There was a time—simpler, darker, somehow both better and worse—when the universe was allowed to run its natural course. When God, in His infinite wisdom (or indifference), sculpted faces with the reckless abandon of a DJ randomly twisting knobs at a frat party. Some people were born beautiful. Some were not. That was the deal. That was the social contract.
But then, modernity happened. Progress, science, democracy—whatever you want to blame. Suddenly, we had a choice. Beauty was no longer a lottery; it was a subscription service. For a small monthly fee (or one lump- sum wire transfer to a 52-year-old man with a scalpel and no scruples), you could opt into hotness. But here’s where it gets tricky: if we can all be beautiful, should we be?
I ask this not as a hater, but as a concerned citizen. Is there a moral imperative to let some faces remain as they are? Are we erasing something essential when beauty stops being a stroke of luck and starts being an expectation? When we all start looking the same, does anyone stand out?
Being Persian, I grew up where nose jobs are a birthright and filler is just ‘maintenance.’ Aunts assess your face with the cold precision of a structural engineer looking for weak points. I have met girls who have gotten preventative Botox before they have even experienced a meaningful emotion. The line between ‘enhancement’ and ‘full-blown renovation’ is, at this point, theoretical. So when my friend casually booked a lip filler consultation, it didn’t feel like a big deal.
I tagged along with her to the appointment. A minor enhancement. A touch-up, if you will. But when she sat in the chair, the injector took one look at her face, tilted his head, and said, “Have you ever considered a chin implant?”
And just like that, she was in too deep. She had simply shown up to plump her lips, but now she was spiraling, gripping a hand mirror, being walked through a comprehensive facial reconstruction plan she never asked for. Suddenly, she wasn’t just a girl getting filler—she was a project. A before photo. A problem to be solved.
She left with swollen lips and a full-fledged identity crisis. Because that’s the thing—once you start, you will never be done. The moment you let someone convince you that one part of your face needs “fixing,” you’ll start seeing a thousand microflaws you never noticed before. The issue is no longer if you need work, but how much, and how soon.
This isn’t about ugly vs. hot—that would be too easy. This is about the deeper question of what happens when beauty becomes a consumer good, something we can all theoretically have if we just buy the right things. Because if hotness is no longer a genetic lottery but an economic transaction, then doesn’t that make it… weirdly meaningless? Like when Rick Owens Geobaskets became the uniform of tech bros, or Lucien got a Resy link.
Let’s take a historical approach. In ancient times, if you didn’t meet conventional beauty standards, it meant something. It was a divine punishment, a hereditary omen, a cautionary tale whispered around village fires. Shakespeare gave us Richard III, Hugo gave us Quasimodo, Mary Shelley gave us Frankenstein’s creature, and history has given us a thousand more examples. Yet, they had roles. They were the oracles, the court jesters, the outcasts who saw the truth because they were not distracted by their own reflections. But now? Now they just get filler. Now they just get to look fine. And is that not a loss for culture?
There is also, of course, the issue of fairness. Because—and I say this with deep respect for democracy—should we really be distributing beauty like it’s a universal right? Maybe hotness should be gatekept. Maybe some people are meant to struggle, to develop personalities, to cultivate intellect instead of cheekbones. Do you think Anne Carson would have written Autobiography of Red if she had a fox eye thread lift at 23? Would Socrates have become the father of philosophy if he looked like Rock Hudson? Would I be sitting here typing this if I looked like Kate Moss, or would I simply be in a Parisian hotel, chain-smoking in silence?
I get it. Who wouldn’t want to be beautiful? Who wouldn’t want to sidestep rejection, insecurity, the nagging feeling that life might be easier if they were just prettier? It’s a very human impulse. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that something important is being lost in our collective rush to perfect ourselves.
There is also, quite tragically, the issue of overcorrection. It’s never just “a little tweak.” Because it’s never just one procedure. Once you enter the temple of aesthetic optimization, you do not leave unscathed. The girl who gets ‘just a little chin filler’ is six months away from emerging with a jawline sharp enough to cut through federal infrastructure. The guy who gets ‘just a little Botox’ is a year away from looking like an off-brand Ken doll, shiny and perplexed, unable to frown at the horrors of what he has done.
So, I return to the question at hand: should we be letting everyone get work done? Or more importantly—what happens when we do? And if we do, will we even recognize each other in the end? Will we, in our pursuit of symmetrical perfection, erase something vital, something deeply human, something that makes life richer? Or will we simply be left with an endless parade of mildly attractive people, drifting through a world that once had texture?
spring break 