As of Oct. 10, a month-long prescription of Ozempic and Wegovy can be found at over 600 CostCo pharmacies for just $499, no insurance needed. Patients with coverage will pay as little as $25 a month, according to David Moore, the president of parent company Novo Nordisk. 

Semaglutide is an FDA-approved drug to treat type 2 diabetes (as Ozempic) and for weight loss (as Wegovy). The injections manipulate hunger signals between your brain and stomach, making you less hungry and satisfied sooner. Weight loss can be dramatic, regardless of whether you have diabetes or not. 

Recent research shows potential to reduce heart attacks and liver disease. For people battling serious health conditions, this increased accessibility is undeniably positive. But here’s where I’m conflicted: the drug has quickly gripped multiple generations, and it’s not just those who medically need it that are hooked. 

Moms are borrowing their teenage daughters’ crop tops. Friends’ parents discuss their “weight loss journeys” on social media and at backyard BBQs without mentioning the weekly injections. People who once aspired to be strong, not skinny, are so small they could blow over in the wind. So, what changed? 

In terms of body positivity for all shapes and sizes, it felt like we were finally getting somewhere. Curvy bodies were celebrated. Being “thick” wasn’t just acceptable — it was desirable. Songs like “All About That Bass” by Megan Trainor and “Body” by Megan the Stallion, showcased how bodies that looked healthy and real were sought after, with the help of mainstream media and pop culture. 

But the pendulum has swung back, and the ultra-thin idea has returned with a vengeance, this time delivered via syringe. 

History shows us that beauty standards have always been impossible targets. From the Venus of Willendorf’s full figure, a symbol of survival 28,000 years ago, to the Victorian hourglass shape achieved through organ-crushing corsets, we’ve constantly chased whatever is hardest to attain naturally. 

Now I’m left to wonder: are we turning body image struggles into medical problems to be solved with a prescription? Is this the beginning of a world where injections replace the hard work of sustainable habits? 

What troubles me isn’t the drug itself. In my research, I’ve honestly struggled to find any detrimental side effects. Rather, it’s the culture forming around it. 

There is pressure from celebrities and peers to go on it, coupled with shame and stigma when you finally do. The results are fast and obvious, but the secrecy speaks volumes. If people choose this path, shouldn’t they be transparent about it? 

Using it as a jumpstart while maintaining results through genuine lifestyle changes feels responsible. Pretending you achieved it through discipline alone perpetuates unrealistic expectations society can’t seem to escape. 

And look, I understand the appeal. Losing the weight you’ve struggled with for years must feel incredible. But can it truly be as rewarding as earning it yourself? Making healthcare accessible, the aim of CostCo’s new product distribution, is necessary and positive. But our generation’s rejection of diet culture shouldn’t be undermined by a shortcut that feeds into the very same body image obsession we’ve been fighting tirelessly against. 

While I understand the intentions of selling the drug at CostCo, I worry we’ve made the unattainable body just a little too attainable.