In December of 2017, the US Food and Drug Administration approved Ozempic, a semaglutide-based medication for the niche treatment of type 2 diabetes. Now, in the spring of 2025, a revolution is reshaping American medicine in the form of a tiny injection pen. A once-niche drug for diabetes has become a household name, its reputation soaring on promises of “effortless” weight loss. But beneath the glossy headlines and celebrity endorsement lies a complicated story.
According to Healthline, about 13% of US adults have tried a GLP-1 type drug like Ozempic, or less commonly, Wegovy. These medications work by mimicking a gut hormone that suppresses appetite and slows digestion, making it easier for us to eat less and feel full for longer periods. Initially developed to manage blood sugar levels, they’ve been embraced by a broader public. Society has transformed into a mass desperate for a pharmacological shortcut to weight loss. For some, the results are dramatic and refreshing; for others, the side effects include nausea, fatigue, and in some cases, even disordered eating, disrupting daily lives.
As The Guardian reported, the very mechanism that makes GLP-1 drugs effective—dampening hunger cues—can be dangerous for people with a history of restrictive eating. Some clinicians have begun to worry that these drugs may trigger or exacerbate conditions, especially when prescribed without thorough screening. These conditions include anorexia, an eating disorder that causes people to obsess over body weight, or bulimia, a condition marked by binging and then purging consumption of food. The line between treatment and harm has become razor-thin.
Meanwhile, the cultural impact of Ozempic is rippling far beyond the clinic. The New York Times notes that the drug has even infiltrated social scenery, with so-called “Ozempic dinners” becoming a trend among those who’ve lost weight and now attend food-centric gatherings with altered, “ideal” appetites. A medication that suppresses hunger now shapes how people socialize, eat, and even relate to their bodies.
The surge in GLP-1 use also raises concerns about access and equity. Healthline says that while 13% of adults have tried these drugs, cost remains a significant barrier, especially to those who need it most for its initial intended purpose. List prices can reach $1,400 per month, and many national insurance plans don’t cover them for weight loss alone. This financial struggle affects minority and lower-income populations, who often face higher rates of obesity, yet have less access to these necessary treatments.
As the new Ozempic era unfolds, we must begin to consider not just the medical impacts, but the societal ones as well. Are we witnessing a breakthrough in public health and a potential solution to America’s obesity problem? Or is this simply the latest chapter in a long history of weight-loss scams?
