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I was reminded of these impossible decisions last month when a friend of mine took his second dose of Ozempic. He messaged me the following: “Would you rather be thin and have vertigo, or fat and able to walk without wanting to pass out?” And it became an actual debate, one which on the surface sounds easy to answer in this world of self-love at any weight. But the toxic parts of us were forced into a spiral. We went round and round deciding that what we really want is to not think about food and weight and desire and morality all the time. And there is no drug for that. When he eventually called his doctor about the dizziness, the doctor said “great that the weight is coming off!”
There’s no failsafe way to stop feeling ugly at 28. But you might try to embrace the understanding that the bad parts of society win when we internalize a moral code or a beauty standard that is designed to make us fail. To make us miserable. To make us work constantly to not loathe our bodies, so we don’t look up and loathe the things that actually matter like… the government, climate change, or the attack on LGBTQIA+ rights that’s ramping up globally.
Attempting to change one’s own appearance is so often falsely placed on a kind of morality scale. And my feelings of ugliness, when I was perhaps less enlightened about the systems at play which police unruly bodies, have often been most vivid when I do something to my body that I have been told is “bad.” Like smoking, eating fast food, drinking too much, skipping exercise. And so I’ve made strange choices in the name of this false goodness: wild diets, impossible gym routines, binging and purging, backstreet Botox.
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