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This year, the incredible potential of obesity medicines like Novo Nordisk's Ozempic and Wegovy and Eli Lilly's Zepbound started to come into view. The drugs work so well for so many that it's starting to look like they could change the literal and metaphorical shape of society — starting with our waistlines and extending to our overall health and our habits around food and alcohol.
And yet the way we talk about these drugs remains stuck in frustrating binaries. The drugs are either a panacea or an overpriced Band-Aid; they will either solve one of the biggest problems in health care or burden the system with hundreds of billions of dollars in unjustified cost. The extremes keep us from honestly addressing some fundamental questions about these drugs. Most pressingly: What role should they play in addressing a sicker, fatter society?
There are many obstacles to starting to address that necessary question. One is the still-widespread attitude that the drugs make weight loss too easy — that the only meaningful pounds shed are those earned through diet and exercise. Another is the hardened position of some body positivity activists, who refuse to acknowledge any connection between weight and health. Same goes for the clickbait headlines that either hype the drugs' miraculous abilities or foster fear about their potential dangers.
Meanwhile, there's the faction that sees these drugs as a costly and superficial solution to the societal ills that have contributed to a more obese, sicker country. They'd rather the money be spent on correcting some of the root causes of the problem, starting with glaring inequities in access to healthy food and preventive health care.
Then there's the pharmaceutical industry's eagerness to convince the world that all overweight people — in the U.S., some 100 million — will benefit from an expensive drug that they'll likely need to take for life. That's not helping to foster an especially nuanced, constructive conversation. Nor are the analysts practically salivating over a market that could be worth upward of $100 billion per year — a cost that, depending on whom you ask, will blow up health-care budgets or save billions.
In the end, none of these extreme positions feels quite right. Worse, the cacophony doesn't allow us to appropriately address the most important questions: Who should get these drugs and for how long? And how we can pay for them without exacerbating health inequities or bankrupting the health-care system?