I grew up accompanying my mother on her endless quest to be a different size. My formative years were a cycle of step aerobics classes, Weight Watchers meetings, Curves gym sessions, Nutrisystem meals, Atkins books, Tae Bo tapes, reduced-fat yogurts, and back to Weight Watchers points…again. This yo-yo style was imprinted on me. I don’t usually lead with this when introducing myself. However, I think it’s important for you, SELF reader, to know this as you’re getting to know your new editor in chief. I have been personally affected by the pendulum swings of diet culture.
I assure you that I have no desire to relive those times. But every scroll down my social media feed tells me that we are swiftly sliding back into an age in which “thin is in.”
That previous age was one fueled by women’s publications like SELF. In years past, our pages were full of weight loss tips and diet recipes to help you get the “body of your dreams” in an unrealistic (if not dangerous) amount of time. “Lady mags” showcased the women we all grew up wanting to be: thin, white, and with incredible abs.
In 2017, SELF shed that persona with The Weight Issue, a “collection of stories intended to challenge how we think about weight and health, in an effort to move the discussion to a healthier and more helpful place.” This was a good thing—weight has often been wielded by the media and even doctors as a sword to put women over size six into their place.
SELF’s new stance was part of a larger cultural shift too. In the time I molded my career as a magazine journalist, including a three-year stint as a SELF editor, I was able to watch the rise of body positivity—the idea that you can be beautiful at any size—from a front-row seat at New York Fashion Week.
But I’ve seen that idealist—and at times unrealistic—desire for self-love melt away quicker than fitness influencers promise to disappear your belly fat. Body positivity quickly gave way to “body neutrality,” and once GLP-1s like Ozempic and Wegovy entered the picture, the idea that it was important to have any level of body love or acceptance seemed to fade away all together.
So, I think we can officially say that the body positivity movement failed. And every celebrity shooting themselves up with a diabetes turned weight loss “miracle” drug to get red-carpet ready is proof of that.
Part of the downfall of the movement was that it lacked nuance (as most things that live on social media do). Perhaps influencers are the perfect case study in all this: I imagine you’ve seen a comment section riddled with repeated “Ozempic? Ozempic? Ozempic?” remarks from fans and followers when an internet celebrity appears to have lost weight. They get slammed on Reddit threads and in group chats for making a personal decision about their health—which may not involve Ozempic at all, by the way. Is that fair? For me, it’s just as disheartening as a runway where only size 00 models walk, or when people are made to feel less than because they are fat. I don’t want to live in a world where women who are curvy disappear from conversation and sight. But I also don’t want a world in which we judge or shame people for making autonomous decisions about their own bodies. And I definitely don’t want to run a publication that follows that ethos.
When I took on this position in January, I had one niggling question: Can SELF be size-inclusive and still talk about weight loss?
I think it can.
So, SELF is shedding once again. While we are fully committed to self-love at every size—and equitable, discrimination-free health care for all—we also need to address where the world is in 2025. Because here’s the truth: We live in an era where GLP-1s are a large part of our medical and social zeitgeist, whether we like it or not. In my mind, completely ignoring that conversation—the social, mental, and public health implications of it—is doing a disservice to our readers, many of whom probably know someone taking a GLP-1 medication or have considered doing so themselves…if they’re not already on one. At its core, SELF is a health and wellness service publication. We deliver service—not judgement—to all of our readers, helping them live healthier lives wherever they are in their personal evolution.
The FDA approvals of Wegovy (a semaglutide) and Zepbound (a tirzepatide) specifically for weight loss have been arguably the most talked-about and hotly debated subjects in medicine since the COVID vaccine, and these drugs are changing our culture deeply. I know it firsthand: Three years ago I found myself in a place where stress had triggered my worst habits—way too much DoorDash, poor-quality sleep, and a nonexistent workout schedule—and I ultimately gained 40 pounds. In 2023 I vowed to return to my healthiest self, and in an effort to get back on track, I started a cycle I knew all too well: calorie deficits, HIIT and strength training sessions five days a week, and alcohol celibacy. A month in, feeling like a failure because I wasn’t seeing any progress, I called my mom, an ob-gyn, to ask: “Should I consider the shot?” She swiftly dissuaded me, reminding me that we don’t know the long-term effects of these drugs.
Even after losing 25 of those 40 pounds, I am considered to have obesity, which the World Health Organization defines as “abnormal or excessive fat accumulation that presents a risk to health” as well as a body mass index, or BMI, over 30.
But BMI is an extremely flawed metric—we already know this. And I’m healthy according to all the standard medical tests, strong as hell (with a squat PR of 165 pounds to prove it), and gloriously curvy. This is where science fails us.
We still don’t have the proper language to talk about weight. But we do know that excess weight is correlated with health issues like high blood pressure and type 2 diabetes—SELF senior health writer Erica Sloan dives more into this here. And we also know that losing weight isn’t a fast track to eliminating all of your health issues. Eventually, I started to see my own weight as just one of many data points I can use to assess my well-being. Obese isn’t who I am; it’s a risk factor that I have.
The truth is you can be healthy at every size. Health isn’t about weight—it’s about movement, a balanced meal plan (that includes everything from kale to KitKats), quality sleep, and, of course, mental health check-ins. It’s about feeling good, whatever that means for you. For me, that means prioritizing stretching and mobility, lifting heavy, learning to run, sleeping much more, cooking my own meals, and giving up alcohol. What does that look like for you?
For those with similar goals, SELF will continue to champion long-term strength over fast-fat burning, high-protein over low-calorie, and balance over restriction. We will also tell stories—like our feature on Remi Bader—about a wide variety of health perspectives to show how living well isn’t so black and white. Taking care of your mind and body is hard. Whether you want to lose weight, gain it, or couldn’t care less, SELF will always be here for you, devoid of judgment.
Here are a few promises I will make to you:
SELF will always represent different sizes and fitness stages in our photography and visuals.
SELF will always acknowledge that “obesity” is both a flawed metric of health and a stigmatizing term.
SELF will not promote diets.
SELF will only talk about weight when we feel it is medically and scientifically necessary, and always give you the reason and research behind that decision when we do.
SELF will only inform you about—not encourage—weight loss drugs.
That is the new skin SELF will be in. I strive to make SELF a resource no matter where you are in your relationship with your body weight. I look forward to going on this ride with you.
