Editor’s Note: This article contains mentions of eating disorders and substance abuse. For those in need of assistance, the Counseling & Psychological Services Eating Concerns Treatment Team can be reached at 828-262-3180.
The trumpets have sounded once more, and everyone’s talking about it: GLP-1 commercials flooding entertainment mediums; the consolidation of “Skinnytok” content on social media platforms; the 2026 Oscars red carpet studded with protruding clavicles, hollow cheeks and pronounced rib cages. Emaciation is hot again.
Recently, the internet has turned its critical gaze to a familiar yet striking pattern in wellness, beauty and entertainment spaces. A specific genre of body imagery has begun proliferating in mainstream media, describing a particularly unsettling form of thinness that can only develop when a body is being consistently deprived of adequate nutrition.
While plenty of criticism has already been thrown at this trend, it hasn’t prevented a concerning number of users from falling for its aspirational facade. Few absolutes exist within body politics, however one truth is undeniably evident: when unnatural thinness becomes the mainstream body ideal, so too does weakness, sickness and passivity. It is a disgusting phenomenon that people everywhere must resist.
Many sources heralding the return of what is often described as the “heroin chic” aesthetic describe its reemergence in pop culture as the swing of a pendulum — a dangerous polarizing trend involving the objectification of, typically, female bodies. This popular metaphor is problematic because it implies that the emergence of dangerous media touting sickly thinness as virtuous is temporary.
Visible bones may be returning to the red carpet as seen during recent Hollywood events like the 2026 Oscars or last November’s “Wicked: For Good” movie premiere, but thinness was never out. With the ebb and flow of relatively progressive and conservative trajectories in national politics, tolerance toward larger bodies, not thinness, is what truly comes in and out of fashion.
Heroin chic is a term originally used in 1990s journalism to refer to the hyper-romanticization of drug addiction in the fashion industry at the time. Pale skin, sunken eyes and frail frames are all physical indications of long-term heroin use and several “It Girls” of the ‘90s and early 2000s infamously went to intense lengths to promote these features.
While the characteristic heroin chic body commonly graced magazine spreads, movies and music videos in the late 20th century, today it once again populates much of the extreme imagery that appears if one were to Google the Western ideal for attractive women — drug use or otherwise. Now, however, many sources are referring to this reincarnation of sickly beauty by another name: Ozempic chic.
GLP-1 medications have taken Western wellness, beauty and entertainment spaces by storm within the last few years as their weight management properties have become more widely recognized. Initially intended for Type 2 diabetic use, popular GLP-1 prescriptions including Ozempic, Wegovy and Zepbound are now being marketed as the magic injectable solutions for those who struggle to lose weight.
Within the same handful of years, a host of previously self-defined body-positive or plus-sized influencers and celebrities began shrinking before the public eye, many shedding not only dramatic amounts of weight but also their associations with body acceptance culture as a whole. Notable names include Euphoria star Barbie Ferreria, Oprah, Rebel Wilson, Meghan Trainor, Lizzo, Jonah Hill and Dronme Davis, but there are many more.
While many of these personalities have been the target of GLP-1 use allegations, only a few, like Meghan Trainor, have publicly confirmed using weight loss medication to aid their physical transformations.
Regardless of the methods employed, it’s important to remember that nobody owes anyone an explanation for how their body changes — including celebrities. Celebrities aren’t, however, absolved of the broader implications their dramatic changes in appearance bear, especially as it relates to dangerous behavior.
It’s undeniable that GLP-1s have played a part in ushering a new dawn of skinny culture onto the main stage, however, they’re far from the main contributing factor.
Take the Serena Williams controversy, for example. Williams debuted her ambassadorship for the GLP-1 company Ro during the 2026 Superbowl, broadcasting her weight loss testimonial to the millions watching. The slogan for the marketing campaign, “Healthier on Ro,” suggests that Williams was less healthy before she used a GLP-1 because she was 34 pounds heavier.
If weight loss drugs were only ever meant to help patients attain “healthy” weights, one can’t help but wonder why one of the most famed athletes in United States history would be promoting them. This brand partnership and many others like it have made it abundantly obvious that GLP-1s are a tool in the collective gravitation toward thin supremacy, not the source of it.
Health isn’t the goal — it never has been. Weight loss medication or no, celebrities — physical embodiments of popular culture — are getting smaller and often denouncing their previous weights in the process. Meanwhile, their millions of fans, mostly women, are the ones who bear the fallout.
Outside of Hollywood and the Influencer-sphere, skinny culture is a parasite, reproducing through the internet and feeding off of the minds of women everywhere. This is most evident through TikTok’s #SkinnyTok, a hashtag under which young women posted pro-eating disorder content.
Generously peppered with clips of body checking, #SkinnyTok videos predominantly contained hyper-romanticized subjects like extremely thin women, or “thinspo,” low calorie meals, aesthetically appealing workout gear and references to media of the heroin chic era like the Kate Moss quote, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”
Despite what one might understandably assume, #SkinnyTok didn’t stop at mere looks. Much of #SkinnyTok content contained how-to guides on starving oneself, along with hopelessly ignorant fat-shaming rants. As a result, #SkinnyTok was banned on TikTok in June 2025 — but that, of course, accomplished very little.
Banning a hashtag is not going to keep the content under it from being created. Many of the young women who continue to post their bodies online under the guise of aspirational wellness today are trading their health for flat stomachs — permanently, in some cases.
When thinness is wrongfully equated with or prioritized over wellness, health risks become practically inevitable. Mayo Clinic warns that those who suffer from eating disorders like anorexia are more susceptible to developing conditions like osteoporosis, anemia, kidney disease and heart arrhythmias, which can lead to sudden death. Put simply, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” is grossly incorrect because it would be the feat of the century to find someone who thinks organ failure trumps a trip to their local Chili’s.
Complete self sabotage has never been and will never be the answer to insecurity. Grown women are supposed to have visible stomachs, cellulite, thighs that touch and deserve to feed their minds and bodies without compromising their sense of self-value.
A woman who feeds herself properly has the mental energy to understand why a “bikini body” isn’t worth starvation. A much better plan of action for a poor relationship with one’s body is to seek therapy and explore activities that lead to improved health and real physical fulfillment — like strength training, cooking nutrient-dense food and reading critical work about toxic body culture.
Self acceptance is the foundation from which all of life’s possibilities become astronomically more possible. It is one of the most important and revolutionary acts a person can do for themself and will always be worth pursuing.
