Scroll back to the halcyon days of 2020, when the Internet was overflowing with self-love sermons, plus-size runway shows, and pastel infographics reminding us to “embrace every curve.” Now fast-forward to 2025, and we’re living in the “Ozempic era”—where the same culture that once preached body positivity is now obsessed with the weekly semaglutide injection, initially approved for type 2 diabetes that quickly earned off-label buzz for its dramatic weight-loss results.
As Arielle Lorre points out on Well with Arielle Lorre, the kumbaya era was short-lived. “It seems like we live in a world where you can’t say that you want to lose weight, and that’s not true. That’s not what’s happening behind closed doors,” Lorre says. Guest Amanda Hirsch, host of Not Skinny But Not Fat, agrees, calling the contrast stark—one minute, the culture crowns every figure sacred, and the next, it crowns a GLP-1 agonist its king. That contradiction, says Hirsch, “felt fake a little bit. In America, it kind of comes out in this: if you don’t align, you’re a horrible person.”
Neither woman condemns the drug outright, but they do spotlight the shame loop it’s fueling. Hirsch admits she once “was a hater about Ozempic at the beginning,” yet now recognizes that many users “are thriving on it.” Lorre echoes the frustration with secrecy, saying, “When somebody is taking a weight-loss medication…it’s like, I don’t feel like that’s anybody’s business.”
Both women ultimately come to realize the power of choice. “Let’s remove the shame around wanting to lose weight because in your room, you’re talking about it,” Hirsch says. Transparency—whether you’re proudly body-positive, openly medicated, or grinding out macros—beats performative perfection every time.
While social media showcases dramatic semaglutide transformations, the medical fine print tells a different story. According to Mayo Clinic guidance, Ozempic can cause gastrointestinal distress, increase resting heart rate, and—rarely—pancreatitis or thyroid tumors. Patients must rotate injection sites, monitor their blood sugar levels, and store their pens in the refrigerator. There’s a five-day grace period for Ozempic, two days for Wegovy, and complicated restart rules if you fall off schedule.
Even success stories can mask long-term trade-offs. GLP-1s often shave off muscle along with fat, potentially slowing metabolism once treatment stops. That’s why Hirsch emphasizes she’s “working with a nutritionist,” prioritizing protein and strength training over quick fixes.
The positivity-to-Ozempic pipeline hits women harder than men. Hirsch notes how celebrity disclosure wars tend to target female bodies, and Lorre adds that every public figure becomes a lightning rod for criticism. “I think people love a takedown; [they] love to take down a woman,” she says.
The double bind is brutal. Stay plus-size and you’re accused of glorifying obesity; slim down with Ozempic and you’re labeled inauthentic. As Hirsch quips, “You’re not allowed to say you want to fit into your jeans. You’re supposed to say, ‘Your jeans don’t fit? Buy a new size.’”
So, where does that leave the average person trying to navigate bikini season without losing her sanity?
Decide whose voice matters. If the body-positivity crowd inspires you, fantastic. If you’d rather discuss dosing schedules with your endocrinologist, that’s also valid. Either way, ignore anonymous commenters (use the block button liberally!), and make decisions based on your values, not internet trends.
Understand the medical reality. Ozempic can be life-changing for insulin resistance and obesity, but only under a doctor’s care. Be ready for blood tests, possible side effects, and a multi-month titration plan.
Prioritize muscle. Hirsch’s “eggs and sausage, drinking the protein shake, and f*cking trying to look good this summer” may sound blunt, but science backs her up—protein plus resistance training protects lean mass as the scale drops.
Keep shame off the menu. Lorre nails it when she says, “At the end of the day, like, who cares? You want to feel better.” Your wellness strategy—be it intuitive eating, Ozempic, or heavy deadlifts—doesn’t require internet approval.
The real villain here isn’t a hashtag or an Ozempic prescription—it’s the relentless demand that women justify every inch of their flesh. Opt out of that narrative, choose informed autonomy, and the pipeline loses its power.
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