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Fashion’s been playing the body diversity game for a while now — but just like any trend, it doesn’t last long. Enter Ozempic: the weight-loss miracle sweeping the industry, and with it, a bitter reminder that “catwalk thin” is still the unspoken rule. Body inclusivity? That was cute for a minute. But now, with Ozempic in the mix, thinness is back — and it’s here to stay.
Ozempic, or Wegovy (the weight-loss version of semaglutide), has stormed the fashion world, where thinness has always been revered. The drug, originally for diabetes, has become the shortcut to the coveted body that designers, editors, and influencers have long championed. What’s wild is how many in the industry are secretly relying on Ozempic to shed pounds — but heaven forbid they admit it. The shame of using a quick fix is palpable, even though the results are undeniable.
Why the secrecy? Even with the drug everywhere, there’s this pervasive need to lie about how the weight was lost — as if it’s only “acceptable” if it’s done through “clean living” or hardcore workouts. Take Lizzo, for example. Once the champion of body positivity, now showing off her weight loss and denying using any weight-loss drugs.
This kind of paradox is frustrating. Why should anyone feel the need to hide the truth? Why should they apologize for using a drug that works? The language around weight loss is still steeped in moral judgments — the slimmer you are, the more disciplined you must be, and the heavier you are, well, you’re lazy, right?
This kind of moralizing keeps the cycle going: those “thin enough” but not quite there feel pressured to deny their truth, to keep up with a standard that’s impossible to meet without shortcuts. The use of Ozempic reinforces the idea that it’s not the work you put in, but the result that counts. Thin is still in, just like it always was.
What’s especially troubling is how fashion, which was slowly creeping toward inclusivity, seems to be backpedaling. At many shows this month, token diversity meant one plus-sized model among a sea of waifs. Inclusivity in fashion has been relegated to an afterthought, as the industry reverts to its tried-and-true love affair with the ultra-thin. It’s fine to have a little fat — but only if that fat belongs to someone else.
And here’s the kicker: Ozempic’s role isn’t just as a trendy diet aid — it’s a symbol of fashion’s refusal to let go of its toxic obsession with thinness. Even as the world pushes for more body diversity, fashion continues to reward only those who fit its narrowest ideals.
This isn’t just an industry problem — it’s a cultural one. The stigma surrounding weight-loss drugs, and the shame of achieving a desired body with them, perpetuates an outdated and damaging belief system.
Not so long ago, fashion was beginning to embrace diversity, featuring a wider range of body types. But with Ozempic entering the scene, that inclusivity is already under threat. At recent runway shows, the reality was clear: the “inclusive” efforts are fading. As reported by The Guardian, fashion’s token diversity is being sacrificed in favor of the same old, same old.
This isn’t just about fashion; it’s about health. As great as Ozempic may be for some, studies have raised concerns about its long-term effects. Dr. Nathan Curran, a longevity expert at London’s Galen Clinic, warned that rapid weight loss, without accompanying lifestyle changes, can result in “skinny fat” and wasted muscle. Worse, weight loss may plateau after two years, leaving users with a body that looks slimmer but is far from healthy.
Then there’s the price. Ozempic costs a staggering $969 a month in the U.S., while Germans pay just $59. Senator Bernie Sanders recently pointed out that the high U.S. prices are a major issue — and the cost of the drug could bankrupt the healthcare system if it were covered by Medicaid or Medicare. Novo Nordisk, Ozempic’s manufacturer, has a $560 billion market cap, but the debate about its exorbitant pricing continues. Novo’s CEO was even grilled by Congress for the 9x price difference between the U.S. and Europe. The price disparity raises major questions about fairness and access.
The reality is that Ozempic’s generics could be a game changer. If, or when, generics hit the market, prices could drop dramatically. For now, though, the costs remain a major barrier to those who could benefit most. And with growing demand, the drug is in short supply — leaving diabetics, for whom it was originally created, struggling to get the medication they need.
Ozempic has already made a measurable impact: the U.S. obesity rate dropped by 2% over the past three years, according to the CDC. While it’s too early to say for certain that this decline is due to Ozempic, the data is telling. Obesity rates may finally be on the decline, after decades of steadily rising. But Ozempic’s impact goes beyond weight loss — it has potential to treat multiple health conditions, like Type 2 diabetes. With its global reach and skyrocketing profits, the drug’s market is only growing.
The long-term effects, though, remain to be seen. One user, who lost 20 pounds in a few months, calls Ozempic a “wonder drug,” but acknowledges that we’re still learning about its full impact. There’s also the potential ripple effect on the global food ecosystem. With many people using Ozempic to curb their appetites, food consumption could drop — and some users have already noticed a decrease in their food budgets, which may help offset the high cost of the drug.
Ultimately, the rise of Ozempic is doing more than just making people thin. It’s reinforcing an industry that values thinness over health, diversity, and authenticity. Fashion’s obsession with the impossible body ideal is harmful — not just for those who don’t fit it, but for everyone.
The focus should be on embracing all bodies, not just those who meet a narrow, shifting standard. Ozempic is just the latest symptom of this toxic cycle, and until the fashion industry truly embraces inclusivity, we’re stuck with the same old story.
