Yancey Siegel’s SNOOTY SIREN SIDEYE 2.0: Now with 90% Less Humanity!
“Where Ozempic Arms Race Meets Horse Show Hysteria”
THE UNNAMED (BUT SKINNIER) LEGENDS 💉
1. The Ozempic Olympians
Ladies, what in the semaglutide hell is happening?! You’ve gone from ”plus-size pasture queens” to ”skeletal show ponies” faster than a barn fire. I barely recognize y’all—your faces look like AI-generated memories of your former selves. Did your trainers swap hay bales for IV drips? The only thing more inflated than your cheek fillers is Big Pharma’s stock price.
2. The Human Chandelier (Gone Ghostly)
Your diamonds still scream ”I’m rich!” but your collarbones scream ”I’m malnourished!” That fur stole now doubles as a blanket for your gaunt frame. Your horse is side-eyeing you harder than your nutritionist.
3. The Equine Kardashian (Ozempic Edition)
“Gucci Gallop” now trots beside a woman who looks like a blow-dried raisin. Your horse’s mane is still glossy, but your hairline? Retreating faster than your self-esteem. At least the horse gets fed.
4. The Botox Bandit (With Bonus Ribcage)
Your face remains frozen, but your new protruding ribs could double as a xylophone. You’ve traded cankles for ankle monitors, and honey, the only thing tighter than your skin is your grip on that champagne flute.
5. The Monogram Menace (Size 0 Edition)
Your LV saddle pad now drapes over a frame so slight, it’s basically a handbag charm. You’ve starved yourself into a human Tory Burch logo—congrats, you’re a walking ad for capitalism and disordered eating!
6. The Ozempic Whisper-Shrieker
You still hiss about the “help,” but now your voice cracks like a teenage boy. The only thing thinner than your patience? Your bone density.
7. The Trophy Wife (Now Trophy Corpse)
You married Fossil Frank to fund this lifestyle, but now you’re so frail, your prenup includes a pallbearer clause. At least your horse gets oats—you’re surviving on ice chips and delusion.
THE HALL OF FAME CLUB: NOW WITH 100% MORE GHOUlish GLAM 👻
The scent? Eau de Desperation (notes of Ozempic breath, Chanel No. 5, and existential dread). The crowd? A skeleton crew of former size 14s turned size 00s, nibbling celery sticks like it’s their job. One woman mistook her horse’s hay for a cheat meal—therapy bills pending.
CLOSING THOUGHT 💀
Ladies, you’ve turned this horse show into The Hunger Games: Equestrian District. Keep popping those shots, clutching those pearls, and pretending you don’t miss carbs. Remember: When you vanish completely, your horse gets the estate.
Yours in glitter, judgment, and secondhand starvation,
Yancey Siegel
Fashion’s Harshest Critic & Microtel’s Resident Snack Hoarder
P.S. To the woman who fainted at the salad bar: Your horse called PETA. Sponsored by Ozempic™ – *because nothing says “health” like a pancreas in shambles!
