I Was Scammed Buying GLP-1s Online. I’m Not Alone

Shane Albert—who like other people in this story spoke to WIRED using a variant of his name out of concern for his privacy—first heard about Zealthy on an Atlanta radio station. Like a lot of people, he was looking to drop a few pounds. He had some success with semaglutide (prescribed as Ozempic and Wegovy) but wanted to level up to the even more powerful tirzepatide. He recalls Zealthy advertising tirzepatide (prescribed as Mounjaro and Zepbound) and being impressed with the price.

“It said it’s going to be the same price every month,” he recalls, “which I later learned was a crock of shit.”

Albert’s experience went smoothly—at first. He was charged for his drugs, received them through the mail, and took them. Then things took a turn. When he was billed for his second round of the drug, at an increased dose, the price went up. When the tirzepatide finally did arrive, it was weeks late. And because these compounds work due to regular weekly injections, allowing the active ingredients to build in the patient’s system, he ended up regaining the weight he had already lost during the extended waiting period.

Albert complained—or tried to. Weeks went by without responses. He’d spend hours hanging on hold, going a little batty as the chipper hold music looped infernally. He tried to remove his credit card from the website and was unable to do so, eventually having to call his bank to order a new card. He was beyond annoyed. “I even threatened to file complaints against their professional licenses, and it didn’t trigger anything,” he says, his voice peaking as he recounts his experience. “They hope we’ll just go away, by not responding to us and not entertaining us. But I didn’t. Because it was a lot of money.”

Nicole Butler is another unsatisfied Zealthy customer. She says her delivery of a three-month Zepbound supply was left outside in the North Carolina midsummer sun; its cooler bags melted, potentially spoiling the drug and rendering it useless. A refund was, apparently, impossible. She spoke to her credit card issuer about investigating the charge. She filed a complaint with Judicial Arbitration and Mediation Services (JAMS), a consumer advocacy group. Despite her protests, monthly membership charges kept being processed. “I was furious,” Butler says. “It was very hidden and just really slimy, the way that they do it.”

“The obese world is a white-collar crook’s dream,” alleges Sarah Harris, another former customer who claims she was bilked for more than $1,500. She turned to Zealthy back in 2024, when her doctor refused to prescribe semaglutide to her because the treatment was, in Harris’s words, “still newish.” Her insurance wouldn’t cover any weight-loss drugs. So, if she wanted to try them, she’d have to pay out of pocket.

After enrolling, Harris received initial orders. The meds worked. She says she was sent tracking numbers for shipments that never came, with tracking numbers pegged to old orders. When she tried to cancel her membership, she had to go as far as ordering a new debit card. “If people like me want to lose weight and can’t afford the monthly $1,000-plus out-of-pocket expenses, we become targets for companies like Zealthy,” she says. “I wouldn’t buy toilet paper from them.”