The Price of Pretty

Venus with a Mirror, Titian, c. 1555

Indian economist, Amartya Sen, introduces the concept of “adaptive preferences” to explain how people in unjust conditions may come to accept, or even endorse their deprivation: “The deprived people may lack the courage to desire any better, or may not even entertain the idea that they are being badly treated” (Commodities and Capabilities, 1985). Feminist philosopher, Martha Nussbaum, expands this insight in the context of gender, noting that “women who are used to being subordinated may have preferences that are themselves deformed by their deprivation” (Women and Human Development, 2000). Other feminist philosophers use this framework to challenge apparent choice in women’s conformity to beauty standards, arguing that these preferences often reflect internalized social norms rather than genuine autonomy.

A few years ago I spent way too much money on laser hair removal. My decision to pursue laser hair removal had seemed entirely logical to me. It was indeed cheaper than the present value of future cash flows I would otherwise be spending on waxing and razors. It was an investment, I reasoned, even though I was not maxing out my 401k at the time. In those days, I was visiting My Waxer religiously. The relationship I was in often left me questioning my desirability. My body hair was something that I could control.

I had fun visiting My Waxer, despite the agonizing pain. We talked about relationships. Her marriage. My boyfriends. Families of origin. We were partaking in an ancient practice. Women bonding through beauty ritual. Conforming to beauty standards can be fun! I’ve always loved getting ready with my girlfriends. Doing make up, modeling outfits. My heart soars whenever I get to braid the hair of a loved one. My time with My Waxer felt intimate, almost spiritual, even though I was lying under fluorescent lights on a plastic table in a strip mall European Wax Center franchise.

mentally I was here

When it comes to physical appearance, I’ve always been a (mostly) dutiful performer of my gender. I enjoy wearing dresses and make up. I prefer myself with long hair. I like blond highlights and have recently discovered the aesthetic joys of a gel manicure. I was 11 when I got my first eyebrow wax. I had just spent spring break in Palm Beach. I sat by the pool with family friends, including a two teenage girls, one of whom had recently been crowned Miss Teen New Jersey. They told me about late night video chats with high school boys. I was starstruck. I would find out later that they had mentioned my eyebrows to my grandmother. Great brows, but…they needed cleaning up. I was already 11. It was high time. My body hair would became a topic of conversation again years later, during another spring break in Florida. A cousin was aghast when I lifted my arms to reveal a few weeks of stubble at her private beach club. Was I okay? Was NYU radicalizing me? No, this wasn’t a political statement, I assuaged her, I was just lazy. Or was I? Perhaps something had indeed gone awry in my programming. She was just looking out for me.

Immanuel Kant’s model of autonomy envisions a rational, self-governing individual who acts according to moral laws they give themselves, independent of external influence. As he writes in Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, “Autonomy is... the property of the will by which it is a law to itself”. However, feminist theorists have critiqued this vision as overly abstract and blind to the ways social norms shape what individuals come to desire. Theorists of relational autonomy argue for a model of the self that is socially embedded rather than atomistic. As Catriona Mackenzie and Natalie Stoljar write, “Autonomy is not a property of persons simply insofar as they are rational, reflective, and independent, but a feature of persons whose identities are formed in social interdependence” (Relational Autonomy, 2000). Together, these critiques suggest that autonomy must be reimagined not as freedom from influence, but as the capacity to reflect critically on socially shaped desires within supportive contexts. In other words, had my decision to spend too much money on laser hair removal really been my own? And, was it rational?

My efforts to become a socially acceptable cool girl™ began in middle school. Even then, the role was expensive. Literally, in the form of Abercrombie, Hollister, Juicy Couture, Ed Hardy, and Victoria’s Secret. But it also came at a mental, physical, and spiritual cost. I had made my Faustian bed and had to lie in it—only to find it crawling with bedbugs of the middle school boy variety. They kept us on our toes, always waiting to know who was hot and who was not. One of their favorite games involved ranking our body parts. They were oddly specific. Her boobs, 9. Her stomach, 3. Her ass, 10. Her hair, 7. Her lips, 5. Her eyes, 8. No body part was safe. Even the color of veins in a forearm could be ugly. They would label us by our “worst” parts as an inside joke, leaving us to piece together the mystery. Who among us is Turtle Eyes. Who among us is Mosquito Bites. Who among us is Beaver. God forbid they ever saw unladylike hair on our faces or bodies.

At our best, we fought back by helping each other. Telling each other we were beautiful, teaching each other how to shave and do make up, conducting photoshoots to post thirst traps on Facebook (thank god I didn’t have TikTok or Instagram) for the boys at other middle schools.

The 10-Year-Olds Using Drunk Elephant Beauty Products

At our worst, we internalized their hatred. Comparing profile picture like counts. Spreading rumors. Printing out love poems and taping them to each other’s lockers every day of February leading up to Valentine’s day, pretending the poems were coming from a secret admirer, only to reveal on February 14th that it was a big fat prank (just me?). Eventually, I escaped the particular circle of hell that is middle school. And yet, sometimes I find it’s still very much alive inside me, causing me to wonder if a dear friend scores a higher ranking than me, or urging me to do things like spend way too much money on laser hair removal.

At the foot of the Bernardsville Mountain rests Rejuv Cosmetic Center. “Grow younger with us”, their Instagram bio lures. Services offered? Injectables, skin rejuvenation and of course laser hair removal. Rejuv was an easy choice for me. Other family members are clients, and the owner is the father of a girl I went to prep school with. He was kind enough to give me a discount. Though, my time at Rejuv felt different from my time with My Waxer. Maybe it was the fact that my beautician wasn’t actually a beautician at all. He was a medical doctor using gadgets and gizmos that are decidedly 21st century. There are no ancient rituals there.

The Stepford Wives (1975)

His medical assistants were all very nice girls. I wondered what kind of discounts he gave them as I looked up at their plump lips and tight foreheads. I always made sure to thank them for shaving me down as the doctor fired up his world class laser hair removal machine. He told me it was from Italy. This machine was painless, but required that all hair be freshly shaved before treatment. I lay motionless on the doctor’s table as he circled the treatment wand over my body, making small talk about his job, my job, his daughters’ jobs. He told me it would take around 10 visits to achieve complete hairlessness in all of the areas required of a lady. After each visit, I would charge an uncomfortable amount to my credit card and hesitate to book another appointment. In the end, I only made it to the doctor’s 4 times. Though slightly thinner, my hair remains.