“Wicked” is supposed to be about radical acceptance. About outsiders. About how judging people by appearances is bad, actually. The central character, Elphaba, is literally green and spends the entire story being misunderstood because she looks different. Subtle metaphor. No notes.
And yet, somehow, here we are, watching “Wicked: For Good” become a case study in the internet’s favorite genre: women’s bodies, but make it a moral crisis.
As the movie has filled theaters and its publicity tour has bounced from red carpet to red carpet, a very loud corner of the internet has latched onto one thing and one thing only. The cast is extremely thin. Not “Hollywood thin.” Not “this has always been a thing” thin. But thin enough that eating disorder communities are openly celebrating it, reposting photos as inspiration, and asking questions that should make every adult in the room deeply uncomfortable.
People are zooming in on exposed collarbones, visible shoulder blades, and rib outlines. Tumblr posts speculate about BMI. Instagram comments call it “goals.” Photos from premieres are circulating as motivation to restrict food. This is not subtle. This is not accidental. And it is not happening in a vacuum.
Parents are noticing. Therapists are noticing. Anyone who has ever watched someone they love struggle with an eating disorder is definitely noticing.
Here’s the tricky part. We are not supposed to talk about bodies anymore. We have been told, loudly and repeatedly, that commenting on someone’s weight is inappropriate, harmful, and out of bounds. And on an individual level, that is mostly correct.
But culture did not get the memo.
We still market famous bodies relentlessly. We still circulate images globally within seconds. We still absorb what we see, whether we want to or not. We just pretend we are not reacting, while absolutely reacting.
So now we are stuck in this bizarre contradiction. We are not allowed to talk about bodies, even as we are drowning in images of them. And somehow, not talking about it has not made the problem go away. If anything, it has made it louder.
People are speculating about Ariana Grande, Cynthia Erivo, Michelle Yeoh. Are they healthy. Is the movie safe for kids. What does this mean. The actors themselves have largely declined to engage, which is their right. Grande has previously called constant body speculation dangerous, which it is.
But here is the part culture does not seem to want to deal with. Young people are watching. They are always watching. And when a movie aimed at a broad, family friendly audience presents ultra thin bodies as glamorous, aspirational, and endlessly praised, some viewers will try to copy it. Not because the actors told them to. Because that is how imitation works.
Hollywood likes to pretend this is new. It is not. Thinness has always been the industry’s favorite accessory. But for a minute there, it felt like things were shifting. Body positivity. Body neutrality. Diverse casting. A collective agreement to maybe stop publicly ranking women by size.
Then the pendulum swung back. Hard.
GLP 1 drugs arrived. Fashion runways quietly erased plus size bodies. SkinnyTok went viral. Celebrities started shrinking in real time. Serena Williams is now promoting weight loss drugs as health care. Meghan Trainor went from “bringing booty back” to singing about being told she was too thick, then too thin. Britney Spears already told us this story in 2007, which should have been a warning sign that we were learning nothing.
Even artists who approach the topic thoughtfully are struggling to exist inside this moment. Lizzo, who has been open about her mental health and changing relationship to exercise, has tried to articulate the tension. People should be allowed to change their bodies. And also, culture is actively erasing larger bodies at the exact same time. Both things are true. Neither is simple.
That is the uncomfortable space “Wicked” has landed in. Not because the cast did something wrong. But because the culture surrounding them is doing what it always does. Fixating. Measuring. Idolizing thinness while pretending it is about wellness.
Therapists point out that constant body discourse is triggering, especially for people in recovery. The obsession with before and after photos does real harm. And the fact that conversations about “Wicked” are centering bodies more than performances says everything about where our attention still goes.
Diet culture is very good at disguising itself as health. It profits from obsession. And it thrives in environments where no one feels like they can win. Too big. Too small. Too thin. Too visible. Too much. Too wrong.
So yes, people can change their bodies. They always could. The harder question is whether those choices are ever truly individual in a culture that punishes certain bodies and rewards others relentlessly.
“Elphaba was right,” the musical keeps trying to tell us. The problem is not the outsider. The problem is the system judging them.
Somehow, we managed to miss that part.
