‘You look great! Ozempic?’ The new minefields of weight-loss etiquette.

Those final four words triggered an online brouhaha — one Reddit discussion amassed nearly 600 responses, ranging from “100% this is how boomers and above communicate on social media” to “Babs what are you doing!?!” Even Richard Simmons chimed in: “What a question,” the fitness guru wrote on Facebook.

Streisand deleted the comment and posted an explanation on X: “She looked fantastic! I just wanted to pay her a compliment,” she said. “I forgot the world is reading!”

McCarthy, for her part, took Streisand’s faux pas in stride — at least, publicly: “The takeaway, Barbra Streisand knows I exist,” McCarthy said in a follow-up video. “She reached out to me, and she thought I looked good! I win the day.”

The original photo she posted, however, was deleted.

Americans have long considered discussions of appearance — of our bodies, in particular — taboo in “polite” conversation. But social media is a not-polite place, and this taboo has rarely been upheld at school lunch tables, grocery stores and family reunions. In actuality, overweight people are often not extended the common courtesies that thinner people may take for granted.

Enter Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro and other new medications that can lower blood-sugar levels and help reduce hunger.

These conversations, even when well-intended, can be riddled with bias and misinformation — and a startling lack of sensitivity. It seems that as a topic of conversation, Ozempic is just the newest vehicle for all the muddled issues we have with our bodies.

Abigail Morrison, 27, a higher education professional at the City College of New York, believes it’s inappropriate to comment on or question someone’s weight, even if you’re Barbra Streisand.

Morrison put on weight while on birth control, and gained even more when she had a baby and experienced postpartum depression. As she struggled to lose weight with diet and exercise, her prediabetic aunt confided in her that she was taking Wegovy. It encouraged Morrison to ask her doctor for weight-loss medication last October.

At first, Morrison told only her aunt and her fiancé about her decision, fearing social retribution for taking Ozempic since she’s not diabetic.

But once Morrison’s weight-loss journey was well underway, she started sharing her experience on TikTok, with a following that has swelled to more than 150,000. She already offered product recommendations and her experience as a parent. So when one viewer asked how she lost almost 30 pounds in six months, she knew she had to get real about her journey on Ozempic.

Her commenter’s question — which essentially asked for advice — came off more sincere than the famous singer’s, she said.

Others, however, can be rude.

“There are some people like, ‘Why can’t you go to the gym?’” said Morrison. “I’m trying to get healthy, but because I’m using medication, [I’m considered] lazy, and I hate that.”

Candice Toney, a 44-year-old health-care professional, said the media’s depiction of the medications — such as implying that patients are stealing the medicine from diabetics — has contributed to the stigma. Despite Toney’s efforts to educate by sharing her experience on Wegovy, and later Zepbound, on social media, some commenters still judged her for being on “the skinny drug.”

So, is there a polite way to ask someone if they’re taking Ozempic?

Carolyn Hax, advice columnist for The Washington Post, believes that for the most part, only two people should be involved in discussions about these kinds of drugs: the individual taking them and the doctor prescribing them.

Someone interested in losing weight might ask a friend who has dropped pounds to share advice, but no one is required to share their weight-loss hacks, she said. Weight-loss medication patients might want to tell their spouses for practical reasons, such as deciding what meals to cook or food to buy. Otherwise, Hax says, unsolicited advice or commentary is ineffective.

“I always approach those questions with the understanding that anybody who’s in that position has been thoroughly pre-shamed already and really does not need somebody else’s input at all on anything,” she said. “Unless you’re handing them a lamp that they can rub for the genie that’s going to make them whatever body size they want to be instantly, everything else is useless.”

A reality of being fat is that you’re constantly reminded of your weight, even in the most bizarre situations.

“My uncle is on his deathbed, and he’s like, ‘I cannot believe how big your stomach got.’ Like, ‘You’re going to die,’” recalled Samhita Mukhopadhyay, an author and former executive editor of Teen Vogue who has written about her experiences on Mounjaro. “And I’m just like, … ‘So are you! You are on your deathbed. Maybe these shouldn’t be the last words you say to me.’”

When it came to talking about weight in her family, “there was definitely no etiquette,” she said.

Certain subcultures can be particularly judgmental of weight-loss interventions.

There’s a saying in the fitness and bodybuilding communities that A.J. Robledo will sometimes encounter: “Your size is a measure of your discipline.”

Robledo has long struggled with his size, despite going on diets and working out. In 2023, at 550 pounds, Robledo was prescribed Wegovy. He lost 90 pounds before his weight loss plateaued. In May, he underwent bariatric surgery; he’s now down to 397, but his progress has elicited mixed reactions from fitness aficionados.

“There’s a population in the gym community who I would say [are] very purist in the ways they recommend weight loss,” said the 22-year-old college graduate. Their choice of methods may vary, but one thing they have in common, Robledo says, is a disdain for surgical and medical intervention.

“I had a few people comment saying things like, I took the easy way out with surgery.”

But there was nothing “easy” about the process, Robledo noted. To qualify for the surgery, he spent months on a calorie-restricted diet and was required to do a two-week liquid diet before and after the procedure.

And the gym — the “right” way to lose weight — wasn’t exactly a welcoming place. When Robledo was bigger, he would struggle to find a spotter: people would pretend they couldn’t see him or purposely rush away after their set. “I would have to just figure out how to do it without a spotter, or do it without any help.”

Since he’s lost weight, it’s been easier to find assistance, Robledo said.

Many who have taken weight-loss drugs can testify to how much nicer strangers get when you’re smaller. Doors are held open for you; service workers are more attentive; fast-food cashiers don’t roll their eyes at your order. Robledo recalls people at the grocery store advising him, unsolicited, what food he should or should not eat.

For internet personality Samantha Jo, the surge of positive attention she’s gotten since going on Mounjaro in the fall doesn’t always feel good.

Overall, life has gotten much better, she says. Her “food noise” is gone: “I thought everybody woke up and thought about food 24/7 and I was just weaker. Like I wasn’t emotionally strong enough to handle that,” Jo said. Now that the noise has dulled, “It’s just so peaceful.”

She feels comfortable joining her friends on walks now, can hop on the rides at theme parks, can reach down to strap on her sandals. She is 25 and actually feels it, Jo says. Her family, friends and followers have been “super-supportive.”

But Jo is shocked about how differently she’s treated now. Brands that didn’t want to work with her before are now game to, engagement on her posts have gone up and people fawn over how great she looks.

“It just gives me the ick a little bit — like, I wasn’t good enough for you then. And the only thing that has changed about me now is my weight,” Jo said. “I never thought I was ugly, I never thought I was worthless. I’ve always been confident in myself, regardless of my size.”

“I don’t see how your weight should indicate how you’re treated or, like, if you’re worthy of respect.”

Mukhopadhyay is no longer on Mounjaro — her insurance doesn’t cover it and it’s simply too expensive otherwise. (A Reuters report recently found that most patients using these drugs to treat obesity stopped within a year for various reasons, ranging from severe side effects to being unable to keep up with their high costs.)

She knows firsthand how awful the side effects can feel, but also how much positive reinforcement the world coats you with when you get smaller.

Still, the way we talk about these medications has devolved into a “weird witch hunt” about which celebrity is taking it, to the point where we think about Ozempic primarily as a weight-loss medication, not as a groundbreaking diabetes treatment, Mukhopadhyay says: “I feel like it’s being commodified as a [kind of] Botox.”

Scientists have also speculated that these treatments may help those suffering from addiction; because of the possible link between ADHD and obesity, some believe that Ozempic may have mental health benefits, too.

Instead, Mukhopadhyay said, we’ve reinforced arbitrary boundaries of who should be able to lose weight and how: “We just come up with more tools to judge each other with.”