Where do Condé Nast employees get their Ozempic?

“Somebody once told me I had a size-zero personality.”

Right from the start, I was sure that Ozempic was one of the best things that has ever happened in the history of the world. It was very obvious to me. The media, of course, wasn’t so sure. They’re still not sure. They never are sure about anything nor are they ever quite as right as I am. That isn’t what they do. (In fact, they make things out to be a little worse than they are, usually by interviewing a bunch of uptight losers that are bound to horrify your average reader, who is cool and rich and lives on the East Coast.)

I love reading articles, especially when I disagree with them, and I read all the major articles on Ozempic in the mainstream media with one eyebrow raised. These magazine articles explained what the drug was for (diabetes), and listed all the potential side effects (puking, shitting, possible organ failure). Journalists debated, with strenuous fairness, the degree to which it was in fact a miracle drug. They talked to some fat people who liked/disliked the drug. Then they talked to some skinny people who liked/disliked the drug. Then they talked to doctors who warned people not to take the drug willy-nilly. Those writing for top tier publications, like Jia Tolentino, ostensibly weren’t compelled to try the drug themselves, on account of being superior. (She did prove that you could order it, which was helpful.) There were so many articles on Ozempic, people started to write about the coverage of Ozempic. I sensed, in the journalistic class, some basic belief, beyond an ambient moral obligation to fat people, that it was wrong to risk your health for your own vanity. I also got the sinking feeling that it wasn’t appropriate, intellectually speaking, to believe in miracles. Both of these positions struck me as inauspicious.

Not that it mattered. A lot of skinny people were enticed to take Ozempic largely because of the cloyingly objective nature of magazine journalism. Every horror story was balanced by a happy one. I particularly liked the Hollywood actress who purred, “Somebody once told me I had a size-zero personality.” (Let’s not forget that the now-food critic of New York magazine, amusingly enough, effectively put the drug on the map.)

In real life, quite a few of my fat friends and some of my skinny friends—a mix of gay males and women over 35—got on the drug immediately. (I counted and I know 13 people taking Ozempic.) Those who fantasised about being skinny their whole lives are skinny now. No one seems to be shitting more than they do on adderall. (Adderall paved the way for mass ozempic use, you can’t tell me otherwise.) People who aren’t on Ozempic often report that people on Ozempic seem “joyless,” but I haven’t noticed that myself. Everyone seems exactly as depressed as they always have. (It’s sort of miraculous how ugly people retain their innate capacity for ugliness, no matter their size. Versus, like, hot fat girls, who are hot no matter what.)

Which is all to say, this is a gift guide, so for the sake of those who would like to gift themselves a thin body this Christmas, I asked a New York Times journalist where the Conde Nast writers are getting their Ozempic: