The curse of being hot

04 Feb, 2025

Growing up as a nerdy misfit was quite the ride. Never praised for my looks, I learned early on that my best way to navigate social circles was to read the room and adapt, shaping myself into the persona that would attract the most friends based on shared interests. I became a Bayern Munich fanatic to bond with the football lovers, payed close attention to Adam’s endless rants about rap so I could engage him in deep conversations, and even dived into quantum physics just because Kenza, the physics genius, seemed cool.

I could go on for hours about the bizarre, niche obsessions I picked up along the way, all carefully curated to carve out a place for myself. You’d probably laugh at the randomness of it all. But at the time, it was my strategy for being seen as “the cool girl,” because I lacked what seemed to be the ultimate social currency: conventional beauty. I wasn't unattractive, but I certainly wasn’t the effortlessly pretty, popular girl who could exist in a room without effort.

Fast forward through my teenage years, and as expected, physical changes happened. My need for male validation remained remarkably low, after all, the only man’s approval I truly craved was my math professor’s “Tbarkallah alik.” But something strange began to happen. Where once my intelligence had been my defining trait, I now found myself in a world where some people only saw my beauty. At first, it felt paradoxical. Should I be flattered that something once foreign to me, being seen as beautiful, was now part of my reality? Or should I be unsettled that, for some, it was the only thing that mattered?

Even now, I find myself carrying an old version of me into adulthood, the one who craved recognition for intellect over appearance. I still catch myself naively forgetting that one of the natural consequences of growing up is being desirable. It’s almost like waking up one day and realizing that the book you spent years perfecting has been reduced to nothing but its cover.

There’s a strange, intoxicating pull to abandoning everything that once made you you when you realize that beauty alone can unlock doors. I know because I almost fell for it.

One makeup session, one perfectly curated look, and suddenly, the social circles I once navigated through intellect, humor, and niche obsessions opened effortlessly. No need for deep dives into music, science, or philosophy, just a well-crafted face, and I was in. For a moment, it felt like a cheat code. But then came the slap in the face.

I saw myself morphing into a surface-level version of who I once was, someone with nothing but seductive eyes and polished aesthetics to offer. And I snapped out of it. But how many haven’t? How many women abandon their intellectual singularity, their talents, their curiosity, because the hot girl persona is just so much more immediately gratifying?

Call me dramatic, but I see it as a dangerous sacrifice. You are shrinking yourself, reducing a multidimensional identity into a single, fleeting trait. And let’s be clear, I’m not saying beauty should be abandoned. But if it becomes the only trait worth showcasing, then what’s left of you beyond the reflection in the mirror?

And here’s the final paradox: even the attention you gain feels hollow. By packaging yourself as only beautiful, you filter out anyone who values anything more. You place your real self in a tiny box, whispering, "This is all I am". And so the loop continues, one-dimensional admiration for a one-dimensional persona.

Snap out of it. Be devastatingly singular. Beauty and brains.