When Entertainment Crosses a Line: What the FAMU ‘Ozempic’ Joke Says About Fatphobia in HBCU Culture
After a FAMU announcer made a dig at Alabama State’s plus-size Honey Beez dancers, the backlash revealed a deeper issue within our own community: how we talk about — and respect — Black women’s bodies.
Lifestyle
By Khalilah Archie
October 7, 2025
9:53 AM
(Photo by Don Juan Moore/Getty Images)
If you’ve ever been to an HBCU game, you know the halftime show is sacred. It’s where bands become legends, majorettes turn routines into religion, and announcers transform into griots — narrating the magic of Black performance. But sometimes, that commentary crosses from celebratory to cruel.
That’s what happened when longtime
Florida A&M University band announcer Joe Bullard made an on-mic jab at Alabama State University’s
Honey Beez, the school’s plus-size dance team. According to the
New York Post, Bullard joked that the Honey Beez were “the new face of Ozempic,” referencing the popular weight-loss drug, as the dancers took the field during the October 2025 game.
The crowd’s reaction was mixed — some laughed, others groaned — but online, it was swift. Within hours, clips spread across X (formerly Twitter) and TikTok, with current and former HBCU students calling the remark disrespectful and rooted in the same anti-Black fatphobia mainstream culture already hurls at us daily.
What makes this sting more than your average off-color joke is
where it happened. HBCUs are supposed to be the antidote to the wider world’s judgment — spaces that affirm, uplift, and celebrate the full range of Blackness. The Honey Beez, in particular, have become icons for that very reason. Since their founding, the team has represented inclusivity and body confidence, proving that athleticism and beauty don’t come in one size. Their routines are joyful, fierce, and unapologetically Southern.
So when that stage — the one place they should be celebrated without ridicule — turned into a punchline, it struck a nerve.

Alabama State President Stands Up for Plus-Size Dance Group ‘Honey Beez’ After Halftime Remark
This wasn’t just about one man’s comment. It was about how even in Black spaces, we still internalize the same narrow beauty standards that tell Black women to shrink themselves — literally and figuratively — to be worthy of respect.
The “Ozempic” joke lands differently when you consider how policing Black women’s bodies has always been a public sport. From school dress codes targeting curvier students to viral debates about whether certain bodies are “professional,” the scrutiny is relentless. And when that ridicule comes from within our own institutions, it cuts deeper.
Because fatphobia isn’t just about aesthetics — it’s about humanity. It’s the belief that bigger bodies are fair game for mockery, that visibility equals permission, that the only acceptable Black women to cheer for are the ones who fit into a narrow idea of beauty.
The Honey Beez have long disrupted that idea. Led by their fearless coach, they’ve appeared on national television, walked red carpets, and redefined what dance excellence looks like. Their presence alone is resistance. Which is why the joke wasn’t “harmless fun” — it was a reminder of how fragile respect can be when you don’t fit the mold.
HBCU culture is built on performance, confidence, and pageantry — but also on community. It’s time we ask ourselves what kind of community we’re building if we laugh at each other’s expense. The energy that once united us — from the bleachers to the bandstands — risks being replaced by the same judgment and shaming we claim to reject.
And the internet only amplifies it. Social media thrives on humiliation; it turns moments like these into trending topics rather than teachable ones. But the truth is, we can do both: hold people accountable and hold space for growth. Bullard later apologized, but the damage lingers, not just in his reputation but in how comfortable the crowd was laughing in the first place.
There’s nothing wrong with loving the theatrics of HBCU culture — the chants, the slick talk, the lighthearted rivalries. But when “entertainment” crosses into cruelty, it’s time to recalibrate. Body positivity shouldn’t be a social media hashtag; it should be a cultural practice.
Protecting the dignity of every performer — whether they’re a Honey Bee, a Drum Major, or a Majorette — means acknowledging that the legacy of HBCUs isn’t just excellence; it’s inclusion.
Because if we can’t honor the diversity of Black bodies in our own spaces, how can we expect the rest of the world to?