A man on Mounjaro

I was agog reading Joel Goldby's account of being on Mounjaro, the weight loss drug. Weight loss drugs are lauded as being no less than revolutionary. And maybe they are, I don't know enough about it. I'm simply reflexively suspicious of hype. I can't help wondering how they will affect the body long term, which no one seems to know, as research is ongoing. Are weight loss drugs the new smoking, the cool kid on the block that seems as attractive as the Marlboro man, until decades later when users start paying the price?

Golby is aware of these concerns:

Widespread Wegovy and Mounjaro use (it was only at the end of 2023 when the drugs were approved by Nice) feels oddly at the apex of both “casual” and “drastic” – to inject a drug first developed to help Type 2 diabetics into your thigh once a week, altering your bowel movements quite significantly, just to lose pounds faster than dieting and exercise really would. There are, as well, risks: the side effects can veer into severe gastrointestinal issues and hypoglycaemia, to an increased risk of pancreatitis and gall bladder problems. The more you look into it, the more it seems like a really extreme thing to do, instead of just having a smaller breakfast for a while.

Despite the concerns, Golby is undeterred. I hate needles and the idea of regular injections conjures the horror Will Self described so vividly in Granta, False Blood (paywall) (abridged version here). Golby accepts the weirdness of injecting himself once a week to get the body shape he craves quicker:

It’s a curious feeling to inject yourself, just in your house – despite the 17-step guide it feels illicit, wrong, dark-web, like I shouldn’t be entrusted to do this to myself. It doesn’t get any easier, either: this is my 11th week on the drug, and despite how carefully I follow each instruction (wipe the top of the injector with a sterile swab; screw in the one-use needle; make sure there are no air bubbles; inject), and how much I tell myself out loud “This isn’t weird,” it still is. I still have to take a small breath before the (slight, thin, short, delicate!) needle breaks the surface of my skin; I still feel squeamish when I take it out again; I still spend the day afterwards wondering if slithering feelings in my body are psychosomatic or not. I look at a faded patchwork of tiny green bruises along my thighs and think, wow, what an utterly dreadful heroin addict I would make.

What I found interesting about this piece is the insight into how widespread the cosmetic use of weight loss drugs is, how easy they are to access, and what it feels like to lose weight by taking them for non-medical reasons:

I feel and look better than I did at the start of the year, but I did it in a way that feels like playing Grand Theft Auto with the cheats on, so it barely even counts. I’m happier now with how I look than I’ve been in years, but still constantly nagged with the feeling that I’ve done it “wrong”.

Unlike Golby, I don't currently know anyone taking weight loss drugs for any reason. But if his article is anything to go by, it's just a matter of time before I do.

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