What Ozempic Taught Me About Style and Self-Worth

Last summer, on work trips to Portland, Oregon, and New York, and in the fall, while visiting London and Paris, I went out of my way to meet up with old friends, college classmates, and former colleagues, hoping someone would ask the question I’d waited so long to hear: Had I lost weight? I was prepared to tell them everything, starting with how strange it felt the first time I stabbed myself in the abdomen with a 34-gauge needle. This deeply unnatural act requires a degree of disassociation; for the longest time I just sat there staring at my hand. Once I tricked my body into violating itself, it was just a matter of pressing down on a small button to push a dose of semaglutide out of an Ozempic-branded pen dispenser, through the thin needle, and into my flesh.