Pearl is a clinical professor of plastic surgery at the Stanford University School of Medicine and is on the faculty of the Stanford Graduate School of Business. He is a former CEO of The Permanente Medical Group.
Dying younger. Living harder. Going broke. It is difficult to overstate the longitudinal effects of excess weight in America.
An estimated seven in ten Americans are overweight or obese. The combination, according to the National Institutes of Health, results in an estimated 300,000 preventable deaths per year with extreme obesity lowering life expectancy by 14 years on average.
Added weight not only makes everyday life more difficult, but it also produces serious health consequences that include cardiovascular disease, diabetes, musculoskeletal disorders and cancer. In total, obesity costs an estimated $260 billion annually in inpatient and outpatient care.
Whether weight gain is caused primarily by genetics, societal influences or individual will, scientists aren’t altogether sure. What’s clear, however, is that most efforts to lose weight ultimately fail.
New Hope In Diabetes Drugs
Ozempic, one of a new class of medications, has been shown in studies to spur significant weight loss. The others include Mounjaro, Rybelsus and Wegovy with several new (and convenient, pill-based) options in development.
A Heavy Price For Weight Loss
Last year, more than five million Americans were prescribed one of these drugs for weight reduction.
The annual price of treatment ranges from $12,000 (Mounjaro) to upwards of $16,000 per year (Wegovy). As a result, most users are either wealthy or have generous health-insurance coverage.
But as more Americans seek these medications for moderate weight loss, not diabetes, insurers have started clamping down. They’ve issued threatening letters to doctors, warning they’ll be referred to state regulatory boards for writing “off-label” prescriptions.
The Ozempic Paradox: Highly Effective But Unaffordable
Ozempic and other medications that help with weight loss are part of an ongoing national debate in which two competing truths collide.
The first truth is that these drugs work, leading to significant and sustained weight reduction: 14 to 25 pounds per individual on average during the medication course. And while they’re not a replacement for proper nutrition, exercise or healthier living, they do reduce the likelihood of heart attack, stroke and cancer.
Second, despite the medical opportunity at hand, making these drugs available to all 100 million obese American adults would prove cost prohibitive for businesses, private insurers and the government.
This means that the medications could drastically rollback the nation’s $260 billion in obesity-related medical expenses each year, but prescribing them at today’s prices would cost more than $1.5 trillion annually—increasing national healthcare expenditures by as much as 25 percent.
What’s more, these medications are considered “forever drugs,” requiring users to either maintain their dosage or regain most of the weight they lost.
Insurers are eager to draw a line between those seeking prescriptions for appearance’s sake and those at heightened risk of disease or death. They’re happy to cover the latter but, as with cosmetic surgery, insurers believe patients should foot the bill for the former.
Lost in this debate is an important question: Why not figure out how to make these lifesaving drugs broadly available and affordable?
The U.S. Government Can Lead The Way
With hundreds of thousands of obesity-related deaths each year, the magnitude of the problem qualifies as an “epidemic” and justifies forceful government intervention.
The current administration, with congressional approval, could initiate a nationwide campaign to fight obesity, similar to Operation Warp Speed. The program, with a $10 billion upfront investment, led to the speedy development of a safe and effective coronavirus vaccine. The government then was able to purchase more than one billion doses at one-third the cost of the vaccine’s current list price.
Here’s how the administration could replicate Operation Warp Speed to fight the obesity epidemic without breaking the bank.
Operation: Slim Provisions
The government would invest $4 billion up front— twice the average R&D cost to bring a new drug to market.
In return for funding and a ten year contract, the first drugmaker to develop a safe and effective weight-loss drug would be required to sell that medication back to the government at $40 per dose (or $2,000 per patient/year), significantly below the retail price of Ozempic and similar drugs. The winning pharma company would benefit financially, earning up to $1.2 trillion in sales over the contract’s lifetime without having to shoulder R&D costs.
With the new medication in hand, government-sponsored health programs, Medicaid and Medicare, would make it available to all obese enrollees (roughly 60 million people) for the next decade.
And by providing the drug to more than half of all obese adults, the government would reduce medical expenses by up to $130 billion annually or $1.3 trillion over 10 years, making the effort cost-neutral for American taxpayers.
Risks vs. Rewards
The only financial risk to the government (outside of defending likely lawsuits) would be failing in its search for a new drug, thus wasting the
$4 billion of taxpayer money. But that’s a relatively insignificant sum compared to the potential healthcare benefits.
The role of government is to protect the health and financial well-being of the nation. Fulfilling that function led to a lifesaving Covid-19 vaccine. Doing so again is the best option our nation has to address America’s growing obesity epidemic.
Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 
