For years, the entertainment industry sold audiences a message of radical self-acceptance—one-size-fits-all beauty, bodies without shame, and unconditional confidence no matter the number on the scale. Stars stood on stages, red carpets, and Instagram stories declaring “I love myself at any size” while becoming icons of the body positivity movement. But then came a needle.
The arrival of GLP-1 weight-loss drugs like Ozempic and Mounjaro has not only transformed celebrity physiques—it’s quietly rewritten the very script those same stars used to build their brands. And for many fans, the pivot has been revealing, if not infuriating.
Comedian Amy Schumer is among the most striking examples. Once a champion of accepting your figure and speaking candidly about body image, Schumer recently purged her Instagram of nearly all pre-weight-loss content, replacing it with a single, tightly cropped photo showing her noticeably slimmer frame. “Who’s proud? I’m feeling good and happy,” she wrote, insisting the social media cleanse had nothing to do with image.
But the internet never forgets. Fans quickly connected the dots—Schumer had spoken publicly about her use of Ozempic, then about switching to Mounjaro after suffering side effects. Her body transformation was no accident, and deleting the “before” photos read less like self-love and more like revisionism.
Pop star Meghan Trainor, who built an entire musical career on rejecting the pressure to be thin—famously crooning “I ain’t no size two”—has now slimmed down to a size two and changed the lyrics of her breakout hit during a live performance. “I got some new boobs,” she sang instead, a detail that didn’t go unnoticed. And while Trainor has been transparent about using Mounjaro alongside fitness and diet changes, fans still felt betrayed. Her brand was built on being “relatable”—and now, they say, she isn’t.
Then there’s Lizzo, long hailed as the face of modern body positivity. When fans noticed her visibly slimming down, speculation swirled that she, too, was using Ozempic. Lizzo offered a series of carefully worded explanations—crediting a return to eating meat, fewer processed vegan substitutes, and exercise for mental health. She never outright denied using weight loss drugs but instead danced around the subject with vague acknowledgments of calorie control and feeling full.
The backlash wasn’t about the weight loss itself. It was about the perceived hypocrisy. If “fat is beautiful” was the rallying cry, why abandon it the moment a pharmaceutical shortcut became available? If body positivity was about loving yourself as-is, why the scrubbed photos, the rewritten lyrics, and the uncomfortable silence?
To be fair, no one should be shamed for making healthier choices. Losing weight to improve physical function, address chronic conditions, or simply feel better is valid. But when celebrities profit off one message, then pivot without acknowledging the contradiction, they invite criticism.
Fans feel duped—not because stars are thinner, but because they claimed for years that being heavy was aspirational, empowering, and above all, enough. Now, those same influencers seem to be chasing the very standard they once told others to reject.
It’s not the fitness journey that people resent. It’s the gaslighting. Celebrities deleting evidence of their former selves while insisting “nothing’s changed” comes off less like empowerment and more like spin control. And for followers who once found comfort in those messages of acceptance, the about-face feels personal.
