This article contains references to disordered eating and eating disorders.
Welcome to the latest instalment of Body Talk, our monthly column written by journalist, author, and GLAMOUR’s Website Director, Ali Pantony. Ali has written extensively about her own journey with body acceptance and eating disorders for GLAMOUR, but still feels there’s so much to be said on this topic. Despite the millions of #bodypositive TikToks, the societal pressures we face as women have never really gone away. In her monthly column, Ali explores the journey to accepting our bodies in a society that has always taught us otherwise.
The pharmacist glances at me briefly before looking back at her screen.
“What’s your date of birth?”
I tell her.
“And your address?”
She types my details into her computer, her gaze still fixed on the screen. “One moment please.”
She walks to the back room where a second pharmacist is also rifling through prescriptions, presumably for the elderly lady who sits patiently on a white, plastic chair between me and the pharmacy counter. She smiles at me and I smile back.
‘I wonder what she’d think if she knew I was here to collect weight loss injections,’ I think.
I can hear the two pharmacists talking, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I start to panic.
‘What if they’re saying this is clearly a mistake; that I don’t look overweight enough to be taking this medication and that I’ve obviously lied to get a prescription?’
The pharmacist starts walking back towards me and my palms are so sweaty I worry they might start dripping onto the floor. Am I about to be arrested? What if the pharmacist is partial to citizens’ arrests? At least if I have to make a run for it, the elderly lady in the way should give me a bit of a head start.
“Here you go,” the pharmacist smiles, handing me a month’s supply of Wegovy – an injection that helps you lose weight by reducing your appetite – wrapped in a plastic bag. “Have a nice day.”
I grab the medicine and thank her hurriedly before rushing out of the pharmacy with all the stealth of a giraffe robbing a bank. I make a mental note to never start a career in organised crime.
A few days earlier, I’d filled out a form on Boots’ Online Doctor service and lied about my weight, and my history of disordered eating and eating disorders. Within two days, my order of Wegovy had been remotely approved by a clinician, and I was in my local Boots in north London collecting the injections the following day. The whole process was shockingly easy.
The online “consultation” – which asked about my medical history and symptoms to assess my suitability for the drug – took less than 10 minutes to complete. When entering my height and weight, I added 17kg (2.5st) to my actual weight to push my BMI to 30.4. Semaglutide, which is sold under brand names including Wegovy, Rybelsus and Ozempic (used to treat type 2 diabetes), should only be prescribed to those who are clinically obese with a BMI of 30 or more. I had to take two head-to-toe photos on my laptop’s camera, one from the front and one from the side, and was warned not to wear baggy clothing to conceal my body. Nevertheless, it was very easy to make myself look bigger in the photos than I actually am.
I was also asked a series of box-ticking questions, including if I’d ever had diabetes or any gut, bowel or thyroid conditions, as well as my mental health history. I was asked if I currently have, or have ever had, conditions including depression and/ or anxiety, bipolar disorder, or an eating disorder (“e.g anorexia, bulimia, or binge-eating disorder,” the form specified). I ticked the ‘NONE of the above’ box.
