Why everyone in Dubai is suddenly talking about Ozempic at brunch—and why it’s alarming

Dubai: Once upon a time, brunch in Dubai was simple. You’d sit there with your crispy Avo egg toast and someone would inevitably ask, “So, are you going away this summer?”
Now? The question has mutated.
“Are you on Ozempic?” Or worse: “Why aren’t you trying it? You could totally get back into your skinny jeans.” Well, that escalated quick.

Honestly, I wish I were exaggerating and no, I did not choke on my toast. Let me pause here and say this: I am not the Ozempic police. Take it for your blood sugar, take it for your vanity, take it because you like your trousers loose—who am I to tell anyone what to do with their body?

What I can’t wrap my head around is this new casual entitlement people seem to have to eyeball your body and prescribe a medical plan on the spot. When did brunch become a pharmaceutical intervention?

Like Joey from Friends once famously declared, I’m curvy and I like it. In my 20s and early 30s I was skinny and, yes, I liked that too. Now, in my 40s, I am—brace yourself—overweight. Not morbidly obese, not in need of a prescription, just a little rounder than my former self. And here’s a radical thought: I am okay with it. What I am not okay with is stealing drugs meant for diabetics just so I can look fit into Zara playsuit.

Hear me out. At a recent friends catch-up, a fashion designer buddy proudly announced he’s been on Ozempic. He’s half his size now, but also nursing a brand-new wrist pain that came as a side effect. Still, with the gravitas of a Chanel runway model, he murmured: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

I swear, half a dozen very accomplished, very grown-up adults immediately leaned in like he was revealing state secrets. Suddenly, everyone was talking about how they’d love to try it or how they are loving its magical muscle-loss qualities. Nobody asked if he was okay. Nobody even blinked when he mentioned side effects. This wasn’t a health conversation. This felt a cult recruitment drive.

And that’s the part that freaks me out. The question “Did you work out?” has now been fully replaced with “Did you take your jab?”

People seem to be injecting themselves unsupervised, like it’s a shot of ginger at a juice bar, not a serious drug.

The casual body-shaming, laced with a questionable drug remedy, is what’s truly alarming. When did it become OK for people to size you up and decide—right there at the table—that you should be skinny? Or, when did carrying a plus-size body to a meal become an open invitation for a TED Talk on weight-loss injections? When did brunch turn into an unsolicited Ozempic symposium?

This new obsession, honestly, terrifies me. And not just because I love dessert (although, let’s be real, I do). I came to brunch for a perfectly poached egg, maybe a little gossip, not a group consultation on semaglutide.

Somewhere between the avocado toast and the burrata salad, we’ve decided it’s perfectly acceptable to treat someone’s body like a community project—complete with a syllabus, a pharmacy, and a guilt trip.

Here’s my truth: bodies change. Mine has after three kids. Sometimes you’re skinny, sometimes you’re not, sometimes your dresses are a tad too snug and sometimes your soul is.

And if the worst thing about me in my 40s is that I order dessert and don’t have a prescription plan? Then so be it.

And, yes pass the cheesecake. Pass the fries. But hard pass on the unsolicited medical advice. Because the only jab I’m signing up for at brunch is extra hot sauce and cheese.