2 days ago
I'm Ozempic curious, but women are being shamed whatever we do
Whether it's 'I'm on Ozempic', revealed in a hushed tone, or 'Are they on Ozempic?' in response to someone suddenly looking amazing, the whos, whats, and whys of the new 'skinny pen' have taken over our lives.
I can hardly go to a dinner or a work event without being met with an 'Oh, I couldn't possibly' as I hand a sharing plate around. Friends and colleagues are suddenly not eating, not drinking, and not talking about anything apart from the effects of Ozempic or Mounjaro.
It's infiltrated our lives so much that we don't even wait for confirmation anymore before letting ourselves speculate. Social media pictures are swapped and dissected to guess whether X's weight loss is due to an injectable. Anecdotes about hair falling out and muscle wastage are rapidly shared, alongside other stories of so-and-so looking and feeling amazing now that she has lost two stone.
And it is leaving women like me more confused than ever.
I'm very much someone who thinks 'each to their own, you do you' – but there is an effect on those of us not taking Ozempic. I've never been a typically 'skinny' girl. I've always had curves – and I've (for the most part) loved them. I've had moments where I've been so happy and comfortable with my body, loving how it looks – and other times when I'm so upset with my less-than-gazelle-like legs.
I work in the food industry as a writer and love it (both the industry and the job itself). It's a genuine source of enjoyment for me, and whenever I've gone through stressful or sad moments in my life, I've never not wanted – or been able – to eat. Not eating, for me, signals desperation and joylessness, and I don't want that in my life. However, I'm also someone who can definitely eat: watch me at a buffet and you'll see – my appetite is not small, nor is it contained. And now, I do wonder if suppressing it slightly wouldn't be all that bad…
I also think back to the difficult feelings of the 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' era in my teen years. I've always had a really healthy relationship with food, but I've also always known that I need to balance my largely healthy diet with exercise. It suddenly feels quite odd to be confronting these age-old qualms in my thirties.
And I think this is because the conversation around Ozempic is no longer about whether someone is taking it – it's about why they're not. There is this creeping social commentary, a murmur you can feel more than hear: well, why wouldn't you, if you could? Why wouldn't you want to do what all these other people are doing – especially when they're dropping a dress size and looking 'better' and feeling great?
And I am suddenly finding myself wondering if sticking my fingers down my throat is less damaging than injecting myself with a so-called weight-loss drug. As if questioning it internally wasn't damaging enough, Ozempic has now taken over the weight-loss conversation entirely. It's the topic du jour in an era where we aren't meant to judge body shapes (in particular, women's bodies).
But while we strive to be kinder and live in a world where every body type is accepted – we suddenly find ourselves more obsessed and judgmental of other people's bodies and their choices than ever before.
One young woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, shared that before taking Mounjaro, she was feeling miserable and that without it, the secret formula to being significantly smaller was essentially not enjoying life. 'A few of my friends were in a similar position to me and had already started taking Mounjaro, and they loved it. Not only did they lose weight, but they said they'd never felt better, which for me was really the point.'
They recommended an online pharmacy that didn't require any photos. 'I was only one point off the 30 BMI required to buy Mounjaro at that point, so I thought, if everyone else is doing it, why not? I fudged the numbers and it arrived a few days later.'
And the effects? She says, purely positive. 'After a year, I'm much happier – and much smaller. I've made some lifestyle changes: eating smaller portions, semi-regular exercise, lots of walking, and drinking a lot less. Many of those are side effects of the drug anyway.'
She says all the 'food noise' has stopped and she is no longer counting every calorie or dealing with the feelings of obsession and shame around that, too. 'I feel less stressed knowing that if I've overindulged, it won't take me as long to rectify.'
However, the stigma of relying on a drug to do this remains undeniable.
'Some [friends] have asked me why I went on it in the first place. My answer is simple: I did it for me, not anyone else. I didn't do it for a partner; I didn't do it because I was being brainwashed by social media. I've never had body dysmorphia or an eating disorder. I wanted to enter my thirties the healthiest I could possibly be, so I could avoid health issues in the future and live longer.
'I won't be on it forever… For me, this is a short-term fix, not a lifelong commitment. There's lots of scaremongering about regaining the weight when you come off it, but I'm not worried because I've had a few weeks off every now and then and have not seen any weight gain or change in my appearance.'
The confidence Ozempic and other similar drugs bring is undeniable, which makes it even more unnerving for those like me standing on the sidelines. Women I know who are on it report that being lighter means they feel healthier – which means they feel happier, which probably shows.
There's a strange, unspoken competitiveness in the air. The kind where a friend shows up three sizes smaller and you're hit with an involuntary pang of comparison, followed by a flurry of questions: did she stop eating? Is it Ozempic? She looks better, but does she actually feel better? Any side effects? Is her hair falling out? And, internally, you are left with the final haunting question: should I do the same?
But even when those you know are boasting amazing results, there's still stigma and shame around it, so some people are still keeping their syringe secret. But the most damaging thing about it all is that we're not just talking about other people's bodies more than ever before – we're judging them, and ourselves, more harshly than ever.
These drugs have created a whole new category of pressure – not just to be thin, but how you get there. It's like there's a hierarchy now: natural slimness, then skinny via 'clean eating', and then chemically assisted skinny. And people are shy about being in that last bracket because of the 'obesity drug' label, even if it's the most effective.
It's not without a price, either. Only those with extreme weight or health problems are being prescribed these by NHS doctors. Others are forking out an average of around £250 a month – with some spending thousands on it and planning to be on it for life. It's no surprise that the maker of weight-loss drug Wegovy has recently become Europe's most valuable firm, dethroning the French luxury conglomerate LVMH.
As women, we are used to being pressured – physically, emotionally, and socially. But this is a new kind of tightrope. One where you can't win either way
As women, we're used to being pressured – physically, emotionally, and socially. But this is a new kind of tightrope. One where you can't win either way. Lose weight without Ozempic, and people assume you're lying. Lose weight with it, and you're accused of cheating. Stay the same, and suddenly you're questioning everything about your body.
This pressure comes from friends and partners, too, even if unintentionally. As we comment more freely on other women's bodies and any noticeable changes in weight – even if we aren't directly suggesting slimming down – that's often the message that's received.
We've gone back several steps when it comes to self-love and acceptance. I might say I love my curves, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit my brain is also hyper-fixated on the bloated food baby I'm nursing from my delicious dinner last night.
And when someone shows off a toned body, I immediately question whether this was a legitimate workout and diet plan – or Ozempic. This isn't about health. It's about optics. Suddenly, being average-sized – a UK 12 or 14 – isn't acceptable; something can always be 'improved'.
So... truthfully, we haven't come far at all and, like with many things relating to women, we seem to be going backwards.
But this feeling isn't just limited to women. One man I know acknowledges the reason he doesn't talk about being on Ozempic is because of 'so much negative stigma of it being the cheater's way to lose weight' – it's not the Men's Health way of doing things.
These drugs do make it easier and are easy to get hold of, but the complex feelings that come with them don't make it feel like an easy thing to do. This isn't a face serum. It's a drug with real consequences. One that hasn't been prescribed to most who are taking it, and yet some people are throwing it into their weekly routine like it's a new mascara.
These drugs might be easier to access than a GP appointment – but there are many like me standing on the sidelines, not quite sure if we should take it, even when we can. How can you make a truly informed decision about your body when everything you're hearing is second-hand, half-truths, or filtered through someone else's Instagram highlights?
And for those of us attached in some way to food – loving it, writing about it, creating content around it – there's another layer of cognitive dissonance. How can I wax lyrical about a tasting menu when half the table is nibbling one amuse-bouche and calling it a night? Or is the industry moving on, not just professionally but aesthetically?
I don't have all the answers – but I do know I'm tired of being made to feel like my hunger is a flaw. So, should I be on it? I don't know. I'm still undecided. Because while a quieter appetite (and slimmer figure, I cannot lie) might sound appealing, so does actually enjoying a meal. While a flatter stomach might win the Instagram algorithm, so might honesty.
The pressure to be smaller in a summer of skinny – even in this supposedly body-positive era – is not the same as a personal choice. It's a collective weight we're all carrying, one that feels like it is getting heavier by the day.
