In a revealing documentary, a looksmaxxing-influenced world where ‘your social capital is tied to your appearance’ has led to more men wanting more

Man’s obsession with his member is a tale as old as time, writ large in sky-scraping edifices, in allusions that flatter (big dick energy) or offend (prick), in the countless artifacts across the ages that venerate male potency – a porn star’s description of Donald Trump’s “toadstool” penis. But it’s the booming intimate wellness industry – AKA the rash (ahem) of fillers, therapies and cosmetic procedures that have come into vogue since the little blue pill rocked the market – that most intrigued Daniel Lombroso, the esteemed documentarian who made his name at the Atlantic and the New Yorker dissecting male fragility.

“A lot of the stories I worked on at those places were kind of fringy subculture and oftentimes adjacent to white nationalism,” says Lombroso, who became aware of the rising demand for penile enhancement procedures while reporting on plastic surgery trends at the New Yorker. “I started calling all these practitioners. But to make an embedded film the way I do, you need someone who’s very open.”

It involves the fracturing of a patient’s ribs, before they spend three months laced into a corset. Some of those who have had this cosmetic procedure say it is like being ‘hit by a bus’. Why is it becoming more popular?

Daniela Cesin was 14 when she began thinking about her looks. “I was a little bit chubby and I started to work out at home and lose weight. I saw the difference in my body: my abs, the muscles in my arms, and I started liking it,” she says. By 31, she had the slim, toned body she had hoped for, but something was still missing. “I wanted to have that guitar hourglass shape.”

In August, Cesin travelled from Miami, where she has lived for the past 15 years, to her native Venezuela for liposuction and a fat transfer to her hips. She met her cosmetic surgeon for the first time the day before the procedure, and he realised she didn’t have enough fat to go ahead with it. Instead, he offered to perform RibXcar: a rib remodelling surgery that would involve fracturing three of her lower ribs on each side and binding them in a corset for three months, to set the ribs in a new position and give her a wasplike waist.

LD is the submissive to Lady Alice’s dominatrix – and it has been a revelation for them both

• How do you do it? Share the story of your sex life, anonymously

I have cerebral palsy and live with my parents. Lady Alice is a delicious secret

Critics say partnership between Mounjaro maker Eli Lilly and fashion giant suggests thinness is an aspiration

The fifth iteration of Vogue World, overseen by Anna Wintour, took place in Milan on Tuesday night. Gigi Hadid and Jennifer Lopez provided theatrics on the catwalk, but it was one of the event’s backers that caused the biggest stir.

Eli Lilly, an American pharmaceutical company that manufactures a wide range of medicines, including weight-loss jabs Mounjaro and the Foundayo pill, was listed in the event credits as one of its “fashion adjacent” sponsors.

Modern lifestyles seem to be exacerbating the problem of bromhidrosis – an underresearched condition that is widely misunderstood and devastating for sufferers

If Hayat goes out to eat, she’ll choose a table far away from other diners, ideally by a door or open window. She likewise tries to avoid people at the cinema or on planes, even if it means paying extra – whatever it takes to avoid being too close to others.

She chalks it up to a persistent past insecurity. “I still have that paranoia … It’s just in my head, because of everything I went through.”

For years, my vitiligo controlled my life, and I was constantly trying to disguise it. But one day, I realised I could take a very different and extremely liberating approach

The microphone felt heavier than I expected. As I stood on stage at a London comedy club last December, I looked out at a room full of strangers sitting quietly, waiting for me to make them laugh. It felt nerve-racking and surreal. I had spent years hiding my vitiligo, hoping people wouldn’t notice it. Now I was about to joke about it in my set.

I was three years old when I developed my first patch of vitiligo on the back of my hand, which later spread to my arms, legs, face and other parts of my body. By the time I was six years old, 70% of me was covered. I was too young to understand what was happening.

For decades, I had been haunted by paruresis, an inability to urinate in public toilets. But that day of nakedness suddenly, surprisingly, led me to shed my inhibitions

For as long as I can remember, I’ve suffered from a condition called paruresis – also known as shy bladder syndrome. This means that, unless I’m alone in public toilets, I cannot pee, however badly I need to go. I developed tactics to deal with this, such as loitering outside the gents if I see someone going in, so that I can walk in as they walk out. But if someone follows me in, I find I’m just standing there, which I worry looks odd.

I’m a writer, so am often out and about meeting people in cafes, hotels and at events. My agricultural background means I also meet a lot of my interviewees on farms – but at least there I could pop behind a hedge if I needed to go, and be assured of privacy.

Discussing people’s bodies can be fraught. We asked eating disorder experts how to do so – or not – responsibly

In the age of Ozempic and people being open about plastic surgery, discussion about people’s bodies is rife. At the same time, nobody seems quite sure how to talk about them, as shown by recent coverage of celebrities like Ariana Grande.

It is a fraught topic. We asked eating disorder experts for guidelines to follow when talking about other people’s bodies, and how to do so without doing harm.

How does a rabbi choose her shoes? Why does a psychoanalyst like slogan tees? And why does a doctor avoid wearing scrubs at work? Seven striking dressers share their surprising style stories

Andrew Geldart, 65, retired engineer, Cornwall

It took a heatwave to get me to shed my shame and my sleeves, but now there’s no stopping me. Life is cooler in every way

‘Aren’t you hot in that?” was the question that plagued my summers as a teenager. I would never bare my arms; instead, I would cover up with a trusty black cardigan. Even T-shirts felt too revealing, too tight on the arm, too clinging to the body. I needed layers to feel comfortable. Well, comfortable isn’t the right word. I was never comfortable, despite telling everyone: “No, I’m not hot. I don’t really feel the heat.”

In my 20s and 30s, I collected a hot-weather capsule wardrobe of T-shirt dresses in various sizes, all baggy and sleeved. But why? I’m someone who should know better. I’ve read the books, I’ve shared the memes. I know, from body-positivity activists, that you don’t have to deny yourself the joy of being at the beach or pool just because a magazine tells you you have to get yourself “beach-body ready”: slimmer, hairless, perfect.

Long before looksmaxxers, Aziz ‘Zyzz’ Shavershian was famous online for posting workouts and rage-bait – until he died in Thailand in 2011. A new documentary reveals what really happened

Decades before the extreme aesthetic trend of looksmaxxing, there was Zyzz. Aziz Shavershian was an Australian teenager who became a fitness influencer in the 2000s, filming his workouts and thoughts about the world on his Nokia and posting them to YouTube.

Zyzz was big in all senses of the word: many of his videos would see him flexing into unabashedly vain bodybuilding poses, hair feathered like an anime character, as he mocked his audience’s envy with slang straight out of bodybuilding forums: “U mirin’, brah?” He was skilled in rage-bait long before anyone had heard of it, creating accounts to troll himself in case the haters ever forgot to hate. He started an anonymous Facebook page, titled “10,000 likes and I’ll bash Zyzz” and, when the goal was reached, switched the page to one advertising his protein brand.

Three years ago, the pop star was riding high after a sellout tour. But then a slew of shocking accusations from her former dancers changed everything. Where does she go from here?

On 30 July 2023, Lizzo finished a 10-month world tour. She had played 80 shows across North America, Europe, Oceania and Asia, selling more than 853,000 tickets and grossing $86.3m. The rapper turned pop star was on top of the world. Then everything came crashing down.

Two days later, three of her former dancers alleged that they had been subject to sexual harassment, a hostile work environment, religious and racial discrimination and fat-shaming on the tour. Two had been sacked, and one resigned. After the accusations, there was a huge pile-on from mainstream media and social media. And it seems to have gone on ever since. Lizzo, whose real name is Melissa Viviane Jefferson, disappeared. We were told that she was busy recording the follow-up to her huge hit album Special. But there were also rumours that she’d had a terrible breakdown.

If I’d been taught this way of thinking as a child, I can’t begin to imagine how much easier things could have been

In 1981 the CD was born and so was I. Both arrivals were surprising and have drifted in and out of fashion ever since. As a baby, my majestic “chonk lord” status was cause for celebration and an indication of prosperity. But from a young age I noticed that my presence seemed to offend other people. When I was seven, I remember asking to have a go at skipping, after having turned the rope for everyone else. One child enlightened me on why I couldn’t: I was too fat to skip.

Children learn hierarchy from adults and then their peers. Who belongs, who doesn’t and why. My classmates learned from adults to see me as something to mock and despise. Even my own well-meaning father once sat me down and told me that nobody would love, trust or employ me due to my body shape. This didn’t shock me; I’d already picked up what everyone was putting down.

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Can a sentence affect the course of your life? Five authors reveal the interactions that transformed the way they saw themselves – and the world

When I was 14, I had to start a new school. I wasn’t great at starting new schools, even though I had done so quite a few times – once for my dad’s work, once because I wasn’t fitting in at my primary school and once because my parents didn’t like the teachers. Of course, 14 is possibly the most awkward of all the ages to start a new anything. Anyway, it was halfway through the first term at the new school in Newark, Nottinghamshire, and I was taken aside by my history teacher, Mr Philips, at the end of a lesson. He didn’t like me very much. To be fair, I was probably hard to like, from a teacher’s perspective. I had trouble concentrating, I stared out of windows, I clowned around. However, it is difficult to explain the shock to my self-conscious teenage soul when he told me, “I think it would be a good idea for you to join a special needs class.” Now, for context, the year was 1989, and in my state comprehensive at that time the idea of being “special needs” was akin to being given a leprosy bell or being marked with a cross for the plague. It was a binary system. You were either “normal” or you were “special needs”. To make matters worse, I was told that another teacher – my art teacher – had come to a similar assessment.

There has been much talk of the long-awaited sequel making the most of body diversity. The reality seems to be one plus-size actor and gags worthy of the 00s

During the two-month endurance test that was The Devil Wears Prada 2’s global press tour, Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway hinted that the long-awaited sequel to the 2006 hit would champion body diversity. In interviews, both actors explained that while attending Milan fashion week they were surprised by how “alarmingly thin the models were”. As a result, Hathaway made “a beeline to the producers”, Streep said, to ensure that “skeletal” models wouldn’t feature in the film. At one premiere, Hathaway said she “thought the scene would be so much more enjoyable for the audience if we had just a wider range of bodies on display”.

Spoiler alert: only 15 minutes into the sequel the first weight gag lands, and it becomes clear that all the chatter around size inclusivity was, in fact, just simple size-washing. That means there’s just enough for the producers to tick the inclusivity box – mainly in the casting of the comedian Caleb Hearon as Miranda Priestly’s second assistant, and a quick glimpse of a couple of plus-size models including Ashley Graham in a catwalk montage – but not enough for any actual credibility. Then there are several wisecracks about weight, although remarkably only one reference to the weight-loss drug Ozempic. Now, that is groundbreaking!

Chloe Mac Donnell is the Guardian’s deputy fashion and lifestyle editor

Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.

Experts share tips on dressing as the most authentic version of yourself and avoiding the draw of the latest microtrends

How would you define your personal style? Is it cottagecore? Tomato girl? Whimsigoth? Quiet luxury? Maybe you don’t know what these terms mean (congratulations) and maybe you do (my condolences).

Like unwelcome nose hairs, new microtrends seem to sprout from the depths of social media every other week. In some ways, their pervasiveness has made style seem more accessible than ever. They reduce aesthetics to mathematical equations that you can solve by buying up a bunch of fast fashion. By the time these cheap, mass-produced items dissolve into microplastics – which they will, quickly – other aesthetic trends will have replaced them.

The Bridgerton star has told of her horror at being approached by a fan who only wanted to talk about her body. Surely it’s time we focused on something else

Nicola Coughlan is sick of the subject of “body positivity”, and thank God, because so am I. “The thing I say sometimes that pisses people off is I have no interest in body positivity,” she said in a recent interview. Like Coughlan and no doubt many, many other women, I’m sick of talking about it, thinking about it, reading about it, all of it (I do recognise a certain irony in my writing about it, but hear me out). In the same interview, Coughlan recounted an encounter with a fan: “I remember this really drunk girl once talking to me in a bathroom being like, ‘I loved [Bridgerton] because of your body’ and started talking about my body, and I was like, ‘I want to die. I hate this so much.’”

She continued: “It’s really hard when you work on something for months and months of your life, you don’t see your family, you really dedicate yourself and then it comes down to what you look like – it’s so fucking boring.”

Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett is a Guardian columnist and author of Female, Nude

Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.

Karoline Vitto, Phoebe English and Sinead Gorey include wide range of body shapes on catwalks

Body diversity has made a comeback at London fashion week despite a wider shift towards ultra-thinness in the fashion industry.

Emerging designers including Karoline Vitto, Phoebe English and Sinead Gorey included a wide range of body shapes on catwalks over the past four days. Sizes have ranged from a UK size 10-16, a category referred to as mid-size in the industry, to plus-size, also known as curve models, which measures from a UK size 18 upwards. Sample size, often referred to as straight models, ranges from a UK 4-8.

Even as I’ve spent my entire adult life wanting to look different, I’ve found and cultivated other parts of myself that have nothing to do with appearance

I have a memory that I frequently find myself returning to these days.

I’m in high school and we’re in the change room at the local pool for the dreaded stint of swimming. Like most of my peers, I am embarrassed by my body and am therefore changing into my swimmers under a towel.

As a boy, Tom Stoltman was diagnosed with autism and bullied at school. When he became depressed in his teens, his older brother, a bodybuilder, suggested a trip to the gym

• ‘I was told I wouldn’t walk again. I proved the doctors wrong’: the bike-obsessed pensioner who broke his neck and started afresh

Tom Stoltman was a skinny kid: 90kg, 6ft 8in, with glasses and sticking‑out teeth. Diagnosed with autism as a young child, he felt he didn’t fit in. “I was really shy,” he says. “I got bullied in school for being different.” Back then, the boy from Invergordon didn’t like what he saw in the mirror. He lived in baggy hoodies. “Hood up. That was my comfort.” He loved football but “I used to look at people on the pitch and think, ‘He’s tinier than me, but he’s pushing me off the ball.’”

By 16 he’d hit a “crashing point”. He went from football-obsessed to playing Xbox all day. He’d skip meals in favour of sweets. “Sometimes it was four or five, six bags.”