In today’s world, it seems like every headline features a different celebrity battling weight issues with the help of new medical solutions. It’s not just Ariana Grande, but also Amy, Kelly, Oprah, and countless others who are caught up in what feels like a medically sanctioned eating disorder epidemic.

The buzz around Ozempic, a drug originally intended for diabetes management, has reached fever pitch. It’s as if a new societal norm insists that those who aren’t using it are the ones who are out of touch. This craze is becoming a silent killer, fostering an unhealthy standard that many feel compelled to follow.

Take Ariana Grande, for instance. While she should be in the spotlight for her role in the upcoming “Wicked” movie, it’s her noticeably thin appearance that’s grabbing attention. Even for Hollywood, where slender figures are the norm, her weight loss is startling.

A source close to Grande confided to the Daily Mail, “She is struggling right now. She’s not in a healthy place, and she knows it.” It’s somewhat reassuring that in Grande’s case, her health issues are being acknowledged rather than being swept under the rug as mere stress or an adverse reaction to GLP-1 medications.

Heartening, at least, that in Grande’s case, her apparent illness has been acknowledged — not explained away as ‘stress’ or a GLP-1 run amok.

No: She is unwell and she looks it.

Wouldn’t it be great if Hollywood could get as real about Ozempic?

Amy Schumer has erased all her so-called ‘fat photos’ from Instagram since debuting her new frame — and is now erasing her husband from her life as well, announcing their split on Friday.

Ariana Grande is making headlines not for her new Wicked movie but for how alarmingly underweight she is – even by Hollywood standards, which is saying something

Amy Schumer has erased all her so-called ‘fat photos’ from Instagram since debuting her new frame – and is now erasing her husband from her life as well, announcing their split on Friday

As a friend of Schumer’s said: ‘She got skinny, she is over it.’

Wow. Pretty callous.

That’s the father of her child, but now that Amy has finally achieved what seems to have been her life’s goal — not to be a great mother, or writer, or even an actually funny stand-up comic, but to be skinny — well, her marriage is just more poundage to lose.

Kelly Osbourne has denied being on Ozempic, despite dropping an amount of weight so shocking that she looks sick.

In recent days, she’s taken to social media to shame her so-called critics — I would call them observers — commenting on her gaunt appearance.

‘F**k off,’ she said on Instagram. ‘To the people who keep thinking they’re being funny and mean by writing comments like “Are you ill?” or “Get off Ozempic, you don’t look right” — my dad just died, and I’m doing the best that I can, and the only thing I have to live for right now is my family.’

She certainly has our sympathies, but, really, one thing has little to do with the other. You cannot be a celebrity who makes your weight part of your central narrative, as Kelly has done for years, and then play victim when criticized.

This messaging, this valorization of extreme thinness, is dangerous.

Extremely so.

This moment calls to mind the first time we really began to understand anorexia, bulimia and the scourge of eating disorders: The 1983 death of iconic pop singer Karen Carpenter — who, despite her malnourished appearance, always insisted she ate enough food.

At her lowest, Carpenter weighed 70 pounds. Audiences would gasp when she appeared on stage. Her famous friends saw it too; Dionne Warwick wrote of having lunch with Carpenter in New York in 1981 that ‘it was shocking to see how very thin she was’.

When Carpenter was asked by a reporter that same year whether she had a problem, she denied it, saying was simply ‘pooped’ from overworking.

Privately, she knew she was very sick, but her disorder proved resistant to treatment.

Her death at age 32 shocked the world and brought anorexia and bulimia into public consciousness for the first time.

In the wake of her death, 1980s American culture and beauty standards swung the other way, towards athleticism and peak performance: Jane Fonda’s workout VHS tapes (‘Feel the burn!’); Olivia Newton-John’s Physical music video; the John Travolta-Jamie Lee Curtis thriller Perfect, set in the world of LA fitness clubs.

The supermodel was invented, and these glamazons — a monolith, really, memorialized in George Michael’s Freedom! ’90 video — were a testament to Western supremacy.

But pendulums swing, and the 1990s went right back to the waifdom of the 1970s: The relentless ‘diet culture’ promulgated by women’s magazines and afternoon talk shows was reinforced by the three lead actresses on Friends, who ate the same salad every day for ten years to stay thin.

‘The salad was from the commissary and it was a Cobb salad that we basically butchered,’ Jennifer Aniston said later. ‘It was just iceberg lettuce I believe, which has zero nutritional benefits, and chopped tomatoes, garbanzo beans… salami, crunchy turkey bacon, chicken, pecorino cheese and Italian dressing.’

How grim. But that, and cigarette smoking, kept Aniston rail thin.

Kelly Osbourne has denied being on Ozempic, despite dropping an amount of weight so shocking that she looks sick

Grunge, Kate Moss and ‘heroin chic’ redefined body ideals and demolished supermodels as we knew them.

The fashion industry was fully aware of what it was doing, all while denying that hard drugs had any influence on the images they were creating and promoting.

None other than President Bill Clinton called for the end of ‘heroin chic’ after fashion photographer Davide Sorrenti — brother of Moss’s one-time boyfriend Mario — died in 1997 with drugs in his system at age 20.

‘American fashion has been an enormous source of creativity and beauty and art,’ Clinton said, ‘but the glorification of heroin is not creative; it’s destructive. It’s not beautiful; it’s ugly… it’s about life and death, and glorifying death is not good for any society.’

Anna Wintour immediately sent out the memo: No more druggy images in Vogue.

She ushered in the new breed of supermodel: the athletic, bronze, glowing Gisele Bundchen.

It’s tempting, then, to say it’s ever been thus.

But what’s uniquely different about this moment is the medicalization of eating disorders — and, despite what Big Pharma would have us believe, that’s what GLP-1s have done.

As my Daily Mail colleague Jillian Michaels recently told me, many surgeons require that patients go off GLP-1s for one month before going under anesthesia — because these drugs keep mounds of food in the body so long that a patient risks aspirating on the table.

And these jabs come with a host of risks that are often minimized, if not outright ignored: everything from cancer to vision blindness to suicidal ideation.

We’re months away from these drugs in pill form and at far lower cost, which will only further normalize something that is far from normal.

Eating disorders still remain stubborn to treat and are little understood. For them to be remade as not just acceptable but desirable puts us all in grave danger indeed.