Who can afford to be beautiful? For the poor, there is body positivity, for the rich there is Ozempic: the body as content

There’s a photo of Lana Del Rey taken last year during her set at the Reading Festival, where she’s wearing a very simple floral summer dress and is "thin again." The photo itself doesn’t say much, but what’s interesting is that it was posted on X by a fan who commented: "The bullying worked." The American singer-songwriter - like all women, simply for being women - has been meticulously scrutinized for years, and nothing seems more fascinating to the Internet than a sudden and seemingly unexplained weight change.

Let’s rewind. A couple of months earlier, Paramount+ had released the South Park special “The End of Obesity,” an episode focused on the spread of Ozempic in the United States and the related inequality in access to medication due to social and economic factors: a monthly dose costs around $1000. In the episode, a doctor warns Cartman and his mom Liane that the child’s obesity could be harmful to his health and suggests a semaglutide-based diabetes drug. However, Cartman doesn’t have diabetes, so his insurance won’t cover the cost, and Liane can’t afford to pay out of pocket. The doctor recommends another “solution” based on listening to singer Lizzo: “Rich people get Ozempic, poor people get body positivity.”

Why do we get upset when celebrities lose weight?

Lana Del Rey and Lizzo are just two of many female celebrities whose bodies have been picked apart and judged: when they don’t fit traditional beauty standards of thinness, they’re mocked and targeted, but when they lose weight, it’s seen as if they’re distancing themselves, as if it’s a rejection of body positivity. Their transformation is read as though it invalidates everything their bodies once stood for. That’s the issue: we tend to make other people’s bodies symbolic of our own. In an article on Medium, “Why Watching Lizzo Lose Weight Makes Fat Girls Sad,” the author points out that the American singer had (at least briefly) become a role model for those wanting to see a “normal” body challenge dominant narratives. A body, like any other, that takes up space on stage, wins awards, and tops global charts. Lizzo’s weight loss is perceived as a collective defeat: if she or Adele lose weight, does it mean they’re giving up? Yet Lizzo has never claimed to be a champion of body positivity: in fact, she’s said the political movement has been hollowed out and commercialized over time.

The case of Remi Bader

Remi Bader is a U.S. influencer who rose to fame in 2020 with her “Realistic Remi Hauls”, self-deprecating TikTok videos where she tried on fast-fashion pieces in a size 20. Over the years, Bader built a strong following but repeatedly rejected the label of body positivity advocate, simply because she wasn’t one: she often voiced dissatisfaction with her own body. In one interview, she asked: “What would I do if I lost weight? Or gained more? It’s about me, but it’s also about others.” In late 2023, Bader underwent bariatric surgery, losing over 60 kg.

In an interview with Khloé Kardashian on her podcast Self, Bader said: “I’ll never regret taking time to heal. It wasn’t the Internet’s business or the business of people who don’t know me, it was mine to figure out.” However, she only publicly acknowledged the surgery months later, and many users on various forums criticized her for not being fully transparent: “What bothered me was that she blatantly lied saying it was all diet and exercise. We have eyes: you’re not dieting or working out. And even if you were, you don’t lose 100 pounds in six months in a healthy and sustainable way. Why not be honest? Why contribute to unrealistic weight loss standards by lying?” one user wrote. So whose body is it, and who gets to give permission when it changes, especially when it becomes a symbol of something?

What happens when a body becomes content? Giulia Giorgi explains

I spoke with Giulia Giorgi, a Tenure Track Researcher in Cultural and Communication Sociology at La Statale in Milan. “The moment you become famous,” she explains, “you sort of stop being a person and start being content. Content that must be constant, coherent, and above all legible—the audience expects a narrative, a reason, a justification. There always needs to be a story that makes sense, that feels authentic and acceptable. This applies to everything, but it’s especially true with bodies. It’s as if the body no longer belongs to the individual but becomes collective property, something to comment on, dissect, and judge.” And this doesn’t just happen with Hollywood celebrities, but also with influencers and well-known social media figures. “You see it even in the comments on breakup videos from famous couples: why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you explain? And when it comes to bodies, the pressure is even heavier: why did you lose weight? Did you get surgery or take meds? Everything becomes a subject of speculation and expected explanation. At that point, a body is no longer a body: it’s content meant to generate likes, engagement, and discourse.”