The Mounjaro mums are out of control. First it was for weight loss, then it silenced booze cravings. Now there’s another miracle ‘benefit’ they won’t shut up about – but I fear it will end in disaster

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Since moving from the shores of Bondi Beach to the hustle and bustle of South Yarra four months ago, I’ve put on weight.

Just a few kilos, nothing life-changing. I can still fit into my Henne jeans (Nadia Bartel’s hugely successful brand), but the food here is too good, the winter brutal and my social life has gone from long walks pounding the Bondi-to-Bronte coastal walk, to long dinners in fantastic restaurants with my new Melbourne girlfriends. 

And yes, I will also admit this: there have been fleeting moments when I’ve thought maybe I should do what everyone else seems to do around this joint: get on the jab and lose the weight before summer.

Because quite literally everywhere I turn, women are doing just that. 

In Toorak, Mounjaro pens are more common than a Joey Scandizzo haircut. In Brighton, a prescription for Ozempic is more in demand than a Friday lunchtime table at Henry’s. 

Women are no longer sneaking off to the bathrooms to ‘powder their nose’ – they’re slipping into the cubicles to jab their thighs.

And here’s the kicker: these injections aren’t just for weight loss or booze addiction anymore – that’s old news.

What these mums are now chasing is the elixir of youth.

The new obsession is anti-ageing. And I’m not going to lie, if there is a secret potion I can take to freeze-frame my face, I’ll be first in the queue. If it works…

But does it?

Mounjaro is also known as GLP-1 receptor agonist, which is just a fancy way of saying it mimics a hormone that controls blood sugar, reduces appetite and lowers inflammation, which can also reduce your risk of heart disease, strokes and even dementia.

So yes, sure, you could argue it ‘slows ageing’ in medical terms.

Market a drug with the word ‘longevity’ and you know you’ve got a bestseller.

But cosmetic ageing? I’m no doctor, and I’m in no way qualified or educated enough to wax lyrical about the science behind Ozempic, Mounjaro and Wegovy, but riddle me this: if these injections were truly the fountain of youth, then why the hell do all the women on them look so much older? 

Why does Sharon Osbourne, who’s been open about taking the medication, appear to have aged a decade since she started jabbing?

I’m seeing the same tired, haggard ‘Ozempic face’ everywhere I look in Melbourne. 

At the school gates, in Church Street cafes, at dinner parties in Toorak… faces that once shone and glowed (thanks to Botox and laser), now look hollow, with collapsing cheeks and sagging jawlines. 

All the women I know who are chasing eternal youth via an injection seem to end up looking older and gaunter than before purely because they’ve lost so much weight from their face.

And that’s precisely the point – these drugs make no such promises. While they deliver dramatic weight loss and a host of medical benefits, from reduced blood pressure to lowered inflammation, I have yet to see any claims of rejuvenated skin or diminished wrinkles.

In fact, cosmetic surgeons have noted a surge in requests for facial fillers and other ‘tweakments’ to address the so-called ‘Ozempic face’ as these injections become ever more popular.

The Mounjaro mums have missed the mark. If it’s weight loss you seek, be honest about it. But if it’s youth you’re after, you’re sipping from the wrong fountain, ladies.

They gather on WhatsApp in ‘sema’ group chats (named after semaglutide, Ozempic’s ingredient), where already tiny women (think size six) trade notes on which pharmacist will hand over the needles without too many questions.

One mum friend of mine, a petite size eight, told me just this week she was accosted by another mum, asking her if she wanted to ‘get on the sema’ as it will ‘help her look younger.’ My friend is 34.

‘Seriously, I feel like I’m the odd one out for not wanting to take it,’ she told me. ‘But I don’t want to look like them.’

She has a point. I bumped into a girlfriend recently who’s been on Mounjaro for three months. I was shocked when I saw her. My beautiful friend in her forties who was a healthy size 12, with a beautiful face, looked tired, haggard, skinny, depressed – and ten years older.

These women aren’t glowing with youth. They have no energy, and their eyes are sunken.

I have absolutely no judgement towards women (or men) who inject, slice open, swallow pills, lather on any cream that might help them look younger. I’m a firm believer in your body, your choice and will happily admit the lower facelift I had a few years ago took years off me.

I spend thousands on skincare, Pilates, blonde highlights, Botox – the lot. I understand the temptation to look younger, especially at 51. We are all trying to buy time, aren’t we? Don’t we all want to look the best we can?

Women can do what they want to their faces and bodies to preserve youth, but here’s the thing: it has to actually work, right?

If these injections are really the miracle anti-ageing jab they’re supposed to be, then I’ll be first in line to roll up my sleeve.

But what I see isn’t women glowing, thriving or reversing the clock. What I see is beautiful women who once looked vibrant, now hollowed out with skeletal frames and faces beyond their years. 

I’ve got more than a handful of friends here who’ve stopped taking Mounjaro because they’ve lost their muscle definition, have no energy, and are even getting depressed – and yes, they’ve aged in the face too.

It fascinates me that this obsession is booming in Melbourne, but I barely saw it in the eastern suburbs of Sydney.

The Bondi set are still flogging themselves on Pilates reformers at dawn, plunging into ice baths and investing in personal trainers at Beachhouse gym rather than turning to injections. They look toned, fit – and their faces are glowing. 

I’ve noticed women in Melbourne don’t flog themselves at the gym, they don’t spend their mornings working out in the sun, dressed head to toe in P.E Nation. They’re meeting over lattes in Chapel Street, deciding which new bar or club to go to. They don’t sweat at the gym, they want the shortcut to eternal youth to fit in with their relaxed, sociable lifestyles.

Like I say, who am I to judge? But if this is what anti-ageing looks like, I’ll take my wrinkles any day of the week.