Johann Hari recounts his journey with Ozempic

It was the winter of 2022 when the global pandemic was finally receding, and Johann Hari, the author of the book Magic Pill, went to a party. He felt chubby and “slightly self-conscious” because he had gained weight—approximately “a stone and a half since the world shut down,” as Hari narrates in his book.

The party he was going to was thrown by an Oscar-winning actor, and as the author walked in, he wrote, “I felt disconcerted. It wasn’t just that nobody has gained weight. They were gaunt. Their cheekbones were higher, their stomachs tighter (...) everyone suddenly looked like their own Snapchat filter, clearer, and sharper.” As Hari later realises, the reason was nothing but the blockbuster weight loss drug, Ozempic.

Semaglutide is a medication used to control blood sugar levels in people with Type 2 diabetes. Initially prescribed under the name Ozempic, it was found to dramatically reduce obesity. It works by mimicking a hormone found in our small intestine called glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1), which is released when you eat. By boosting the production of this hormone, the drug augments satiety. In the book, Hari describes his journey with Ozempic.

Over a Zoom call, he shares with me that when he first heard about the medication, he thought, “This could save my life!” He was about to turn 44, the age at which his grandfather died of a heart attack. “I knew that obesity makes heart disease more likely, in fact, obesity causes or worsens it,” he said. “If there really is a drug that can reduce or reverse obesity, that’s going to be a big deal for people like me who have a lot of obesity in their family. This sounded too good to be true.”

It had been two days since Hari started taking Ozempic when, he writes, “I opened my eyes and immediately felt that something was off (...) I always woke up ravenously hungry, but on that morning, I had no appetite at all. It was all gone.” He tells me that he went from eating 3,200 calories to roughly 2,000 calories a day which a man of his height should eat. Along with a reduced appetite, Hari describes experiencing a sense of mild nausea that would come and go.

While the drug is well-researched and approved, some aspects, like its long-term effects, are not yet fully understood. Hari’s book lists 12 risks associated with the drug, including thyroid cancer, pancreatitis, kidney problems, depression, malnutrition, “Ozempic face”—gaunt appearance, “Ozempic butt”—deflated buttocks, unknown long-term effects, faster heartbeat, and initial nausea and tiredness. He advises comparing these risks with those of obesity and suggests trying diet and exercise first as they are less risky.

This drug also poses a risk to people with eating disorders or those prone to developing them. Hari notes that with online consultations, doctors can easily prescribe Ozempic without verifying weight, making it accessible to anyone. He describes these drugs as “rocket fuel” for eating disorders, warning of a potential opioid-like death toll among young girls using them to starve themselves, despite the benefits for those with a family history of heart disease like his.

In conclusion, Ozempic is not merely a remedy but a lifelong commitment. Its efficacy endures only with continuous usage, as the author stresses, “It’s a lifetime commitment.” This then raises a critical question to the reader: are we seeing another dangerous trend where people are risking their health to meet certain beauty standard?

Lead image credit: Pexels 

This article first appeared in Harper's Bazaar India, August print issue. 

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