One of the first people to greet me on my daily commutes is NBA Hall of Famer-turned-analyst-turned-GLP-1 advocate, Sir Charles Barkley.

The Chuckster and I have always had a complicated relationship. He rattles off the most deranged NBA hot takes at me through the Apple TV, and I roll my eyes in return. We’ve been doing this song and dance for years. The one consolation from this toxic relationship has been that for its duration, he’s only been allowed into my space within the tight confines of the TNT/ESPN channels (apps? streaming platforms?) during NBA games. I’d always maintained the freedom to tune into something else and ignore Chuck. But recently, things have changed…

In the last year or so, Sir Charles has managed to escape from the tight boundaries of my TV and sneak onto my train cars. And into my cabs. And in front of my bagel shop. And even onto those emergency button/ phone charging stations all over the city. What the hell, Charles???
The worst part of his incessant hounding, though, is his nagging at me to lose some weight.

I’ve known about platforms like Ro and their competitors long before the days of Chuck and Serena Williams’  brand ambassadorships. I used to get a prescription for tretinoin cream from the similar and now-defunct website Apostrophe when I had no health insurance or any idea how to find dermatologists in my area. If you’ve been living under a rock, these online wellness providers all offer the same things: access to birth control, hair growth remedies, skincare prescriptions, Viagra-adjacent sex supplements…you name it. All from the comfort of your phone. It’s a pretty sweet deal for the reclusive, insuranceless, shy types. Yet, when  GLP-1s hit the mainstream, I was a little surprised to see Ro, Hers, etc etc, render these drugs in stride.

We all know by now that GLP-1s have been around long before they made waves in the pop culture zeitgeist. And, I (obviously) agree they ought to be heralded for all the good they do for our comrades struggling with a slew of medical conditions. But mannn, does the everything everywhere all at once-ification of these compounds leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Seemingly overnight, Charles Barkley and mine’s volatile union had been opened, and my other lifelong on-and-off again companion, weight obsession, joined the dysfunction. In the fashion of the billions of ladies before me and those to follow, hopes of losing weight have plagued me from the moment I gained consciousness. Not even being hyperbolic. One of the first internet searches I made on the family computer was “How can I lose 10 pounds in 2 days?” I’ve cried in front of mirrors. I’ve prayed to God to make me eat less. I’ve emotionally binge-eaten after a failed cabbage soup diet attempt. And, I’ve spent countless hours with friends chewing the fat over our struggles. Pun kinda intended. Ha.

As shameful as it is to admit, it wasn’t until I reached the brink of death this past summer (when I developed a wildly unsexy medical condition that caused me to drop thirty pounds in two weeks) that I stopped thinking about my weight so much. As luck would have it, this was when I started to notice that everyone and their mom (and MY mom) (sorry to blow up your spot mom) got on Ozempic.

“How the fuck are all these people affording this stuff?” Was my first thought.

You see, before I’d wasted the summer away curled up in a feeble ball and totally offline, the main issue people in my circle and algorithm had RE: Ozempic was that it was hard as hell to obtain. Formerly, if you could get your hands on it, you expected to shell out thousands to a pharmacy or shady med spa. People talked about it like Quaaludes. So, how was it that every other girlie on my feed suddenly had prime Kate Moss collarbones and no waist? I went to Google, typed in “How to get Ozempic” and, from the sponsered results alone, got my answer in 1.1 seconds.

Ohhhh.

Honestly, part of me was kind of impressed that these wellness platforms found a way to offer Ozempic and co. Even more honestly, I was bummed I wasn’t in a position to secure some pre-IPO stock. And if I can be Abe Lincoln-level honest, I was annoyed. Not to be all Kim K about it, but it felt like a sick joke that virtually anyone could now buy their way into a bikini-ready frame... Back in my day, you chased the skinny dragon by way of starving, working out twice a day, and chugging Beyoncé’s cayenne pepper lemonade tincture. Being average to overweight was a societal signal that you lacked self-control. But now, it seems to indicate that you lack discipline, money, and possess serious search engine naivety. Nobody wants to work anymore.

In the months following my discovery, hordes of celebs and hot people I knew and didn’t know paraded the coveted effect of their GLP-1 scripts. Even more tried to downplay the role it played in their drastic weight loss. Hell, even I wasn’t safe from the allegations after making my initial debut back from My Summer of Sickly Despair™. Admittedly, I was flattered. After managing to gain back some of those pre-malnourishment pounds, I started to like my new body. In an effort to regain some of the bone density and muscle mass I had lost, I took up hot yoga and pilates and made more sound meal decisions. I looked better than ever. But none of that mattered; I took the road less traveled and was late to the party.

The few people I’ve spoken to in real life (and thousands of others whose experiences I read on Reddit) that have copped to their usage tell me they plan to stay on the drug for as long as they can. “Hopefully forever,” one of them said without missing a beat. They all loved how much food didn’t matter to them anymore and were terrified of gaining the LBs back if they stopped. I refrained from telling them the odds of relapse were likely inevitable unless they, y’know, made an effort to build better habits. Nobody wants to hear that shit!

Despite any noble efforts to stop thinking about myself so much, as memetically advised by Jemima Kirke, I fear I will always be one of those people who consider everything a sign. All the commercials, billboards, and IG ads showcasing Charles Barkley et al. shooting up skinny juice have to be trying to tell me something… Right? Were Chuck and every other A,B,C, and D-lister flexing their GLP1-activated bods trying to drop hints that I could still bear to lose a few? It sure would be nice to not think about what I’m having for dinner later...Or maybe I’m destined to overcome my needle-phobia by ordering semaglutide and self-administering a shot every week? Should I add those new Weogvy pills to my daily vitamin regimen? Will I finally achieve eternal health, wealth, and beauty if I just visit ro.co/subway?



I know the answer to all my questions is (probably) no. I do possess some logic. Although at times it seems like he knows the perfect things to say to get under my skin, I know that Charles Barkley doesn’t know who I am. For all I know, he’s probably out in Turks spending that brand amba$$ador bag. What I do know is that times are a-changin’, baby!

If you think wellness is more than just a commercialized gimmick, I have a bridge to sell you. While the impulses, emotions, vices, or genetic predispositions that have kept many of us from mastering self-control in weight management persist, they’ve certainly dulled in comparison to the ease of access to The Zemp. But life is a give-and-take. You may not have to have discipline anymore, but you do have to choose whether to spend time and money securing these miracle drugz. Pick your poison.

All jokes aside, I’m just bitter and trying to cope with the fact that I had to endure immobilization in order to go down a few dress sizes, instead of securing a fix from the comfort of my phone. As I make this final edit, I know I will inevitably see more of Charles Barkley en route to my next pilates class, and a voice in the depths of my head will tell me, “Just don’t go. The shot is so much easier.”

But that is just my cross to bear. In the meantime, I’ll maintain the freedom to ignore Chuck.