I first noticed it in fitting rooms; low-rise jeans were back, really back. Suddenly getting dressed felt less like self-expression and more like self-surveillance. At the same time, conversations about Ozempic and “quieting food noise” were everywhere, and grocery stores were filling up with protein versions of foods that never seemed to need fixing. Protein chips. Protein coffee. Protein dessert. At this rate, protein vapes will be on the market soon, too.
Individually, each trend could be explained away. Together, they started to feel like a pattern.
We’re living in a moment where thinness is once again in fashion, but this time, it’s being supported not just by aesthetics, but by pharmaceuticals and wellness branding that make appetite suppression feel responsible, even virtuous. What looks like a collection of unrelated trends is actually a tightly wound cultural loop shaping how we eat, dress, and think about our bodies.
When the Body Becomes the Outfit
Low-rise jeans, tube tops, and microskirts don’t just show skin — they center the stomach as something to be displayed. There’s no hiding, no strategic tailoring, no illusion. Your body isn’t wearing the clothes; your body is the look.
This isn’t new. Y2K fashion has always been tied to extreme thinness. “Heroin chic” was all the rage throughout the early 2000s, and with fashion’s cyclical 20-year rule, it’s just about the time the early aughts make their comeback. But its return feels sharper now, amplified by social media and constant visibility. Getting dressed isn’t just about how you look in the mirror; it’s about how you’ll look in photos, videos, and angles you can’t control. Fashion becomes a filter, deciding which bodies are legible and which are quietly excluded.
When thinness becomes a prerequisite for participation, it stops being a trend and starts being a gatekeeper.
GLP-1s and the Medicalization of Appetite
At the same time that fashion is re-centering thinness, GLP-1 medications like Ozempic and Wegovy have moved rapidly from diabetes treatment to cultural phenomenon. They’re discussed casually now by influencers, celebrities, or even friends as tools for “control” and “freedom” from the “stress of food.”
What’s striking isn’t just their popularity, but the language around them. Hunger is framed as distracting. Any amount of appetite is deemed excessive. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve offhandedly used or heard a friend use the term “big back” for literally just eating. It didn’t matter if it was the first meal of the day or if it’d be the only; in our subconscious, the act of eating was deemed an indulgence. While it’s obviously said in jest, what does even getting to that point say about our culture? What used to be simply fueling your body has become gamified into something to be managed, optimized, and ultimately silenced.
These medications are real medical advancements, and for many people, they are genuinely life-changing. But their mainstream adoption can’t be separated from the aesthetic context they exist. When a culture rewards thinness so visibly, the line between health care and beauty standards starts to blur.
Protein and the Rebrand of Diet Culture
Then there’s the protein boom.
I don’t understand what series of events led to the words “Khloe Kardashian” and “protein popcorn” being uttered within the same sentence. It’s truly mind-boggling. Suddenly, every snack, drink, and dessert is “protein-packed,” marketed as both indulgent and disciplined. Protein has become the new low-fat, which was the new organic, which was the new sugar-free, and I could keep going back to the inception of dieting. The point is, they’re all just buzzwords to make a product sound healthy instead of restrictive.
Focusing on protein doesn’t feel like dieting. It feels productive. Scientific. Dare I say empowering? But in practice, it often functions the same way: prioritizing fullness, minimizing hunger, and controlling intake without ever saying the word “restriction.”
Wellness culture has learned how to disguise diet culture in better language. Instead of “eat less,” it says “eat smarter.” Instead of “be thin,” it says “be optimized.”
The Loop We’re Living In
Fashion rewards thin bodies. Pharmaceuticals make thinness more achievable. Food markets themselves as a way to maintain it. Each industry reinforces the others, creating a system where appetite is something to be subdued and the ideal body is presented as both natural and attainable, if you’re doing things “right,” of course.
What makes this moment different from past diet trends is how quiet it is. There’s no overt shame, no calorie-counting charts plastered on magazines. Just subtle messaging that suggests the most desirable body is the one that wants less.
And while these tools are often framed as personal choices, choices don’t exist in a vacuum. They exist in cultures that reward some decisions and punish others.
Being a Young Woman Inside This Moment
For young women especially, this creates a strange contradiction: you’re expected to be effortlessly thin, but never visibly trying. To be disciplined, but not obsessed. Healthy, but not hungry.
There’s pressure to present your body as a finished product that is polished, controlled, and aesthetic, all while denying the work it takes to get there. The hyperexposure to others on social media only perpetuates these ideals harder with every scroll. One perfectly curated girl after another, and if you don’t conform, the message isn’t outright rejection. It’s quieter than that. You just don’t fit the look. You don’t feel comfortable enough to play with self-expression. You don’t take that picture. You don’t allow yourself to be perceived. You become invisible.
Yet, when the consequences of this culture rear their ugly heads, suddenly phrases like “personal autonomy” and “free will” get thrown around as if people aren’t extremely impressionable when it comes to areas of life we’ve been nurtured into feeling insecure over.
Reclaiming Hunger
This isn’t about blaming individuals for participating in trends that are actively pushed on us. It’s about noticing the systems shaping our desires before we mistake them for personal failures or virtues. Hunger, whether for food, comfort, or space, has been framed as something to correct. But maybe it’s also something to listen to. In a culture obsessed with minimizing appetite, choosing to question what we’re being sold (and why) might be the most radical thing we as its targets can do.