What Does It Mean To Be Beautiful?

Beauty. What does it mean to be beautiful? It’s a question that has haunted me for as long as I can remember. Growing up outside traditional definitions of beauty, I felt the weight of this question in ways that shaped my sense of self, my relationships, and my understanding of the world. At times, it felt like a game I could never win—a riddle without an answer.

Was beauty something I could carry within myself, untouched by the world, as the self-love movement preaches? Or was it something handed to me by others—a gift, or worse, a verdict? Neither explanation gave me peace. If no one else thought I was beautiful, what was the point of feeling it? And if I didn’t feel beautiful, why did it matter if someone else did?

This essay is an attempt to explore those questions—because beauty, I’ve realized, is never just about aesthetics. It’s about power, control, longing, and liberation. It’s about how we see ourselves and how the world sees us. And maybe, just maybe, it’s about something more.

Beauty Through History and Culture

The way beauty is defined has never been universal. Every culture, every moment in history, has shaped it to reflect its values, fears, and aspirations.

Ancient India: Beauty as Performance

In ancient India, beauty was deeply tied to rasa—the emotional essence of an experience. The Natyashastra described beauty as something performed, not simply observed. Through dance, music, and gesture, beauty was crafted to evoke specific emotions in an audience. It wasn’t just physical; it was dynamic, relational, and transformative. Yet, even this ideal was exclusionary. Fair skin, delicate features, and refinement were celebrated, embedding societal inequities into aesthetic ideals.

This wasn’t just about art; it shaped daily life. Women, particularly, were taught to embody beauty as duty—to move gracefully, speak softly, and present themselves as pleasing to others. Beauty wasn’t just about being; it was about doing. This performance often came at the cost of individuality, erasing any parts of yourself that didn’t fit the mold.

Persian Mysticism: Beauty as Divine

In Persian poetry, beauty transcended the physical. Rumi wrote, “Let the beauty we love be what we do,” linking beauty to action, love, and truth. It wasn’t something static but something alive—an energy that moved through creation. Yet, this lofty ideal often felt out of reach. If beauty is divine, what does it mean when you don’t feel divine at all?

Persian mystics celebrated flaws as part of the human journey. “The wound is the place where the light enters you,” Rumi said. This idea that imperfection enhances beauty is profound, but living it is another matter. Can you truly embrace your wounds when the world constantly asks you to cover them?

Greek and Roman Ideals: Beauty as Power

Ancient Greece gave us the concept of symmetry as beauty. To Aristotle, beauty reflected the harmony of the cosmos—a perfect balance of proportions. The Romans added a political dimension, tying beauty to power. Statues, monuments, and even the idealized human form were tools of propaganda, designed to show who mattered. Beauty wasn’t just an aesthetic; it was a hierarchy.

This association of beauty with power still lingers. Even today, attractiveness influences opportunities, perceptions, and social mobility. Studies show that conventionally attractive people are often assumed to be more competent, kind, or intelligent—an unconscious bias rooted in centuries of conditioning.

Wabi-Sabi: Beauty in Imperfection

In contrast to Western ideals of perfection, the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi finds beauty in imperfection and transience. A cracked teacup, a weathered face, the fleeting bloom of cherry blossoms—these are seen as beautiful precisely because they are incomplete. Wabi-sabi celebrates the authenticity of impermanence, offering a gentler, more forgiving lens through which to see ourselves.

This philosophy resonates deeply with me. The idea that flaws can be beautiful feels like a balm in a world obsessed with airbrushed perfection. But embracing wabi-sabi in practice is harder than it sounds. How do you unlearn years of shame about your imperfections?

Capitalism and the Commodification of Beauty

Enter capitalism, and beauty becomes a product.

The beauty industry thrives on insecurity. First, it creates an impossible standard—flawless skin, a perfect body, the right clothes, the right hair—and then it sells you the solution. Foundation to hide your pores. Serums to erase your wrinkles. Clothes to disguise the parts of you that don’t fit. It’s a brilliant scam, perpetuating the very insecurities it claims to solve.

Social media took this to another level. Suddenly, beauty wasn’t just something you bought—it was something you performed. Filters, angles, and curated feeds turned beauty into a 24/7 job. Algorithms rewarded those who fit the mold, punishing those who didn’t. Even movements like “self-love” and “body positivity” have been co-opted, repackaged into aesthetic trends that reinforce capitalist norms.

What’s cruelest about capitalism’s beauty trap is how it masks itself as empowerment. “Buy this lipstick and reclaim your confidence!” the ads scream. But is it really empowerment if the only way to feel beautiful is through consumption?

Conservatism’s Moral Policing of Beauty

While capitalism commodifies beauty, conservatism moralizes it. It tells you who deserves to be beautiful—and who doesn’t.

Women must be modest but alluring, youthful but motherly, thin but curvy. Men must be strong and stoic, leaving no room for softness or vulnerability. These contradictory standards aren’t just arbitrary—they’re tools of control. Beauty, under conservatism, isn’t about self-expression; it’s about conformity.

In India, the obsession with fair skin isn’t just aesthetic—it’s deeply tied to casteism and colonialism. Globally, beauty standards erase marginalized identities, reinforcing power structures that exclude Black, Indigenous, and other nonwhite communities. These standards aren’t timeless or natural; they’re constructed to maintain hierarchies.

Conservatism pretends its version of beauty is “pure” or “authentic,” but it’s just another performance—one designed to keep people in their place.

Beauty’s Impact on Relationships

Beauty doesn’t just shape how we see ourselves—it shapes how others see us. It impacts every relationship we have, from friendships to family dynamics to professional environments.

The ‘Ugly Friend’

Being the so-called “ugly friend” is its own kind of invisibility. You’re the one holding the bags while your friends get approached. The one people warm up to only after realizing you’re funny or smart or useful. It’s not that people treat you badly—they just don’t treat you fully. You become a supporting character in your own life.

Romantic Relationships

In romance, beauty is currency. It influences who is considered desirable, who gets approached, and who is treated with care. When you don’t fit the conventional mold, you’re often left questioning your worth. Are you being loved for who you are—or despite who you are? This constant self-doubt can poison even the most genuine connections.

Family and Pity

Even within families, beauty shapes dynamics. Compliments like “You have such a nice smile” often feel like pity, as if people are trying to find something redeeming about you. This kind of faint praise can be more cutting than outright criticism. It teaches you to be wary of kindness, to question every compliment, to doubt your own worth.

Friendships

Friendships, too, aren’t immune. When you’re not the conventionally attractive one, you learn to laugh off backhanded compliments. You’re the “funny” friend, the “smart” friend, the one who gets described as having “a great personality.” It’s exhausting, feeling like you have to overcompensate in every other area because your looks don’t make the cut.

What I’ve Learned

For years, I felt trapped between capitalism’s commodification and conservatism’s moral policing. Neither gave me freedom. But I’ve realized beauty doesn’t have to be either of those things. It can be something else entirely.

1. Beauty is messy. It’s not symmetry or perfection. It’s the joy in your laugh, the kindness in your heart, the fire in your eyes when you’re passionate about something.

2. Beauty is lived. As Rumi said, “Let the beauty we love be what we do.” Beauty isn’t just how you look; it’s how you live, love, and move through the world.

3. Beauty is political. It’s shaped by power, privilege, and oppression. Reclaiming it means refusing to play by the rules of those systems.

4. Beauty is enough—because you are. It’s not something you have to chase or earn. It’s something you already are, even on the days you don’t believe it.

Where I Am Now

I still don’t have all the answers. There are days when I look in the mirror and struggle to see what others might. There are days when I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection and think, Maybe? Just maybe.

But I’ve learned that beauty isn’t something you find—it’s something you create. It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you hold space for others, the way you hold space for yourself. Beauty isn’t static or fixed. It’s alive. It’s human. It’s yours.

And that? That feels beautiful.