pretty isn't pretty

and i'm tired of trying

I’ve been staring at my phone for so long that the blue light feels like it’s actually burned into my retinas.

I’m in that deep, dark 3:00 a.m. spiral where I’m not even “browsing” anymore; I’m just casually self-harming via the explore page. I’m looking at these girls — girls who live in places like Paris or London or whatever, and I’m literally dissecting them. I’m checking their hair, their skin, the way their clothes fit, the way their apartments look like they were styled for a magazine. And the whole time, there’s this bitter, acidic voice in the back of my head just whispering: “Why don’t you look like that? Why is your life so messy? Why are you just... this?”

It’s that Jealousy, Jealousy brain-rot. It’s not even that I want to be her, specifically. I don’t want her boyfriend or her car, as famously written in the song by Olivia Rodrigo. I just want her “ease.” I want to be the kind of girl who doesn’t have to think about her angles because every angle is the right one. I want to be the girl who looks like she was born in a soft-focus filter, not the girl who has to spend twenty minutes browsing filters just to look “normal” and then feels like a total catfish the second the photo is posted.

I’ll see a photo of myself that someone else took, one where I was actually laughing, actually having a good time — and my first instinct isn’t “oh, what a good memory.” It’s heart-sinking horror. It’s: “Holy shit, is that actually what I look like from this angle?” Suddenly, the memory is ruined. I don’t remember the joke or the food or the music; I just remember the way my nose looked or the way my stomach folded. It’s like my brain has a filter on it that only lets me see the flaws. I’ll spend twenty minutes zooming in on my own face until I don’t even look human anymore. I’m just a collection of pores and “wrong” shapes and features that don’t fit together.

And then comes the “fix.”

I spend the money I don’t even have on the “holy grail” serum because some random girl on TikTok with perfect genetics and living in New York said it changed her life. I do the 10-step hair mask that smells like chemicals, takes an hour and almost makes me think I broke my neck. I try the “clean girl” makeup that is supposed to be “effortless” but actually takes forty minutes and three different brushes to look like I’m not wearing anything. I do all the work, I look in the mirror, and… I still just feel like me. I’m just me with more expensive stuff on my face.

The maintenance never ends. That’s the most exhausting part. There is no version of this where you wake up and finally feel “done.” You just wake up and start the tally all over again. Am I bloated? Is that a new breakout? Oh my God, why is my hair doing that thing again? Why do I look so tired? Are those facial hair? Ew. It’s like being the manager of a failing business, and the business is just your own physical existence. You’re constantly trying to “rebrand” yourself, but the product is fundamentally the same.

It’s even worse when I actually do get a photo where I look okay. I’ll stare at it for so long, scrolling back to it in my camera roll every five minutes — that the image literally starts to disintegrate. I’ll look at it until my eyes go blurry, and suddenly the "good" photo looks like a stranger, and then it looks like a disaster. My brain starts finding flaws that weren't even there ten seconds ago. And even if I do find the courage to post it, the high lasts for what? Maybe three minutes? I’ll feel good for a second, and then I’ll refresh my feed and immediately see a girl who looks ten times better than I ever could, and the "good" post I just made feels like a joke. It’s like I’m constantly being humbled by an algorithm that knows exactly who to show me to make me feel like trash again.

Being in a toxic high school definitely didn’t help. It’s like being in a pressure cooker where everyone is constantly scanning everyone else. You’re hyper-aware of your "rank" in the hallway, who’s getting the attention, and who’s being whispered about. You spend four years learning that your value is basically just a combination of your "likes" and how you look in a skirt, and then you're expected to just... turn that off? It’s ingrained. It’s in my DNA now. I’m mostly out of that environment now, but the "high school" version of my brain is still running the show, comparing me to every girl I pass on the street like we’re still fighting for a spot at a lunch table.

It’s so lonely, too. I’ll be out at dinner with my friends — girls I actually love, girls who are objectively stunning and I can tell they’re doing the exact same thing as I am. We’re all sitting there, “keeping it up,” looking at each other and thinking oh she’s so much prettier than me, while she’s looking at you thinking the exact same thing. We’re all performing for an audience that doesn’t even exist. We’re so busy trying to look “pretty” that we forget to actually be anything else. We’re boring. We’re just mirrors reflecting each other’s insecurities.

It makes you so bitter. I hate that I can’t just see a pretty girl and think “ wow, she’s pretty” without feeling bad about myself. Like wow you’re genuinely so beautiful oh my God, but I wish I looked pretty like you. I wish I could get half the attention you receive.

I just have to compare. I have to wonder if people like her more than me. I have to check if she has more followers or more likes or a better life. I have to see if she’s “thinner” or “cooler” or “more aesthetic.” It’s like I’m constantly competing in a pageant I never signed up for, and the judges are a bunch of strangers who don’t even know I exist.

And then there’s the shame. The absolute, soul-crushing shame of caring this much. I know it’s shallow. I know there are literal wars happening and the planet is dying (stuff that I do care for by the way) and I should be worried about literally anything else. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the heart-drop when I see a bad photo of myself. It just adds another layer of “I hate myself for being this way” to the pile. You’re not just ugly; you’re ugly and shallow.

It feels like we’re all part of this massive social experiment to see how much a human brain can take before it just snaps. We weren’t meant to see 5,000 perfect faces before we even get out of bed. We weren’t meant to know what our “side profile” looks like at every hour of the day. We’re over-monitored and under-loved, and we’re taking it out on ourselves.

I’m just tired. I’m tired of my phone being a weapon I use against myself. I’m tired of the mirror being the most important thing in my room. I’m tired of the “Get Ready With Me” videos that make me feel like I’m failing at the basic task of having a body. I’m tired of the “wellness” trends that are just “dieting” with a new name.

And the worst part is that I know. I’m fully, painfully aware that this is toxic. I know the filters are fake, I know the "candid" shots took eighty tries, and I know that scrolling at 3:00 a.m. is basically just pouring acid on my already crippling mental health (thanks, indian education system) but I still can’t stop. I thought this was just a "teen girl" thing, like some phase I’d eventually outgrow once I got my life together and found some "inner peace." But then I see women in their twenties and thirties, gorgeous women way older than me who should have it figured out, posting the exact same spiraling thoughts. They’re still zooming in on their fine lines, still crying over their side profiles, still comparing their lives to twenty-year-olds on TikTok. It’s like, what is actually going on? If we never outgrow this, does that mean we’re just stuck in this loop forever? Is there no "after" where you finally just stop caring? It’s terrifying to realize that the mirror doesn't get any kinder just because you get older. The machine just finds new things for you to hate.

Does anyone else ever get that “phantom” feeling where you’re out having a good time, but a tiny part of your brain is just constantly calculating how you look? Like you’re watching a movie of yourself instead of just being there? Like you can’t even enjoy a fry because you’re thinking about how your face will look in the “candid” photo your friend just took? How bloated and puffy your face will look after having junk? Or you’re constantly adjusting the way your face tilts down because you don’t want to show that ‘double chin’ you tried gua sha-ing away for a jawline like the internet girls?

I want to know the honest, “ugly” truth. The stuff you don’t even tell your best friends because it sounds too crazy. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve become insecure about because of a Reel? What’s the one photo of yourself that you still think about because you hated it so much?

Let’s just vent about it in the comments. No “you’re beautiful” talk. No “just love yourself” toxic positivity. Let’s just talk about how much it sucks to be a girl with an internet connection right now.

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I’m going to go throw my phone across the room and try to read a book, but I’ll probably just end up staring at the ceiling and thinking about my pores. We’ll try again tomorrow, I guess.