It used to be so simple.

You’d meet someone, go on a date, order a pizza, share a bottle of red, maybe end the night tangled up in the sheets – half-naked, giggling, tipsy and full of carbs.

Those were the days. But now…

You meet someone, go on a date, they order sparkling water and a kale salad they barely touch while explaining all food makes them nauseous and sex is ‘a bit too tiring right now, sorry’ and you realise… oh, they’re on Ozempic.

Or Wegovy. Or Mounjaro. Pick your poison.

Welcome to the mortifying world of ‘Ozempic dating’ where everyone is gorgeous… but anxious, mildly constipated and not up for a shag.

For those who’ve been living under a rock, Ozempic is the so-called ‘miracle drug’ originally used to treat type 2 diabetes that now moonlights as the trendy new way to drop kilos faster than you can say, ‘Check, please!’

And listen, at first, I didn’t care.

'It used to be simple. You'd meet someone, go on a date, share a pizza and a bottle of red, then end the night tangled in the sheets - half-naked, giggling, tipsy and full of carbs,' writes Jana

‘It used to be simple. You’d meet someone, go on a date, share a pizza and a bottle of red, then end the night tangled in the sheets – half-naked, giggling, tipsy and full of carbs,’ writes Jana

In fact, I too was one of the many women in Sydney’s eastern suburbs anxiously looking for a dodgy doctor to give me a prescription – before realising that it also turns you off alcohol, and no one takes away my joy of a Friday night Martini. No one.

And it really doesn’t bother me what people put into their bodies or how they lose weight.

But then something started happening.

My dates stopped eating. Men started cancelling dinner plans because ‘food is a bit much right now’. A friend told me he’d ‘rather walk into traffic than eat a croissant’.

I think that was the first time I genuinely feared for society.

So, I asked my loyal and outspoken social media followers: Are you dating someone on Ozempic? Or are you on Ozempic and trying to date? Tell me everything.

The responses rolled in like customers swarming an all-you-can-eat buffet.

A story from one woman sent chills down my spine… 

One woman told Jana she thought her husband was cheating when his sex drive 'completely vanished' (stock image posed by model)

One woman told Jana she thought her husband was cheating when his sex drive ‘completely vanished’ (stock image posed by model)

‘We’d been flirting for weeks. He finally asked me out. I got dolled up, did an “everything” shower (shaved, exfoliated, hair mask) and even wore heels. We went to a wine bar and he said, “I’m not drinking or eating; I’m on Ozempic.” 

‘We sat there while I nervously tucked into a steak and he stared at me like I was committing a hate crime.’

A shattered wife told me: 

‘I thought my husband was cheating. His sex drive had completely vanished. I checked his phone, looked for condoms – nothing. Then I found the pen in his gym bag. When I asked him about it, he just shrugged and said, “Yeah, I don’t think about sex anymore”.

‘I said, “Cool, shall I just marry a houseplant instead then?” After a raging fight he eventually came off it and our sex life resumed, but it was touch and go there for a while.’

One friend sent me a voice note that could only be described as a full-blown foodie meltdown: 

‘The next f**king person who invites me to lunch or dinner and says they’re full after looking at a salad, I’ll f**king kill them. Can people just f**king eat? No wonder restaurants are closing; half of Sydney is on Ozempic or coke.’ 

He’s a passionate cook and hospitality veteran, and seriously, he’s not wrong. The city is full, it seems, of hot people with hollow stomachs and a fear of food. 

The next one left me with me a little traumatised, not because of the Ozempic use itself, but because the man telling the story didn’t seem to realise he was the bad guy.

‘I got Ozempic for my wife.

‘She was a size 6–8 but obsessed about her weight and figure. I went to my doctor and asked for it. I’m 44 and 107kg. Back in the day, I used to be a competitive swimmer with four per cent body fat. But I digress…’

He told me he did bloodwork and a thyroid scan – where they even hinted at a cancer risk – before the script was handed over. And despite all that, he went ahead with it, getting the script under his name, while letting his skinny wife use the jabs.

‘I’ve been jabbing her for six months now.

‘But our time together is now more about Ozempic and intimacy. It’s demoralising when a prescription drug becomes more important than your marriage.

‘I find it interesting that people who don’t need it are consuming it the most.’

Sorry, buddy. You’re the one who fraudulently sourced it, got the prescription and are sticking the needle in your girlfriend. If we’re pointing fingers here, start with the ones holding the syringe.

Another woman confessed: 

‘I lost ten kilos and my will to live.

‘I used to love long lunches and Sunday morning sex with my husband. Now I just go to the gym and avoid eye contact. My abs look great but my soul is dead.’

'I used to love long lunches and Sunday morning sex with my husband. Now I just go to the gym and avoid eye contact. My abs look great but my soul is dead.' (Stock image posed by models)

‘I used to love long lunches and Sunday morning sex with my husband. Now I just go to the gym and avoid eye contact. My abs look great but my soul is dead.’ (Stock image posed by models) 

This is the thing no one tells you about the new ‘hot people drug’. It makes you thin, yes, but it also can make you tired, moody, nauseous and – sometimes – sexless.

It’s the human version of putting yourself on low battery mode. You look good. But everything else is… dim.

And listen, as a child of the 90s ‘heroin chic’ era, I get it. The pressure to be thin – especially for women – is exhausting. We’re praised for shrinking, congratulated for choosing the salad, told we’re ‘glowing’ when, actually, we’re hungry and furious. 

I hang my head in shame as I remember remarking to a friend just last week, ‘You look so skinny!’ as I grabbed her waist. It was the highest compliment, but it shouldn’t have been.

But when the collective libido of a city starts drying up faster than a vodka martini, we need to have a long, hard look at ourselves.

Because maybe, just maybe, the answer to happiness isn’t six-pack abs and a resting heart rate of 55. Maybe it’s cheese. Or sex. Or staying out late and ordering dessert.

Ozempic might be the hottest accessory of the season. But from where I’m sitting, the side effects include a complete collapse of romance and joy.

And that’s just too high a price to pay.

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Read more at DailyMail.co.uk