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The Optimization Imperative: Looksmaxxing & the Collapse of Inherent Worth

Updated: Apr 9

by Erin Sweeney for The 44 North, Second-Place Winner of our Inaugural Essay Contest


Artwork by Logan Brewer
Artwork by Logan Brewer
"Looksmaxxing offers something seductive here: a concrete explanation for inexplicable pain."

“Is it over for me?” In the exposing glow of a bathroom mirror, a young boy meticulously picks apart his facial features with surgical precision. Canthal tilt? Negative. Jawline? Insufficiently defined. Cheekbones? Too low. He has spent the day scrolling through posts where other young men share before-and-after transformation photos, amateur surgical tips, and elaborate routines under the false guise of transforming them into a version finally worthy of love. This is looksmaxxing, and it’s not your ordinary internet trend, but far more detrimental. It’s the consequence of a society that has convinced an entire generation that their worth, instead of being inherent, must be earned through an endless cycle of self-improvement, that belonging is conditional on meeting endlessly evolving standards of “perfection.”


Looksmaxxing refers to the systematic pursuit of physical attractiveness through numerous means, from skincare routines and fitness regimens to extreme cosmetic procedures such as orthognathic (facial bone) surgery. This term, originating in online male communities, frames appearance enhancement as a strategic “maximization” problem that can be solved through physical optimization. While levels distinguish between non-invasive “softmaxxing” and surgical “hardmaxxing,” the underlying philosophy remains consistent: physical appearance is a

variable to optimize one’s romantic and social success (Farrell).


The phenomenon exploits fundamental human psychology. We are, by evolutionary design, constant comparison machines. Our ancestors survived by assessing where they stood within stable communities of around 150 people, according to Dunbar’s number in anthropology.


Today, that same instinct faces an impossible feat: comparing ourselves to a curated algorithmic feed of millions (Collins).


Dating apps have weaponized this vulnerability, transforming romantic connection into a gamified meritocratic marketplace where first impressions occur in milliseconds (Cobb). A young man opens Tinder and immediately begins collecting rejections. These apps quantify what was once mysterious—attraction and desirability—transforming connection into data. Match rates, response times, read receipts. When rejection becomes numerically visible, insecurity doesn’t just seep in; it devours.


Social media intensifies this through “upward social comparison”: our tendency to measure ourselves against those who seem better off (VerPlanck). Instagram learns which idealized faces and bodies hold your attention and dispenses them relentlessly. Each scroll reinforces a brutal narrative: they have what you lack. Comparisons are always unfair: your lived reality against someone’s crafted illusion.


The digital world isn’t only a space for comparison—it exacerbates isolation, breeding what has become known as the male loneliness epidemic. Nearly 1 in 5 men now claim they don’t have close friends (Holcombe). Without anyone to remind you that you give great advice or your presence makes their day, the ruthless cycle spirals endlessly. Isolation powers comparison to unrealistic standards, which convinces you that your looks are the problem, driving you deeper into reclusive, insecurity-driven self-improvement instead of reaching out for an actual human connection.


Looksmaxxing offers something seductive here: a concrete explanation for inexplicable pain. If you’re lonely and don’t know why, the uncertainty is agonizing. However, if you can point to your “negative canthal tilt,” suddenly, chaos has order. The forums provide a taxonomy of flaws, transforming nebulous suffering into specific problems with specific solutions. You can’t fix broader socioeconomic forces driving loneliness, but you can spend six hours doing facial exercises and measuring progress, believing you’re building towards the moment you’ll finally be enough.


What makes this sinister? The vulnerability of who gets targeted. It’s happening in plain sight, actively flooding millions of feeds. These communities—the manosphere and toxic incel subcultures—don’t just happen to stumble upon vulnerable young men by accident. They actively prey on them, targeting boys at their lowest, often in adolescence, when their bodies and identities are still growing. A 14-year-old whose face isn’t fully developed is told his natural bone structure has already sealed his romantic fate. These communities offer what seems like solidarity and answers precisely when young men are desperate for both, then gradually introduce more extreme ideologies alongside the facial measurements. What begins as skincare advice can become a pipeline into misogyny, radicalization, and deepening isolation: the very opposite of the connection these young men actually need (Rosdahl).


Women have always lived this way. They have been “looksmaxxing” for centuries, though we called it something else: beauty routines and feminine self-care. The crucial difference is not only in the attribution of blame but in the stakes themselves. For women, appearance has never been optional. It has been the primary currency of social value, the prerequisite for basic respect and dignity. A conventionally “unattractive” woman faces systemic devaluation: dismissed in professional settings, rendered invisible socially, treated as if her failure to be beautiful is a moral crime. Meanwhile, a balding, “unattractive” man can still command authority and be taken seriously as an intellectual. His worth is assumed; hers has to be proven physically through her face and body.


Patriarchy works exactly like this. It controls women by linking their value to their appearance, then profits off their efforts to meet unattainable ideals. The mental health consequences have been dire. Eating disorders are the deadliest of any psychiatric illness, with about 90% of cases reported in women (Clerkin). The dramatic increase in depression and anxiety in girls can be attributed to appearance-related social pressures, but this lifelong pain and suffering has instead been normalized and even glamourized. “Beauty is pain,” we hear as if starvation is a coming-of-age ritual instead of a mental health crisis.


When women engage in elaborate beauty practices, they do so under crushing systemic necessity. The narrative whispers that if they’re alone or overlooked, they simply haven’t tried hard enough. The blame curves inward, becoming a lifetime of shamefully monitoring their own acceptability. They internalize a system designed to diminish them.


Many men approaching looksmaxxing operate from a fundamentally different position. They have not been taught that their entire social value depends on their appearance. Rather, they’re experiencing perhaps their first sustained encounter with the appearance-based judgment women experience daily. Instead of turning critique inward, they externalize it, constructing theories about female “hypergamy” (Whitney). The forums seethe with resentment towards women framed as obstacles rather than fellow human beings facing impossible standards.


This distinction matters. Women face systemic oppression that strips them of dignity and opportunity. Many men in these spaces are facing romantic disappointment, which is indeed painful but not the same as having one’s fundamental value questioned. The anger stems from entitlement, believing they deserve romantic access. When it’s not granted, they blame women rather than questioning the transactional way they’ve been taught to view relationships. While both internalization and externalization lead to suffering, externalization has contributed to concerning patterns of misogyny and gender-based violence (Patel).


Looksmaxxing is merely one manifestation of what we might call the optimization imperative: a cultural belief that human worth must be perpetually earned, measured, and improved. In society, every aspect of existence has become a spot to enhance: sleep, diet, and even social skills are subjected to relentless improvement.


This ideology rests on a dangerous premise: that we must become worthy of love and belonging rather than possessing these rights inherently. When worth is conditional, the target inevitably moves. The teenager measuring his canthal tilt will be measuring something else tomorrow, because the problem was never how he looked. The problem is the belief he needs to earn his place through ceaseless self-transformations.


Recent research makes this clear. Rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation among young people have boomed (World Health Organization). When existence becomes a performance for worthiness, the pressure becomes excruciating. The impacts go beyond individual suffering. Lonely young men become easily pushed towards radicalization and extremist ideologies offering simple answers to complex problems (Santa Cruz), creating a culture built on resentment in which misogyny flourishes. Meanwhile, women navigate impossible standards while bearing additional burdens of discrimination. The optimization culture doesn’t discriminate in its cruelty but simply distributes damage differently. Perhaps most tragically, the optimization imperative prevents the very connections it ostensibly serves. When we view relationships as transactions, only showing the best version of ourselves, we eradicate the potential of truly being known. For intimacy, we need vulnerability to embrace who we are, even with doubts and flaws.


After everything, there is hope. It’s not some faint dream, but change already happening right here. Conversations are shifting: body neutrality, believing your body is a tool for living, not an object to perfect, has now become mainstream discourse (Sreenivas). Millions of young people are seeing these ideas right when they’re most vulnerable to the optimization trap, now understanding that their worth isn’t debatable before the lie has fully solidified.


The research speaks volumes. The Harvard Study of Adult Development found a truth of beautiful simplicity after nearly 80 years of tracking its subjects’ lives: the quality of one’s relationships is a far better predictor of happiness and longevity than appearance, achievement, or material success ever could be (Mineo). Couples who were happily together after many years weren’t the ones who had the best wedding pictures, but the ones who built genuine intimacy through vulnerability, not transaction. If connection triumphs appearance, why believe the lie?


Online spaces are fragmenting in interesting ways. Yes, toxic forums still exist and continue to prey on vulnerable young men. However, positive communities are rising equally as strong. Content creators have built audiences around authenticity: no filters, discussing therapy and medication transparently, and sharing actual struggles. Fitness influencers now expose how lighting, angles, and hormonal changes drastically affect our appearance, showing even those with visible abs have belly rolls when they sit down, breaking myths that people stay “chiselled” every second. These aren't minority creators; they’re reaching millions of the same algorithmically vulnerable teenagers that the manosphere targets, offering a different story: being human was never about being “perfect.”


Some of this hope is institutional. Even schools here in Canada are incorporating media literacy into their curriculum to educate children on how algorithms use insecurity for profit (Johnson), with other Canadian organizations dedicated to upholding this, such as MediaSmarts, which educates students to critically analyze digital platforms. Policy is also moving forward to make a change. This includes legislation in the United Kingdom that has banned the advertising of cosmetic surgery targeting minors due to potential concerns about body image and mental health (Gruet). Influencers must also disclose photo editing in commercial posts to combat unrealistic beauty standards under Norwegian law (Grant). These measures won’t solve everything, but they do recognize something important: individual effort alone doesn’t stand a chance in billion-dollar industries whose main goal is to profit off of insecurities.


Although the real change happens privately: therapy sessions and group chats. People

have been realizing a key truth: There’s no such thing as “reaching a full physical potential” that

will finally make one acceptable.


This realization is contagious. Each person who breaks free weakens the system because the optimization imperative is artificially constructed. It only works if people believe in it, and increasingly, they don’t.


The path forward requires rejecting the premise entirely. We must learn to recognize the optimization imperative’s promises as lies. Building lives rich with meaning beyond appearance, pursuing passions, and creating genuine connections can offer liberation. Together, we must demolish systems that profit from insecurity while teaching young people that their worth is inherent, not earned, to create space for authentic connection.


The young man in front of his mirror, asking, “Is it over for me?” deserves an answer: No. It’s not over. It never was. His canthal tilt is irrelevant to his capacity for kindness. His jawline has no impact on his worthiness of connection. The person he already is, uncertain, searching, imperfect, is enough. The young woman, exhausted from monitoring her appearance, deserves to reclaim that energy for what actually fulfills her. This requires courage to be imperfect, to be vulnerable.


They both deserve liberation from the belief that worth must be earned. That liberation is becoming inevitable, not through optimization, but through recognizing that optimization was never necessary at all.

About the Author

Erin Sweeney is a youth advocate passionate about political literacy and confidence. As the founder of the global youth initiative Diplomatic Drop (@thediplomaticdrop) and a core team member of Let’s Change Confidence, a Plan Canada movement, she is dedicated to empowering young people around the world. Erin aspires to study law in the future.

Connect with Erin on LinkedIn & Instagram @itserinsweeney


References

Artist Spotlight: Capsule Community

by Mikaela Brewer for The 44 North, Senior Editor


Prints by Capsule Community


A few years ago, in the fall of 2024, I wrote a pantoum about the moon for the very first issue of Capsule, Stories & Starlight, published in December 2024:


Months before I wrote this poem, I’d followed Capsule’s Instagram page, a nourishing collection of posts to taste and savour rather than consume in one bite. I felt a sense of disruption—rest and ease—each time I encountered their work, even on a screen. In practice, I saw what social media could be. 


If “To be truly radical is to make hope possible rather than despair convincing,” as Raymond Williams says, then disruption has more than one necessary definition in the fight; it can replenish hope.


Capsule’s social media presence is a tapestry of literature, climate sustainability ethos, decolonial frameworks, artwork, and more. They turn each square into a patch, and their grid into a quilt rooted in storytelling that changes perception and lives. Their work influences popular culture and shifts public opinion, all stitched to a vital core: Stories as community. 


“As a creative consultancy and agency, deeply passionate about and focused on climate and sustainability, we are storytellers, creatives, activists and artists who leverage our creative skills and talents to boost climate narratives, encourage sustainable systems and outcomes, and help foster stronger connections to nature and the planet.” 

—Sabaah Choudhary & Misha Dhanoolal, Capsule Community Curators & Editors

Beyond Capsule’s digital quiltwork, the idea for a print publication brought together the threads of art, nature, and community. 


“We loved toying with the concept of leveraging our platform as a space to create and inspire, for our own unique voices and ethos, but also for our community. There are so many talented writers, thinkers, artists and storytellers in our communities with little or no access to platforms to tell their stories and share their ideas and work.”


Stories & Starlight, where my poem appeared, leaned on the themes of winter and the light we find at night. It featured several poems, art, and photography from members of the Capsule Community across North America. 


Sabah and Misha also design “Prints for Palestine,” featuring plants and words from the ever-brilliant James Baldwin and Mahmoud Darwish (two of my all-time favourite writers—check out “Untitled” by James Baldwin and “Think Of Others” by Mahmoud Darwish). 


Coming in August 2025, Capsule’s Summer zine, in collaboration with the Toronto Flower Market, will be available. You can pre-order it now. 


“Collaborating with the Toronto Flower Market was an ideal next step, and our way to truly walk the walk of creating a community zine; where spaces and ideas are shared, and different communities are connected, taking our smaller community circles and creating an even larger one. Community is the anecdote to scarcity, and we dream of a world where community, connection and art are a never-ending source of abundance.”


This issue blooms beyond the rebirth of past issues, reminiscent of summer daydreaming with the Earth’s sense of play, love, exhilaration, and creation. 


“In Mother Nature's maximalist season, we find so much inspiration for art and connection—to nature and each other.”

About Capsule Community

The Summer 2026 issue of Capsule Zine
The Summer 2026 issue of Capsule Zine

At Capsule, we believe that storytelling is one of the most powerful tools for influence and change. Stories change perception, lives, move popular culture and can shift public opinion. As a creative consultancy and agency, deeply passionate about and focused on climate and sustainability, we are storytellers, creatives, activists and artists who leverage our creative skills and talents to boost climate narratives, encourage sustainable systems and outcomes, and help foster stronger connections to nature and the planet.


—Capsule Community Website


Connect with Sabaah, Misha, and Capsule Community on their website and Instagram.



Writers Room | On the OSAP Cuts: Could We Have Stratified the Cold?

by Mikaela Brewer ​for The 44 North, Senior Editor


Two Black women in jean overalls strolling through a community garden
Two Black women in jean overalls strolling through a community garden

Dorrie sat down on the small stone bench by her plot in the community garden, running her palms over her expanded stomach. The garden was nestled into a small valley next to her old high school and city soccer field, and at 6:00 p.m., the sun set through the cool April mist that hovered above it. Dorrie closed her eyes to a cool gust of wind that swayed her long black braids across her back and shoulders. 


Andy, Dorrie’s four-year-old son, kicked a well-loved red soccer ball around the garden plots as if they were pylons to run drills with. He laughed loudly, curls flying across his freckled nose, which made Dorrie smile.


“Mommy Dorrie, when will the baby come out?” Andy called, breathlessly, having noticed the intensity of his mother’s fatigue growing each day. 


“When the spring peas and radishes come up, love.”


“When we see green! That’s what Mommy Tisa said. Why is everything still dead?”


“No, it’s just sleeping,” Nick replied with a grunt. Nick was Dorrie’s younger brother, presently churning the soil on his hands and knees. The small town had finally welcomed a warm day in March to check on the soil health and plan out the spring garden. The air, though, still smelled like winter—decaying leaves and exhaust, hovering cold and gray in the air. 


“Like you’ve been all through your senior year of high school?” Dorrie quipped with a playful smirk.


“I’m just tired,” he responded, with a tinge of frustration. 


“Oh Nick, I didn’t mean anything by—”


“I know you didn’t. It’s not you.”


Dorrie bit her lip and shifted her weight on the bench. She could feel the cold, flat stone bench through her jeans. 


“Do we have room in the fridge to stratify everything?” Nick asked curtly, straining to soften his voice.


Dorrie nodded, but didn’t speak, clasping her hands together over her stomach.


Nick looked up, saw his sister’s confused face, and swivelled around to face Dorrie, cross-legged in the soil.


“I’m sorry, Dorrie,” Nick said, “I’m just thinking about this whole OSAP thing today. I’m so angry about it.”


Dorried nodded. “I figured, actually. I heard many students were walking out and protesting.” 


Catching a slight tone of disapproval in his sister’s remark, Nick replied, “Yeah, I was one of them.” 


Dorrie narrowed her eyes with curiosity rather than judgment. “Why? I mean, economically, it seems to make sense—there are billions of dollars in deficit and more expected without change. I paid back all my student loans. Taxpayers, like Tisa and me, pay for students to have a grants-heavy funding program.”


“You did, but the cost of living right now is devastating. The youth unemployment rate is skyrocketing. Everyone thinks we’re only ‘complaining’ about having to rely on and/or pay back loans. But removing the domestic tuition freeze, which now allows institutions to raise tuition by two percent per year for three years, will be really hard for students applying to programs, before the three years are up and fees are adjusted for inflation. Imagine what it would be like for you and Tisa if one of you were in school or trying to go back to school.”


Dorrie pursed her lips, thinking. “You’re right. We’d never be able to afford it alongside child care and all the other rising costs of living.”


Nick nodded, looking down to separate a handful of soil in his palm.


“But I still don’t understand why everyone’s upset about modifying a mostly-grants program to a loans program? It’s necessary for sustainability, from what I know. It aligns with other provincial models. And the OSAP cuts only impact the forty percent that come from the province, not the sixty that comes from the federal government, right?”


“Well, first, it was a pretty drastic change—grants are now capped at 25 percent and loans at a minimum of 75 percent. But whether it’s necessary or not isn’t the point.”


Dorrie raised her eyebrows, as if to say, “Tell me more.” 


“What feels so inconsiderate is the information gatekeeping and lack of transparency. It depends on your application whether you’re eligible for federal versus provincial assistance. So it’s hard to predict financial aid to begin with. The calculator on OSAP’s website doesn’t offer a clear approximation—there’s a disclaimer that you could be eligible for more or less money depending on your application. The federal estimator only tells you federal numbers. And the calculators don’t factor in the cuts yet. They won’t until a bit later in the spring. I’ve already accepted my offer of admission, so how do I plan for funding?”


“Okay, yeah, I hear you. Changing grants to loans also radically shifts your financial plans—and our parents’—if you’re already in school or have accepted offers. And I think about people in their late twenties or thirties, like me, who might be returning to school.” 


“Exactly. And, it was known for a long time—almost ten years, since 2017—that the system needed reimagining. I’m not disputing that the structure could or even should be different. But, there were other, more considerate, phased approaches possible if so. But it’s been left to the last minute, and now, the only way to course correct is to make a huge change all at once, and for the students to take on the costs associated. 


“I hear you, Nick. It’s like climate change, and what costs fall on consumers when policy should have been shifted a long time ago.” 


Nick was still looking down at his hands, picking the cold soil out of his fingernails. “Yes,” he said, with a sigh.


Dorrie tilted her head and smiled. “Nick, I’m not sure what to tell you, truthfully. But what I can say is this: if we put the milkweed seeds in the fridge, they’ll invite butterflies here in the summer. Keep protesting and keep believing, especially when you feel trapped inside a refrigerated box with no way out unless someone else opens the doors. And when you feel powerless, seed hope—germination can be encouraged by the cold, damp innards of a fridge of all places. If the seeds continue to break out of dormancy, shedding hard coats to bloom each year, then we can keep going, too.”


Nick smiled and stood to wipe the soil from his jeans. “Thanks, Dorrie.”


“Always.” Dorrie smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “We’ve got little ones to fight for, too. It’s not just us.” She motioned to Andy and the baby she was carrying. 


Nick straightened his shoulders, rolling them back with a renewed energy. “Andy! Come on!”


“Are you going to stay for dinner after we put the seeds in the fridge?”


“Can I?” Nick asked as Andy ran up to him, slipping a little hand inside his. Nick looked down into little hazel eyes that seemed to say I trust you. 


“Absolutely,” Dorrie said.

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