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!”
Just last week at a very chic gallery opening, I was telling the story of my backstreet botched Botox drama to a model and her very chic friend. And they both told me that it’s fine to have no answers, to go through the motions of the ugly-not-ugly roundabout because “everyone is ugly at twenty-eight.” They were joking about the age, but they also kind of weren’t. Everyone is kind of ugly at twenty-eight. Or thirty-eight. Or at some point in their life when their sense of self-worth is sunken by the feelings of inadequacy or the idea that you’ve been treating your body “badly.” This might come when you’re particularly hungover, when you’ve eaten nothing but fries for an entire week, or when you’ve done something actually not so nice like bitching about a friend behind their back.
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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