For an article about how weight-loss drugs affect marriage and intimacy, one health reporter worked with couples to “hold up a mirror to readers.”
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Before I began reporting my article on how weight-loss drugs change the dynamics in romantic relationships, I asked my editors: Could we veil the identities of the main characters?
In New York Times articles, names are rarely obscured. Truth, after all, is journalism’s highest value, and facts are a reporter’s currency. We usually want sources to be quoted on the record, standing behind what they say, because it creates accountability and builds trust with readers.
But I wanted to write about taboos. I wanted to explore a couple’s most private interactions. I wanted them to talk about sex. And their naked bodies. And their weight. And their domestic, everyday arguments and negotiations. The best version of this story, I imagined, would hold up a mirror to readers by showing one couple experiencing all the dynamic shifts — as well as the shame and the pride, the anger and the pleasure — that come with one partner’s extreme weight loss. To do so the subjects would have to agree to be as open as possible. They couldn’t worry about potential blowback on social media, or the gossip of neighbors and co-workers. They needed to feel unconstrained.
Understanding these circumstances, my editors said yes.
I write about health because I’m interested in how people navigate toward their best selves in an arena where perfection is unattainable. For more than a year, I have been reporting on the ways that weight-loss drugs like Ozempic affect identity. In 2023, I published a profile of a 15-year-old girl, one of the first teenagers to be prescribed a GLP-1 agonist for weight loss. Then I wrote about Virginia Sole-Smith, a “fat activist” whose newsletter and books decrying Americans’ obsession with thinness found an audience just as Ozempic was going mainstream.
But it was my article about the popularity of breast reductions that focused a few questions in my mind: What does it mean to encounter the world as the same person, but in an altered body? What does it mean to absorb all those new signals — approving, curious, flirtatious — and come home to a partner who preferred things the way they were?
Breast reduction can be a meaningful but relatively minor change compared to the loss of 60 or 70 pounds. How can one person undergo a dramatic physical transformation without also transforming a marriage?