The End of Thin? GLP-1 drugs and the beauty backlash

By Emma Kate Miller

As injectable weight-loss drugs become more accessible, Hood wonders if society’s long-standing obsession with thinness is finally beginning to shift. What happens when the once-exclusive body ideal becomes medically achievable — and what might women be encouraged to want next?

For decades, thinness has been the gold standard of womanhood — not just a look, but a lifestyle. To be thin was to be disciplined. Elegant. Better. Nothing tastes as good as being skinny feels. It wasn’t just about health. It was about status. The prize for those who could deny themselves the most.

A 2022 Scottish Health Survey revealed that around 63% of women in Scotland were classified as overweight or obese. Many have spent years in church halls and community centres at Weight Watchers, Scottish Slimmers, or Slimming World. Rooms full of women, often united by a quiet shame and a shared goal: to take up less space. A half-pound loss might win you applause. A gain — even one blamed on your period or a birthday — was met with murmurs of disappointment. The thinnest woman in the room wasn’t just admired — she was envied. And envy has always been part of the beauty myth’s machinery.

But now? The game is changing.

The power of thin has always been tied to exclusivity. If it’s no longer rare — if it becomes ordinary — then it risks losing its mystique. Just like handbags, holidays, homes: once everyone can access it, it stops being aspirational. It’s just… there.

GLP-1 drugs — like Ozempic, Mounjaro, and Wegovy — are being called the great levellers. Originally developed to treat diabetes, they’ve become the new frontier in weight loss. One weekly injection, and appetite drops. Weight drops. And the decades of effort, control, and willpower that once defined thinness? They drop too.

Which raises a fascinating question: if anyone can be thin, will it still hold the same power?

Because beauty standards have always thrived on being just out of reach. Thinness felt aspirational because it was hard. Painful. Time-consuming, expensive. If that’s no longer true — if it becomes as simple as filling a prescription — does it still define status?

It might not. And that could change everything.

What if we’re at the edge of a cultural reset? If thinness loses its cachet, perhaps women will stop contorting themselves to meet it. The pressure may not vanish — it rarely does — but it might begin to shift.

Still, something about this moment feels different. Perhaps because the illusion is being exposed. Thinness as virtue starts to unravel when it becomes clear it was never really about character — it was about access. About marketing. About money.

For generations, women have been sold the idea that their bodies should be difficult to maintain. That beauty meant sacrifice. But what happens when that sacrifice is no longer required? When suffering is optional? What if the ideal we were taught to strive for… suddenly feels hollow?

Maybe then we’ll start asking different questions.

What do I want my body to do — not just look like?

What if my worth has nothing to do with my weight?

What if taking up space isn’t a failure — but a privilege?

There’s hope in that. Hope that we might stop shrinking ourselves and instead focus on building lives that feel expansive, full, and grounded. That we might come to value bodies for what they carry us through — not what they resemble.

Beauty will keep evolving. But wouldn’t it be powerful if more women simply stepped away from the next pressure point? If we stopped swapping one unattainable ideal for another?

Because when thinness stops being aspirational, maybe what comes next isn’t a new shape.

Maybe, finally, it’s freedom.