Alert – I went to a tragic celebrity dinner party where everyone was on Ozempic and the hollow-eyed stars gave me alarming confessions: JANA HOCKING

There are moments in life where you feel like you’re witnessing a cultural tipping point. Something so surreal, so deeply absurd, that you’re not sure whether to laugh, cry, or take a sneaky photo for the group chat. 

For me, that moment came at what was meant to be the glittering society event of the season – a party catered by one of ‘s most exclusive restaurants.

I’m talking designer tablecloths, spectacular views, heirloom tomatoes with their own publicists…

Honestly, to dine at this particular venue would set you back at least $500, and here I was at a party where the waitstaff were handing out their finest dishes for free!

So I should have known something was off when I walked in and saw the food. All the food. Gleaming towers of antipasti. Crusty loaves still warm from the oven. Pasta so perfect it looked like it had been styled by a Vogue Italia food editor. 

And yet… no one was touching it. Not a single person.

‘I soon clocked what was going on. Everyone, literally everyone, was on Ozempic. The celebrity weight-loss jab du jour…’

They hovered near it. Took photos of it. Described it in reverent tones like, ‘Oh my god, that focaccia is insane,’ but never tasted a bite of it. It was like being in a museum of carbs.

I was famished from a big day, so I was more than happy to dive right in, but I felt like an outsider. Like the Miss Piggy at the Party. Once upon a time, guests would hover around the kitchen door, waiting for waitstaff to float out with their trays before we all pounced in unison, now everyone seemed to be actively avoiding them.

I soon clocked what was going on. Everyone (well, maybe not everyone, but a lot of them) was on Ozempic. The celebrity weight-loss jab du jour. The miracle drug for diabetics that rebranded as a red carpet accessory. 

Apparently, it’s now so ubiquitous among the media and influencer crowd that dinner parties might as well serve napkins and a side of shame.

And I know this because Ozempic is one of the most popular topics of conversations at parties like this. Guests are literally swapping numbers for their dodgy doctors like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

They’re also sharing injection horror stories. Take this one, for instance: ‘Oh my god, I accidentally took 1ml, instead of 0.25ml and I couldn’t get out of bed for four days!’ Yes, that is an actual story I overheard – from somebody you probably know.

Everyone on the social scene is suddenly a wannabe medic, and it’s slightly worrying.

So there I was, surrounded by hollow-cheeked fashionistas and glow-stick-thin influencers, all sipping sparkling water like it was soup. No one so much as looked at the roast potatoes. One woman actually flinched when a waiter tried to offer her a canapé.

‘Ozempic has done what years of wellness culture, juice cleanses, and charcoal shots tried and failed to do – killed the dinner party’

And do you know why? It’s a known fact that Ozempic doesn’t just kill your appetite – it makes you actively detest food. And worse… alcohol. I mean, what kind of sick joke is that? No pasta and no martinis?

So I did what any self-respecting, non-injected dinner guest would do. I found the one other person in the room who looked like they were on speaking terms with bread – a devastatingly handsome Italian man, by the way – and clung to him all night.

We took our plates, sat in the corner like cheeky raccoons and ate everything. It was glorious. Like a wartime rationing fantasy but with better wine and more burrata.

After the third helping of hors d’oeuvres, I began to realise that dinner parties in 2025 are no longer for eating; they’re now highly curated starvation exhibitions. 

The modern status symbol isn’t what you’re wearing, or whom you arrived with – it’s how little you can consume while still pretending to enjoy yourself.

But are they? Are they??

The short answer is no. The longer answer is: definitely not. You see, these parties have always had one or two Snarling Sallys who spend their time scowling at everyone, but fill a room with malnourished models, and everyone is scowling at each other… out of sheer hunger-induced misery.

Oh, how the mood would have changed had they just tried the sourdough?

And long gone are the fabulously tipsy shenanigans. I mean, did you even go to a party if your group texts weren’t going off the next day with tales of wild antics from fellow guests who had one too many free margaritas. Those days are sadly gone.

One waiter confided, ‘We’ve started halving the portions. They just get left behind.’ Another said, ‘We bring the same amount of food, but 90 per cent ends up in the bins or taken home by staff. It’s depressing.’ 

Speaking later to an event planner, she told me, ‘We used to budget for three glasses of champagne per guest. Now we’re lucky if they finish one.’

Look, I get it. The pressure to look thin on camera is brutal. There’s a red carpet around every corner, and someone’s always filming vertical video. But what happened to joy? To indulgence? To stuffing a vol-au-vent in your face while telling a terrible story about your ex?

‘Stop chasing perfection and start chasing down the last piece of garlic bread. Because otherwise, what are we even doing here?’

Ozempic has done what years of wellness culture, juice cleanses and charcoal shots tried and failed to do – killed the dinner party. Not with a bang, but with a polite refusal of the crème brûlée.

So here’s my call to arms: if you’re lucky enough to be invited to an event where you will be surrounded by good food and half-decent people, for the love of béarnaise, eat the damn pasta. Stop chasing perfection and start chasing down the last piece of garlic bread. Because otherwise, what are we even doing here?

Honestly, life’s too bloody short to say no to oysters. Or duck ragu. Or that extra slice of tiramisu that’s whispering your name from across the room. We’ve become so obsessed with shrinking ourselves that we’ve forgotten how delicious it is to live. 

As Julia Roberts famously said in Eat Pray Love, ‘I’m having a relationship with my pizza,’ and, honestly, same. I want the kind of life where I flirt with dessert, marry the carbs, and have a steamy affair with a dirty martini on the side. 

My favourite conversations are about food, and my most-asked question to friends (after ‘who are you shagging?’ obviously) is ‘what did you eat?’

Ozempic can keep its hollow cheeks, bad moods and sad little soda water. I’ll take laughter, leftovers and second helpings any day.

And to that gorgeous Italian man – if you’re reading this – I’ll never forget the way you made love to that panna cotta. Slide into my DMs.