objects, and whether those judgements influence eating.
The conversations revealed that they do.
Why Weight, Texture and Shape Matter
Participants rarely talked about cutlery in abstract terms. Instead, they described an immediate sense of whether something simply felt right.
One participant explained, “You will feel it when it’s wrong or right.”
That response appeared again and again throughout the workshops.
Rather than analysing every feature separately, participants often recognised a preferred piece of cutlery almost instantly through touch. The experience was embodied rather than intellectual.
Weight emerged as one of the strongest influences.
Metal cutlery was consistently described as feeling balanced, dependable and reassuring. Participants valued the sense of solidity it provided in the hand, while lighter alternatives were often described as flimsy or unreliable.
One participant explained that metal, “feels like it’s doing what it’s supposed to do.”
By contrast, disposable plastic cutlery often created uncertainty. Some participants worried it would bend or snap during use, introducing another layer of discomfort into an already demanding activity.
The research also highlighted how subtle design features mattered:
- The length of fork prongs.
- The depth of a spoon.
- The thickness of a handle.
- The smoothness of a surface.
These details might appear insignificant in everyday life, yet they shaped how participants experienced eating.
What seems like a minor design choice to one person can become part of the emotional and sensory landscape of a meal for someone else.
Why Spoons Were Different
Perhaps one of the most surprising findings was the importance of spoons. Compared with forks and knives, participants expressed stronger opinions about spoon design and showed greater variation in what they preferred.
Many described spoons as more intimate because more of the utensil enters the mouth during eating. That made depth, width and shape especially important. Deep spoons were often described as uncomfortable or intrusive, while smaller, shallower spoons were generally experienced as easier to use.
One participant commented, “A bad spoon really bothers me.” Another explained that oversized spoons felt intimidating because “you have to put the whole thing in.”
These comments remind us that sensory experiences are rarely abstract. They are physical, immediate and deeply personal.
When Materials Become Sensory Experiences
Material choice also proved remarkably important. Metal was consistently preferred. Wooden cutlery, however, was almost universally disliked.
Participants described the dry texture of wood, its tendency to transfer taste and the uncomfortable sensation it created against the lips and tongue. Some even described anticipating those sensations before using the cutlery.
One participant simply stated: “Wood is always a no.” Another explained: “It makes my skin crawl.” Interestingly, participants weren’t simply describing inconvenience. They were describing genuine sensory experiences that affected their readiness to eat.
Plastic occupied a more complicated position. Some participants tolerated it when necessary, while others found it too light, flexible or unpredictable. Hybrid designs such as sporks were also widely rejected, suggesting that combining multiple functions into one utensil may actually increase sensory complexity rather than reduce it.
These preferences remained remarkably stable across different settings.
Whether eating at home, in hospital, at a café or while travelling, participants described adapting to available cutlery rather than changing what they genuinely preferred. As one participant explained, “Context doesn’t change what I prefer, it just changes how I cope.”
What This Means for Eating Disorder Treatment
Perhaps the most important message from this research isn’t about forks or spoons at all.
It’s about listening.
In many treatment settings, preferences around cutlery may be interpreted as eating disorder rituals that need to be challenged. While eating disorders can certainly influence behaviours around meals, the research suggests that sensory experiences deserve equal consideration.
These explanations do not have to compete with one another.
A person may prefer a smaller spoon because it feels more comfortable in their mouth. They may also associate it with eating disorder thoughts. Both experiences can exist at the same time.
Recognising this complexity encourages curiosity rather than assumption.
Instead of asking, “Is this an eating disorder behaviour?” clinicians might also ask, “Could there be a sensory reason for this preference?”
That small shift in perspective can open more collaborative conversations and help distinguish behaviours driven primarily by sensory needs from those maintained by the eating disorder itself.
It also reflects a broader movement towards neurodivergent-affirming care, where individual sensory experiences are understood as legitimate aspects of a person’s lived experience rather than obstacles to treatment.
Small Changes Can Make a Meaningful Difference
One of the strengths of sensory-informed care is that meaningful improvements don’t always require major changes. Sometimes they begin with noticing, then changing an approach by:
- Allowing someone to use their preferred spoon during treatment.
- Offering a choice of cutlery where clinically appropriate.
- Considering whether discomfort might be sensory rather than behavioural.
- Creating opportunities for patients to talk about what feels manageable instead of assuming every preference reflects resistance.
These are relatively small adaptations, yet they acknowledge an important reality: recovery happens within environments, not separate from them.
When the sensory environment becomes easier to navigate, people may have more emotional and cognitive capacity available for the difficult work of recovery itself.
Designing Recovery Around People
The findings also raise interesting questions beyond clinical practice.
If cutlery influences eating experiences, how many other everyday factors quietly shape recovery without us noticing? The chair someone sits on, lighting above the table, noise in the dining room, or the predictability of routines may all influence an individual’s ability to recover.
This study reminds us that thoughtful design isn’t only about architecture or products. Creating healthcare environments that recognise individual differences may reveal the biggest opportunities for compassion. A spoon may seem like an ordinary object; however, for someone navigating an eating disorder, it can become part of whether eating feels safe, overwhelming or somewhere in between.
Recovery requires more thought than what we ask people to eat; it is influenced by countless interactions between people and their environment, and the experiences perceived during the act of eating are an important consideration throughout the process of recovery.
While no single factor determines whether someone recovers, reducing unnecessary sensory distress may help make an already challenging process feel more manageable.
