In recent weeks, I developed an unhealthy interest in the world of looksmaxxing. Not because the concept of trying to adhere to unrealistic beauty standards is new to me. I, after all, have grown up in the era of thigh gaps and heroine chic, where gossip journals would sell by body-shaming normal women on their covers.
God forbid a person has pores or, worse, cellulite.
In a way, one could consider looksmaxxing to be a kind of evening out of the pressures put on the genders, but alas, that is not correct, and little does it help that the looksmaxxers tend to have objectively horrible views on women.
That’s why it is hard to feel any sense of pity, similar to how it’s hard to be too compassionate about the male loneliness crisis when my yt feed is full of essays on digital violence perpetuated primarily by dudes against women.
Anyway, the thing that fascinates me isn’t their political (or lack thereof) stance. It’s the fact that even the number #1 looksmaxxer Clavicular appears to be so unhappy. Unlike Sisyphus, one cannot imagine him happy.
The best he’s giving off is a dispassionate smile that triggers a sense of the uncanny in the onlooker.
Let's move on without elaborating on his bio because it frankly isn't all that interesting. Suffice it to say that at the young age of 14, he decided that looks are all that matter, and to his credit, he’s lived in adherence to the principle.
Like any good masculine modern ideology, looksmaxxing wouldn’t be compelte without the scientific-esque charts, and ranking sytems that assign everyone a place on the spectrum of being an absolute chad to someone whose only option based on their looks is to rope-maxx.. (This is their synonym for unaliving. iykyk).
If that sounds like eugenics to you, it is, but at the same time, the guys deep into this don’t seem to mind too much, and it is therefore no surprise that people of color in their books could never be “chads”, let alone asians. Just another flavor of white supremacy.
Fortunately, with such a detailed ranking system also come instructions from people like Clav on how to improve your appearance to the point of “mogging” (aka looking better than) others - a term originating from bodybuilders' "alpha male of the group".
This positivist approach to one's flesh suit is coherent with our times, which thrives on reducing complex humans into simplistic data points. For the looksmaxxers, you are not the combination of personality, experience, and narratives; you are just how you look. What can be seen is all there is, as Kahneman and Trotzky would say.
We’re all familiar with this modus operandi. It’s the same way social media works.
Social media, dating apps, our relations to ourselves mediated through the tracking apps... it is all data.
We siphoned from the big universe that is one self and took away only the easily quantifiable.
Looksmaxxing doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is fuelled by a society in which we’re alienated from ourselves to the point of shopping for identities on TikTok.
The death of God left us without a moral foundation. We didn't magically transmorph into Uebermenschen. The vacuum left creates space for nihilistic ideologies. Or, well, perhaps calling it an ideology is too generous.
It is a pseudo-scientific theory developed by incels - the kind of men who believe that they are owed sex for being born a man and that their lack thereof is a good reason to hate and despise women (yet seeking something from them, an unhealthy place to operate from).
There sure is a healthy dose of wanting to be a better person, but the looksmaxxers approach is not it.
In a way, these front-facing looksmaxxers aren’t necessarily incels. Part of their spiel is bragging about having a lot of sex thanks to their great looks. All that smashing bones, breaking your legs to insert magnet sticks that; controlled by a remote; slowly distend, hence triggering your bones to grow with it, only to gain a few centimeters in height.
The ironic bit is that in the documentary I watched about leg-extending surgery, the guy even had a girlfriend. But somehow, he had deluded himself into thinking that the reason he did not get a promotion was his lack of height. Should have read biographies of great conquerors and not incel forums.
The point of all this pain isn’t to become a better person, or even to feel better in your body - in fact, you might even ruin your health - it’s just to climb the hierarchy. And as a result, sleep with as many women as possible, because this is how the "Sexual Market Capital" is accruing. For men, not women, needless to say.
Clavicular, who streams nearly all day, certainly likes to make reference to his conquests. He’s also no stranger to kissing random girls on his streams either.
At least it’s reassuring to hear that, thanks to his perpetual biohacking, he’s managed to turn himself infertile, leaving us with the slight hope that this ideology could eventually die out quite literally (a gal can hope).
His relentless streaming is another source of fascination to me. The concept, not the content. For one, there are certain occasions that had he not streamed, he’d be better off. Take, for example, when he figured that he should be filmed while shooting an already dead alligator. Despicable for sure, but if you commit illegal acts, wouldn’t the sane move be to not film them?
My guess is, he is very little without the eyes of others.
Hannah Arendt once wrote: Nothing and nobody exists in this world whose very being does not presuppose a spectator. In other words, nothing that is, insofar as it appears, exists in the singular; everything that is is meant to be perceived by somebody. Plurality is the law of the earth.
Little did she know of streamers, and let us just say that plurality is not a value looksmaxxers would be after. Instead, one can’t help but wonder whether it’s just a very misguided attempt at compensating for a different need not even the most impeccable looks could fulfill.
Clavicular might be an extreme case, but he can only exist because, in a way, the narcissistic is the moral exemplar of neoliberal society. Take American Psycho. Like Frankenstein written as a warning, it has become an inspirational tale and a favorite cosplay for finance bros (self-awareness:0)
“Only an entity, no real me.”
-American Psycho
Outwardly successful: a skincare routine before it was cool for guys to have one, and an apartment that, in its lack of personality, rivals ChatGPT Pinterest interior slop.
The narcissism exposed by the protagonist has become a defining characteristic of our age, Byung Chul Han (a favorite) going as far as writing “live in an age of narcissism”.
Not hard to come to that conclusion. Ask anyone whether they have ever had to deal with a narcissist, and the anecdotes will pour in. It should, however, be mentioned that the clinical kind is further removed from what hobby psychologists attest those who rubbed them the wrong way.
As with many fun psychological concepts, it was Sigmund Freud who came up with the term, leaning on a tale from Ovid about a cold-hearted youngster whose condescending attitude leads him to harshly reject all love interests to the point where the Gods decide to punish him. And what better way than to make him fall in love with his own reflection?
Such is the myth of Narcissus, who will be ruined by his love for his own mirror image.
Narcissism, accordingly, is an unhealthy relationship with the self. What narcissists are in love with is the reflection of themselves in flat mirrors and in our world, screens.
Often, by conventional standards, such people in our world look highly prosperous. They are business tycoons, social media barons, or politicians.
The reason is simple: lacking healthy self-esteem, they seek external validation and revel in the envy and admiration reflected in others' eyes. Naturally, the well of their motivation doesn’t dry up. They can outcompete anyone with a healthy sense of self who doesn’t need to be at the top of the hierarchy to feel like a worthy being. You are not your achievements.
(Btw, this is what I tell myself too when wondering why I do not have that drive to have a grand career or to work 80 hours a week to escape the permanent underclass).
While our world has recently given us the first trillionaire, the world of Fullmetal Alchemist gave birth to a wannabe God.
The main antagonist is a homunculus, a being created by alchemy, going by the name Father. Thanks to the blood he receives from a slave and a dirty little trick, he manages to assume human form.
He haughtily looks down on humans, decrying them as pathetic, and to further put distance between himself and them, decides to rid himself of all his desires, aka the seven deadly sins (gluttony, envy, greed, etc.). Not too dissimilar from the way Voldemort tried to achieve immortality.
Father embarks on a journey to become a perfect being, powerful, in other words, a God. The best way to become one is to eat one, and after succeeding in that, Father is still not satisfied.
Ultimately, the pathetic creatures weren’t the humans. It was this Homunculus who didn’t realize that he was empty. All he had was his want to want. Once he had it all, there was nothing left. No more power to grab.
For a short moment, he was at the pinnacle. Yet, before he had to confront the abyss, he was toppled by a group of imperfect humans banding together for the greater good. He is thrown ultimately into the nothingness.
To his detriment, or perhaps fortune, Clavicular has reached no such apex. He walked a runway show and inspired countless documentaries, even being interviewed on a YouTube Channel called “Channel 5” (not related to TV broadcast). Still, the maxxing continues as his journey knows no end.
Byung-Chul Han explained in psychopolitics that there is no end to what the subject can optimize under the regime of constant self-optimization. We all become projects to be managed by ourselves.
Clav is just taking this logic to an extreme end. His entire raison d’etre is maximizing his “Sexual Market Value”. Asking the posterchild why he follows this path is as pointless as asking why companies ought to maximize their profits or investors their ROI.
He’s but a little capitalist managing his own bodily capital in pursuit of higher exchange value - to use the Marxist term.
Erich Fromm would have called him a marketing character. A personality structure that arose as a rational response to a society governed by markets. The marketing character does not introspect and find themselves. They ask, "Who do you want me to be?" And serve.
For him, it was a sign of a crisis turning humans into selfless tools, lacking any authentic identity. As much as they might shape their outer appearance and even their “personality,” the inner lives remain a barren wasteland.
The modern versions of this type turn to dataism as their religion, collecting endless data points, flattening themselves into graphs and charts, competing in a sport they can never win.
They live in a world where everything needs to have a defined output. It explains how people like Clav cannot fathom going on a date without streaming it.
What’s the ROI in that?
The ROI of likes, engagement, chatter, the money, the (mostly) men cheering in the comments. Everything is performance, everything is appearance to a man like that.
"The achievement subject develops auto-aggression that often enoug escalates into violence of self-destruction.”
Byung-Chul Han
There is no genuine friendship if all one asks is: what is in this for me. No accepting others as fellow men, only the constant threat of others beating him in the game of “mogging.”
It’s no coincidence that the media eats it up whenever Clav is confronted with a man who, by normal standards, is undoubtedly more handsome than he is - even without cringe-posting their 17-step method and skincare routine.
“The men who builds his identity on mogging others, lives in permanent threat of being mogged.”
In a hierarchical view of men, there is no win-win.
If anything, he has set up a lose-lose structure as his self-worth hinges on factors beyond his control. All he has is his outer appearance. The inside not worth contemplation.
You’re probably thinking, so what, I’d never go as far as that. Still, in less extreme ways, we all (ok maybe you are the exception) have a tendency to seek external validation. The path we chose might differ: monetary success, climbing the career ladder, accumulating power, status…It could be buying whatever is trending, or posting rage bait to at least trigger reactions.
I’ll be the first to admit not being immune to trying to prop up my self-worth with external surrogates. When I was young and dumb(er) male validation was one such attempt. Not so dissimilar from maximizing sexual market value. I wore high heels, short skirts I had to pull down every few seconds, and fake lashes.
I made my fair share of conquests - or was used by another to expand their body count - that is in the eye of the beholder. Needless to say, the goal of feeling better about myself was not achieved.
The thrill was there, but nothing remained. What followed was just reinforced emptiness. No fulfillment, just another person on the hedonic treadmill, running from the existential darkness.
I eventually snapped out of it when I started studying something I actually cared about and found other meaningful activities to engage in. My goals changed, and so did I.
“The goals we work on also work on us.”
Brad Stultberg
While living in Japan, my strategy shifted to career. I flew to glamorous conferences across the world, cried in a toilet stall after learning of my grandma's death, only to be told by a boss to "get my shit together" and go on to record crypto bros droning on about "freedom".
My outer life looked exciting: fancy drinks, paid trips, interesting people. Yet this too grew stale. The distractions kept me from confronting the lack I felt. I was escaping into business. Eventually, I had to admit: I was not made for chasing a grand career.
I wondered if something was wrong with me.
It was around that time that I picked up The Courage to Be Disliked by Kishimi and Koga.
Building on Adler's philosophy, they posit that we can all choose to be happy (or perhaps we should say content, because happiness carries a lot of weight in Western Culture and is just an ephemeral sensation).
Unhappy (or discontent, as Freud would put it) people simply have the wrong goals. They seek approval by others, recognition, being perceived as if not virtuous (because this does not translate quickly on the feed), at least as hot.
Clav is one such person, in pursuit of rising the ranks in the perpetual competition of all against all. Yet, in doing so, he is still living under the regime of others' expectations.
"When you only seek recognition from others and only care about how others perceive you, you end up living the life of other people.”
Kishima and Koga
Kierkegaard had a name for such a state: despair of not becoming the self you ought to be. His antidote was Christianity, not an easy sell in the modern day. *Also, quite unclear whether this choice made him very happy in the end.
Fortunately, Kishima and Koga have more practical advice: focus on human relations without expecting ROI.
“If one really has a feeling of contribution, one no longer will have any need for recognition from others.”
It’s by perceiving ourselves as useful for others that we can experience self-worth. Their worldview is one in which all humans have value, regardless of their achievements, which, in turn, allows anyone to accept themselves as valuable and, therefore, realize that their presence is worthy.
Such a person’s self-worth cannot be impacted by another being more successful or, God forbid, looking better. They can help selflessly because the act itself already provides them with the reassurance and satisfaction they seek.
They don’t need to maximize their looks because that, again, means adhering to others’ expectations. The path of maximizing leads not to a happy place.
Take the latest Clavicular news. After getting a nose job, he’s reaping what he sowed: bullying from his audience that only cares about aesthetics.
I doubt he’ll find it in himself (whatever is in there anyway) and will just continue on the path of “ascending” to the infamy of celebrities overdoing the plastic surgeries. He built his identity on maximizing. Now he is trapped in it.
There is truly nothing new. We just find new insidious ways of telling each other how deficient we are, inspiring each other to “maximize” towards a goal we can never reach, on a path that leads nowhere near happiness.
Don't be like that.
Thanks for reading 💚
I am glad to report that I have found a new interest: trad-wife fiction. So expect no more looks-maxxing think pieces from me.