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

Published 11 June 2026 · india

Any American with a television has, by now, surely seen commercials for online pharmacies GLP-1s and other popular prescription weight-loss medicines at bargain prices. You

Any American with a television has, by now, surely seen commercials for online pharmacies GLP-1s and other popular prescription weight-loss medicines at bargain prices. You know the ones, where retired tennis stars or comedians you haven’t seen in 10 years tell you how wonderful, and easy to procure, these life-changing medications are. It's a huge business. Of the one in eight American adults who takes these drugs, 11 percent were prescribed and issued meds from online telehealth services, leading to a massive 24 percent projected annual growth rate in the sector. Some forecasters have predicted that the online weight-loss-drug market will grow to $150 billion in the next five years. The government is even getting in on the action with the recent launch of TrumpRx. Given the demand, the growth of the sector, and the sometimes spurious business practices that emerge when drug dealing is combined with the internet, it is perhaps unsurprising that not all the purveyors in the space are operating in good faith.

Some users have signed up for these services, submitted credit card data for a relatively modest membership fee, and woken up to massive credit card charges for GLP-1 meds they did not request. These meds are then shipped immediately, allegedly preventing the provider from reversing or canceling orders. When contacted, the companies will say they cannot accept returns or cancellations, citing vague “privacy” and “supply chain” concerns. Efforts to escalate these concerns are frustrated by managers who seem to always be tied up in meetings. Despite persistent calls, patients are left paying massive sums for meds they don’t even want. I know, because it happened to me. In March, I signed up for a service called FitR which also does business under the name Zealthy, Inc.—mostly to see the cost of compounded Zepbound. The website advertises an offer of $135 for a month’s supply.

I registered, paid the membership fee, and answered some basic questions about my weight, medical history, and activity level. When I woke up seven hours later, I found a detailed message from a physicians’ assistant—who I did not communicate with directly—laying out my new “plan.” I also found I was charged $866 and had been sent a three-month supply of tirzepatide vials that I had been prescribed, despite neither asking for or needing them. No effort whatsoever was made to check if these unwanted medicines were covered by insurance. I spent the better part of the next week arguing with customer service reps at FitRx and Zealthy about their cancellation rules. (With FitRx, this almost always involved dialing in to be cheerily greeted by the same dude, who would only identify himself as “Ace.”) They explained that they have a policy about not refunding any orders after shipping labels have been printed.