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For rejects like me, who don’t use cosmetic touch-ups like Botox and fillers to look younger, life has now become more tense, having to deal with semaglutide injections like Ozempic, which offer the possibility of dropping several dress sizes.
Those who do not indulge in these treatments increasingly have to accept that we consciously make ourselves appear less, shall we say “fresher” and plumper, than we have the choice to appear.
The big change is not that these types of interventions are widely available, but that, while previously kept secret, women (as Nadine Dorries wrote in last week’s Daily Mail) are bringing their habit.
They no longer expect others to think that their newly relaxed face or slim body is the result of self-control or a lucky turn of fate. Now, they do not claim that their change in appearance is due to any reason other than the use of these medications. This has made the question of how we choose to look a very different game.
Those who resist may not even experience the breath of satisfaction we might have felt when others were not honest about their behavior.
A woman injects the drug Ozempic into her arm to lose weight at home. Those who do not indulge in these treatments increasingly have to accept that we consciously make ourselves look less, shall we say, “fresh” and more plump.
Pens for the diabetes drug Ozempic are on a production line to be packaged at Danish drugmaker Novo Nordisk’s facility in Hillerod, Denmark.
Alexandra Shulman explains why skinny, stuck-up charlatans give her the shot. Users happily tell everyone whether they take Ozempic or Mounjaro and chat by exchanging phone numbers of beauty technicians who can help get rid of Ozempic itchy face.
Instead, users happily tell everyone whether they take Ozempic or Mounjaro and chat, exchanging phone numbers of beauty technicians who can help get rid of Ozempic itchy face. His portrait is still in the attic, but the difference is that they don’t care about everyone knowing it’s there.
As much as you try to adopt the attitude that other people’s bodies are your business, there’s still this nagging annoyance about being in the company of those who move around with their newly pharmaceutically enhanced svelte physiques and trained jaws.
Yes, it’s a hard life to choose not to stick needles in my face and stomach, but if I’m going to continue resisting that option, I have to stop getting so irritated with those who have taken a different path.
In the meantime, perhaps they could help a little by stopping the practice of ordering large quantities of fattening foods at restaurants and then not eating them because of the appetite-suppressing effect. Leaving the rest of us to stick to old willpower, trying in vain to stop choosing our French fry sides that we try so hard to avoid.
Lights out, is it time for separate bedrooms?
Different attitudes toward light among those sharing a bed can be as complicated as room temperature preferences. At the request of my boyfriend David, we had blackout blinds installed, which, combined with the clocks going back, means that I am unhappily locked in a pit of sensory deprivation.
Where once the rose-fingered dawn crept through the curtains, gently ushering me into the new day, now I must emerge from sleep into total darkness and then feel my way toward the longed-for daylight next door. . Could this mean there will soon be separate bedrooms?
Few rivals for this obscene throwback
Alex Hassell in The Rivals. Who knew that a series featuring predatory sexual behavior, upper-class lifestyles, and embarrassing puns would be so popular?
Almost everyone I’ve spoken to has enjoyed the Disney+ adaptation of Dame Jilly Cooper’s Rivals, with its over-the-top throwback naughtiness and stereotypical ’80s characters. Who knew that a series featuring predatory sexual behavior, upper-class lifestyles, and embarrassing puns would be so popular? Let’s hope, to use a word from Dame Jilly, that it encourages commissioning of some more “light-hearted” programmes, rather than bleak stories about life’s underbelly.
It’s not a novel way to spend the days.
Writer Nick Hornby has said that, at 67, he has stopped reading fiction. He explains that at least with nonfiction, even bad ones, you can learn something, while indifferent fiction is a waste of your remaining time.
Calculating which activities are a waste of our precious time seems like a dangerous route to take. A bad novel may not add to the richness of my days, but it is no more useless than many other things I do. Where do I start? Hours are spent listening to the news on three different radio stations that offer the same information over and over again. The unnecessary trip to the local deli for a cappuccino when it would be quicker to make a cup of coffee at home. An embarrassing amount of time playing games on my phone and hours scrolling through Instagram watching videos of babies’ sleep habits that seem to fill my feed.
Nick Hornby. The writer has said that, at 67 years old, he has stopped reading fiction. He explains that at least with nonfiction, even bad ones, you can learn something, while indifferent fiction is a waste of your remaining time.
Then there’s checking out my favorite online clothing stores to see if there’s anything I can’t resist and looking up the price of city break flights I’m not taking. If I added up all that time, there would probably be more than enough hours to write a bad novel.
No budget scares for these non-dominants
If non-dominants are fleeing the UK, a tour of London’s Kensington over Halloween showed that they haven’t done so yet. The occupants of these Non-Dom Central streets make the most ostentatious displays of extravagance. Forget a carved pumpkin and some white cobwebs: Each double-fronted white stucco house seemed to have hired interior decorators, florists, caterers and entertainers to turn its front yard into a mega-dollar movie set.
Hordes of proud parents were on the street, recording the events on their phones. No need to worry about Rachel Reeves’ budget implications around these parts.
Britain’s Chancellor of the Exchequer Rachel Reeves poses with the red budget box as she leaves 11 Downing Street in central London on October 30, 2024.
Mitzi is so brave to reveal her scars
Last week I wrote that Primark was featuring a transgender child in its window. The company has since told me that the poster, part of a breast cancer awareness campaign, did not show a trans child, but a woman named Mitzi who bravely allowed herself to be photographed with her scars after undergoing a double mastectomy.
My sincerest apologies to Mitzi and Primark for the confusion.