The makeover trap: How we all got addicted to the glow-up

On the internet, everyone seems to be pre or post-makeover. Women are posting themselves on TikTok asking to be critiqued, while dedicated accounts like @glowsupgal are guiding them through aesthetic transformations. Sephora tweens are looking to expedite that post-puberty metamorphosis via elaborate skincare routines, and men are re-shaping their faces based on tips on #looksmaxing forums. It’s as though we’re all on a collective journey towards aesthetic self-actualisation, which could be realised at any moment by the right product, hack or tweakment. In other words, we’re all obsessed with makeovers.

Of course, the makeover isn’t a novel concept. Magazines have long shared beauty and fashion tips with a susceptible audience. While we might associate the makeover montage with noughties teen romcoms, they’ve been part of our storytelling tradition since at least 1634 and the first published version of Cinderella.

But the digital age has put makeover culture on steroids. Overnight, we could procure feedback on our appearance from anyone with an internet connection, and in the 2010s the “glow up” phenomenon – the internet epoch’s iteration of a makeover – was born. Fast forward to the pandemic, and the “zoom boom” saw rates of cosmetic procedures skyrocket due to widespread disillusionment with how our own faces looked, glaring back at us in our morning meetings.

@rosii.4k @Caro | Makeovers & Glowups @The Glowups Gal #brutallyhonest ♬ BIRDS OF A FEATHER – Billie Eilish

Our appearance is one of the biggest ways we express ourselves and our identity, so it’s not surprising that we would feel compelled to alter it, particularly after a significant life event. Breakups, job changes or the death of a loved one can all make aesthetic changes feel like “a way to mark a fresh start or regain control,” says Dr Veya Seekis, a psychology lecturer at Griffith University. We’ve also been taught by popular culture that a makeover will aid you on your quest, whatever it may be: popularity (Clueless, Mean Girls, Jawbreaker), romance (Grease, She’s All That, My Big Fat Greek Wedding), career (The Devil Wears Prada, Working Girl), or social standing (My Fair Lady). And this message from the media isn’t entirely misleading – people who are deemed conventionally attractive are over 20 per cent more likely to be called back for a job interview, and are perceived to be more socially skilled, trustworthy, confident and competent.

It’s understandable, then, that so many of us long for the ‘after’ effects of a makeover, but sometimes the process itself is just as desirable. Makeovers tinker with the brain’s chemistry in a way that feels good, says Ida Banek, a psychologist and the co-founder of Ouronyx, a clinic that combines “psychology and self-acceptance”. Cosmetic procedures have “a direct impact on the activation of brain circuits that are highly related to reward and feelings of pleasure,” she explains. “It’s a correlation with dopamine in our brain in a way that will boost that energy through a feeling of internal reward. We feel more content, we feel stronger about our own goals and our ability to achieve them.”

The aesthetic makeover has also undergone somewhat of a rebrand in recent years, in part due to its entanglement in self-improvement culture. While the makeover movie canon traditionally saw women revert to their more authentic selves following an epiphany, today, aesthetic transformation is often considered an admirable quest. “Those concepts of the male gaze, of patriarchy, have been redesigned through post-feminism to feel like something liberatory, to feel like something empowering. So this idea that even asking other people for judgments on the self is somehow a kind of positive experience,” Dr Adrienne Evans, professor of Gender and Culture at Coventry University says.

Asking others to weigh in on your looks has become typical of digital makeover culture. On some level, it’s clear why: it takes all the decision-making out of one’s own hands and plays into that movie fantasy of a team of experts suddenly appearing to change your look (and life). But, be warned, this is a high-stakes gamble. “Crowdsourcing by asking other people what it is that they don’t like about your appearance is a really, really dangerous game,” says Dr David Sarwer, a professor at Temple University in Philadelphia, who’s been doing research at the intersection of cosmetic surgery and psychology for over 30 years. As much as someone may think they want objective feedback, he says negative commentary will affect their self-perception over time.

This chimes with the experience of Texas-based hairstylist Shayla Langley, who recently shared a “what’s my blindness?” video to TikTok. Her lip filler had been heavily critiqued in the past, so she figured the video would serve as prime “rage bait.” She was right: it was met with vitriol, but despite her foresight, it still got to her. “I felt like if 17,000 people felt like I needed to make changes, then I had gone wrong somewhere,” she laments. She has since begun dissolving her lip filler.

“[The internet] heightens the risk and the potential for, at the lower end, emotional distress and, at the higher end, violence and that kind of loss of self,” explains Dr Evans. Even if the makeover feels satisfying in the moment – plus the praise and attention you get as a result of it – the high is generally short-lived before you start looking for the next hit. “The downside is that our brain also gets used to that new image in our mirror very fast. So in three to four weeks, we forgot where we started. In a month from improvement you feel like, ‘oh, you know what? I may need another cycle,’” Banek says. This can lead to perception drift, whereby patients lose sight of what they really look like.

So what’s the solution for people who feel like they are trapped in the makeover paradigm? While messages of self-love and body positivity might seem like the answer, Dr Evans argues that, in conjunction with unattainable beauty standards, they can actually cause a paralysing dissonance. “It creates a contradiction that ideologically keeps people in place… If you don’t know whether you’re meant to love your body or keep working on it, you’re less likely to challenge the normal expectations of what you’re meant to be.” Instead, Seekis recommends embracing body neutrality, a trend which stresses a focus on the body’s functionality. “In my research, we found that young women who viewed just 12 minutes of body neutrality content reported higher body satisfaction, appreciation for how their bodies functioned, positive mood, and fewer comparisons.”