Caroline Calloway Doesn’t Need Ozempic and Neither do You
My sizzling take on the week-old discourse
I already had a newsletter planned for last week, so I didn’t write an immediate reaction to Caroline Calloway’s inflammatory Ozempic essay. But this week, in the absence of anything better to write about, I am making the perhaps ill-advised decision to wade into the discourse.
In this newsletter: Nike’s freak-girl pivot, surrealist knitwear, cremation manicures, salted butter sandals, drooling over future season Bode and some other incredibly stupid things that made me laugh.
I love Caroline Calloway in the same way I love black licorice or the state of Florida1—spiritually repulsive yet absurdly delightful, the appeal rooted in its counterintuitive nature. I can tell it’s something I’m not supposed to like, yet, being an innate contrarian, I just do. Calloway makes baffling decisions in a deeply charming way. Her paradoxical combination of manipulation and earnestness seems perfectly engineered to generate Online Discourse, which I suspect is the only reason she does anything—because she knows people will talk about it and if people aren’t talking about her then she doesn’t exist.
I’ve even been willing to overcome my deep aversion to podcasts in order to consume more Caroline-related content. The only episode of Red Scare I’ve ever listened to is the one where she appeared a guest. (They called her fat.) In 2022, she was interviewed by Julia Fox and Niki Takesh on their Forbidden Fruits podcast, and there’s a moment where the hosts are pressuring her to explain why she didn’t finish painting the floor in the corner of her apartment. Her tone immediately shifts and she says, “Because it’s my house not yours, Niki, and I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.” (To be fair, the host keeps saying “I’m not judging” when she’s clearly judging, but still.) Calloway’s knee-jerk reaction to being interrogated about her decision-making indicates a pathological inability to take criticism or accountability for her own actions. Anyways, Scammer was a pretty good book.
If you haven’t read her Ozempic essay yet, here’s the gist: Calloway wore 40 lbs worth of ankle weights to a doctor’s appointment in order to qualify for an Ozempic prescription, and now that she’s officially skinny, her life is so much better. Calloway is undeniably funny—I laughed out loud as she discussed the unknown potential side effects of the drug e.g. “Maybe I’ll lose all my hair save a few expensively-balayaged, Gollum-esque, comb-over strands”—but the essay is short, unsatisfying and (perhaps predictably) glosses over her reasoning for wanting to take the drug in the first place. Instead she careens through non sequiturs like a video game character encountering a series of obstacles. Bam! She’s never had an orgasm. Bam! She doesn’t have a savings account. Bam! The Ozempic makes her puke and the only reason she cleans it up is so her can’t won’t eat it.
The most telling line she uses to justify her misappropriation of a life-saving drug is, “I don’t have the self-discipline to change my psyche or the lifespan to fix the patriarchy.” This shallow answer reeks of intellectual dishonesty. Admit it, Caroline. You don’t lack self-discipline, you simply don’t care. You like your psyche just fine the way it is. You’re a carefree, chaotic party girl with less than zero interest in dismantling the patriarchy because you’d prefer to reap the benefits rather than accept the marginalization of refusal.
Until we see beauty and value in the unmodified body, we will never know peace. We can talk all we want about how “people should be free to do whatever they want with their bodies,” but until we live in a world where people actively reject intervention, the statement will always ring hollow and false. Remember the “woke” 2010s when feminist discourse positioned plastic surgery as some kind of valid empowering choice? Feminism in’t getting a nose job to feel prettier, it’s hearing a man call you ugly and having the courage to stand up straighter and say, “Yes.”
I used to think that if Ozempic made it so that everyone could lose weight, being skinny would lose its cache. Value is so often informed by scarcity that if a thing is no longer rare or difficult to achieve, who would even want it? But I think it’s safe to say I’ve been proven wrong. The desire for thinness seems to outweigh any political stance.
What we’re seeing now with the normalization of Ozempic is Sackler-level greed preying on the general population’s fear of fat in order to mint new dynasties. Resist caring about those last 15 pounds. Your insecurity is less important than everyone else’s freedom.
Odds and Ends
I can tell Nike is absolutely pandering to me with these as-of-yet unreleased sneakers, but I don’t care. It’s great marketing for the brand to not just acknowledge but cater to the freaky inclinations of their Air Rift audience, so good on them for taking the bait. I’m also obsessed with these ballerina sneakers that are coming soon.
Screaming, crying, throwing up over this perfect outfit from Bode’s Fall 2026 collection
Deeply charmed by this sweater knit to resemble a piece of moldy bread.
Absolutely sickened by the sight of Zendaya in this spiderweb-back gown by John Galliano from 1997.
This Steely Dan/Kool-Aid Man shirt made me feel something heretofore unfamiliar. Thank you for your service “Bigpimpdogman.”
I would wear the f*ck out of these butter-themed Chacos, which naturally sold out instantly.
I realize this assertion would hit harder if Caroline Calloway didn’t literally live in Florida, so…please pretend for purposes of my ego that she still lives in New York.