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Why is it so triggering when celebrities lose weight?

With the advent of diet drugs like Ozempic, plus size stars are increasingly losing weight – and gaining haters. 

To see a plus-size woman on a red carpet was, for a time, rather revolutionary. I hesitate to use that word for fear it sounds gouache and trite, but I’ll admit it rings true. Sadly.

Any body that wasn’t slim signalled that a long-standing aesthetic order was being, if not dismantled, at least interrupted. Hollywood has been a mecca of the European beauty ideal since its inception, favouring long, narrow, white bodies. So the visibility of women like Melissa McCarthey, Mindy Kaling, and Lizzo suggested that success in the public eye was no longer reserved for the thin.

In the past decade, plus size women have not only been in the spotlight, they’ve dominated it too. Adele is one of the most successful singers of her generation, and actors like McCarthy have gone from jovial sidekick typecasting to sweeping wins at awards ceremonies. This brazen freedom to occupy space has made others feel they can do the same.

Glamour’s Nicola Dall’asen writes about this sense of validation that comes from seeing larger women in this positive context. ‘Comparatively few plus-size women have been allowed past the exclusive gates of fame, but when they thrive in that traditionally thin space anyway, it makes my own successes feel possible and my own body feel worthy.’

But this feeling has begun to fray, particularly with the advent of weight-loss drugs like Ozempic. Just as quickly as body-positivity seemed to transform popular culture, it was being sidelined by old trends of hyper-slim, hyper-toned bodies (all of them notably female).

Whether re-packaged as ‘wellness’ or smuggled in behind gym and fitness trends, thinness has returned with a vengeance. And in its wake a strange and contradictory backlash has emerged.

‘I can’t look at Mindy Kaling anymore. Or Rebel Wilson. Or Adele,’ says Dall’asen. ‘Yes, it’s only because they’re significantly thinner.’

She acknowledges the irrationality of this response. Their bodies, she concedes, are not her business. And yet their shrinking presence feels like a loss – an erosion of hard-won visibility. The symbolic weight of their former bodies did not disappear with their waistlines. It lingers in the minds of those who once felt represented by them.

 

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A post shared by Meghan Trainor (@meghantrainor)

And Dall’asen isn’t alone, either. Alex Light previously broached the uncomfortable response to celebrity weight loss in another Glamour feature, after singer Meghan Trainer revealed a drastic transformation to her social media following.

Trainer wasn’t scared to divulge she had used GLP-1s to achieve a new, slimmer look. ‘I’ve worked with a dietician, made huge lifestyle changes, started exercising with a trainer, and yes, I used science and support (shoutout to Mounjaro!) to help me after my 2nd pregnancy. And I’m so glad I did because I feel great.’

For many of her fans, this truth pill was too bitter to swallow. Many of them felt betrayed by Trainer’s weight loss, noting that her long standing support for the body positivity movement seemed insincere in the aftermath.

‘I liked her when she was chubby because I identified with her and I felt I broke the stereotype. Now I don’t, she is the typical artist with the perfect body we should have,’ said one comment.

This sense of emotional disorientation is particularly complex when it comes to figures like Trainer, who have arguably made their name off the back of a proximity to the body-positivity movement and its community. Trainer shot to fame with her breakout hit ‘All About That Bass’, which became an anthem for plus-size individuals and broke the beauty standard mould when it launched in 2014.

But there are also a number of ethical ambiguities at the center of this attitude shift. Why should celebrities owe us any insight into their physicality? Is favouring a person because they’re larger just as damaging as placing smaller bodies on a pedestal?

Writing for DAZED, Chloe Grace Laws reflects on these conundrums, asking whether those who have built their careers advocating for body positivity owe their audiences an explanation when they abandon it in pursuit of thinness.

‘A few years ago, I would have said a resolute no,’ states Laws. ‘Someone’s body is only their business, and it is the systems we live in that are at fault.’

But the rise of weight loss drugs changed things, she argues.

‘The moral lines blurred a little, with worrying unregulated access, black market sales and a shortage for the people who actually need it to treat diabetes. We had our first semaglutide injection-related deaths in the UK last year. As entire red carpets and runways shrank last year, my stance wobbled a little. Now, I find myself internalising this debate in my own mirror.’

Laws goes on to question whether her own recent weight loss casts her work as a body positivity writer into question. ‘Is it hypocritical of me to now lose weight?’ she asks, reflecting on the patriarchal beauty standards she’s long worked to unpack and now finds herself physically inhabiting.

Crucially, I’d argue that chastising a woman for losing weight is both bizarre and cruel – it is itself hypocritical. Just as choosing to wear makeup or engage in sex work or dress in skimpy outfits isn’t a vapid display of internalised misogyny, weight loss isn’t a finger in the face of body positivity. Whether you were once plus-sized or not.

The demand for consistency often reveals less about the individual in question and more about the expectations projected onto them. To want representation is human. To expect a static body from a dynamic person is not.

But that’s not to say the discomfort around celebrity weight loss is entirely unfounded. The current aesthetic reset has reintroduced old hierarchies under the guise of progress. Red carpets have become noticeably smaller. Fashion campaigns are again dominated by the very physiques the body positivity movement once challenged.

In this context, the frustration many people feel is not necessarily with the individual, but with the broader sense of regression. The social fabric appears to be folding in on itself, and the betrayal feels structural rather than personal.

Still, there is a danger in holding public figures solely responsible for systemic failures. The scrutiny placed on celebrities who lose weight often mimics the very body policing that the body positivity movement sought to dismantle. It repackages the old surveillance in progressive language, but the gaze is just as intrusive

Vogue’s Emma Specter articulates the fatigue with clarity. The endless dissection of celebrity bodies – whether large, small, or shifting – serves little purpose beyond reaffirming the culture of obsession itself.

Sure, it’s tempting to look for answers in the bodies of others. But liberation, if it’s to mean anything at all, cannot hinge on someone else’s reflection.

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