The rise of looksmaxxing and the politics of self-optimization
- Mar 3
- 3 min read
Though it appears an unassuming trend of better skincare, gym routines, and style, looksmaxxing can lead to unhealthy obsessions.
Photo by Gabriela Valentin/The Barnard Bulletin
March 3, 2026
On any given day, open TikTok or Reddit and you will find a familiar promise: a sharper jawline in 30 days, “hunter” eyes, or a new life unlocked through discipline and bone structure awareness. “Looksmaxxing” is a subculture devoted to maximizing physical attractiveness through skincare, fitness, orthodontics, and even cosmetic procedures. Though Barnard students are not the target audience, these trends have nonetheless made themselves known on campus through social media.
Looksmaxxing began in niche internet forums, specifically Reddit and 4chan — an unmoderated anonymous imageboard website, featuring boards for topics like anime, gaming, and explicit content — before spreading to mainstream platforms like TikTok. What was once restricted to “manosphere” spaces, online communities that promote masculinity at its most extreme, now appears in morning routine videos and gym vlogs. Members of the manosphere often believe that society is biased against men, arguing that feminism promotes misandry.
Most people start with what is known as “softmaxxing,” which is the accessible, everyday side of the trend. This involves things like developing a legitimate skincare routine, hitting the gym to improve body composition, and finding a hairstyle that actually suits your face shape. It generally leads to better health and higher confidence without requiring anything extreme.
On the other end of the spectrum is “hardmaxxing,” where things get more intense and controversial. This side of the subculture involves invasive procedures like plastic surgery or even medically dangerous practices like bone smashing. The goal here is not just to look like a better version of yourself but to move toward a very specific and almost mathematical ideal of facial symmetry and structure.
For Angie Brown (BC ’27), the term first appeared in comment sections and memes sent by friends. “It seemed funny,” she said, more like an internet joke than a lifestyle. But even as a meme, it felt loaded. She associates it with online men’s spaces obsessed with jawlines, “mewing” tutorials, and hypermasculine presentation.
Lillian Zhi (BC ’26) first heard the term on Twitter and described it as fundamentally online and performative.
On a women’s college campus, the pressure surfaces in a different form. Brown described Barnard as a place where femininity is visible and often aestheticized. “A lot of girls look girly,” she said. When everyone around you seems to adhere to a polished version of womanhood, it is hard not to measure yourself against it.
Brown, Zhi, and Rachel Gill (BC ’26) all admitted to feeling compelled to optimize their appearance through diet, skincare, and makeup, especially when trying to appeal to someone they liked.
Does optimizing one’s appearance feel empowering? Sometimes.
Brown described a sense of control over her femininity — choosing how to present and deciding what feels good. But empowerment coexists with exhaustion. Zhi described it as “fraudulent,” like performing femininity rather than inhabiting it. Brown was more blunt: “Impossible. There’s only so much you can do with the appearance you’re given unless you do something drastic.”
The danger lies less in skincare routines and more in worldview. When attraction is reduced to bone geometry and market logic, empathy erodes. Institutional issues — racism, fatphobia, colorism, ableism — are obscured by the facade of optimization.
What gets ignored in the discourse surrounding looksmaxxing is how fatphobia and Eurocentric aesthetics mold the very standards people are told to optimize toward. Thinness is moralized as discipline, health, and desirability. In contrast, fatness is coded as laziness. At the same time, the features most frequently viewed as ideal trace back to Eurocentric beauty standards: narrow noses, lighter eyes, softer hair textures, and sharper jawlines.
“Why isn’t self-improvement enough?” Gill asked, recalling that she initially thought the term simply meant improving your appearance. The fact that it required a new label signaled to her that something had shifted.
This leads us to question: Are we investing in ourselves or responding to invisible rubrics? Are we cultivating embodiment or outsourcing self-worth to engagement metrics?
To critique looksmaxxing is not to reject self-care or aesthetic pleasure. Adornment can be joyful. Gym routines can build confidence. The question is not whether we modify our appearances but why.
