THIS party season, it seems everyone is thin.
Clavicles rise from party dresses, cheekbones are sculpted, middle-aged waists are waspish once again, while arms I’d once described as “peachy” are now long and sinewy.
“Ozempic,” my friend told me, before trotting out a list of well-known names who are now all 10 kilos lighter thanks to the semaglutide “weight-loss” jab.
It’s easy to see how tempting this is, especially when you consider, on average, we consume around 6,000 calories on Christmas Day alone.
Like most people, I had turkey, potatoes, pigs in blankets and pretty much anything else put before me.
And like most people, I’ll probably stop around the end of the month.
But I’ve been in the company of those on Ozempic during this period.
And it’s a bit sad. Plates are half-finished, turkey picked at.
Dinner ends so much earlier because they don’t have the same appetite, or the same excitement about food, which is such an integral part of the festive period.
With all the hype, is it any wonder an estimated 500,000 Brits are now buying weight-loss drugs online, with many more set to join them this January?
I don’t have an issue with those on Ozempic.
I know plenty who have struggled with their weight for years who now claim to have their lives back.
But I am jealous.
Let me explain . . . I am at my all- time heaviest.
That means party dresses of years gone by sit sadly in my wardrobe.
I’m relieved my New Year’s Eve plans involve nothing more than sitting at home with my husband, since nothing actually fits.
How has this happened? A clusterf*** of reasons, actually.
First, I’ve been working at home for the last three years, which is a lot of time in “boyfriend” jeans, one flight of stairs away from the biscuit tin.
I never lost the “Covid stone” (OK, the “Covid stone and a half”), which happens when you make sourdough bread every day — and eat it.
And then, a few months back, my father died, grief making me lurch into the arms of carbohydrates and trans fats.
So here I am. Six kilos heavier.
I can’t bear to have my photograph taken.
On holiday, I had to buy cycling shorts because the tops of my thighs rubbed so badly.
“Why not just take Ozempic?”, a friend, who has been on it for the past year and half, with astonishing results, asked.
The answer is complicated.
Firstly, I had a completely unprovoked seizure almost two years ago.
Unconscious, “evacuated” myself, frothing at the mouth . . . No expert could find out why.
It is thought — though there is no absolute proof yet — that Ozempic can, in rare cases, cause hypoglycaemia.
This is a condition where blood sugar becomes dangerously low, leading to . . . seizures!
So that’s one reason. I’m terrified.
Secondly, I’ve heard about the side effects — gaunt Edvard Munch-type faces, muscle loss (there is talk of flattened bottoms and saggy arms).
And what happens when you come off it? I know one woman who came off Ozempic after a year.
Six months later, she’d put back all the weight she’d lost and more.
(Given my father had diabetes, I’m increasingly less flexible on the ethical stance, since Ozempic is a drug usually given to diabetics.)
So it’s not a goer for me.
Thus, I am losing weight the hard way, through diet and exercise.
Like most people, I became aware of Ozempic in 2022.
There were rumours Kim Kardashian used it to drop the 20lb needed to fit into the Marilyn Monroe “sparkle” dress she wore to the Met Gala that year.
A few months later, Vanity Fair ran an article about it.
Before long, there were whispers that it could be prescribed off-label.
In other words, you could buy it without having seen a doctor.
I didn’t know anyone who actually used it. I thought it would be one of those mad, Hollywood things, like the $200,000 facelift that only actors and crazy rich people embark on.
Until a year later and everyone started to look much slimmer.
Most people, when pushed, were vague on how they’d done it.
“Low carb”, “cutting back”, “doing more at the gym” were all routine answers.
Yet I’d never seen such drastic results through diet and exercise.
First, I was baffled. Why did these things never work that rapidly for me?
Then, I was frustrated I’d failed to be as disciplined as they clearly had.
To suddenly find myself in a world where everyone, even those who had struggled with their weight, was managing to take control, was devastating.
I felt a total failure.
Until I started to realise almost everyone was on “the jab”.
Out of all the newly svelte bodies I have seen over the last year — and there are many — only one person openly admitted taking Ozempic. I only know everyone else’s secret because indiscreet friends told me.
At first, I was angry. Anger that is dressed up as moral self righteousness but is, in fact, jealousy.
Then I was despondent — “Oh f* it . . . what’s the point?”, I’d say to myself while tucking into a packet of Marks & Spencer Outrageously Chocolatey custard creams.
And then I knew I had to figure it all out. “If you’re really struggling,” said my husband, “why don’t you see a specialist?”
So, having tried every freakish diet in the book, I hired a nutritionist. I am lucky.
She is the same lady who teaches me CrossFit.
I like the fact she knows me and my body (You can follow all her plans free, by the way, on @Nutrition_By_Niks).
She has taught me protein is basically natural Ozempic (my words, not hers).
Have enough of it with every meal and you won’t be hungry later.
She hasn’t told me to cut sugar out and yet, by making teeny additions to my diet, I’ve naturally cut out almost all sugar.
The upshot is I feel sort of clearer headed.
It is not quick doing it this way. It means learning about my body and nutrition, spending a bit of money.
It probably means I won’t get into those party dresses for another year.
That’s fine by me. It is working! Slowly, steadily, surely.
It means I can still enjoy food and won’t get a saggy ass. It’s much cheaper than a £300 jab once a month.
And the best bit? I don’t need to keep it a shameful secret.
