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While recently reading about leg-lengthening surgery, I couldn’t help but sense a touch of absurdity in the whole enterprise. Although I’m no taller than average—I’m 5'9", thank you very much—dispensing sincere sympathy for the men featured in the article didn’t come naturally. Even when it did, my sympathy was mixed with an element of comedic pathos, like for someone who just got a kick to the groin.
Since then, however, I've been harboring a suspicion that my gut reaction to leg-lengthening surgery, or any surgery aimed at enhancing physical attractiveness, might be at odds with egalitarian ideals. Physical beauty is utterly contingent and you have no more control over your hotness than the zip code of your birth. Not being a “10,” so to speak, is no more reason to feel shame, or pride, than not being born into a dukedom. Normally, correcting disadvantages beyond our control doesn't invite blame. Yet, the desire to undergo extensive physical enhancement is often viewed as uncouth, even though it directly addresses a widespread but overlooked type of discrimination: lookism.
For the uninitiated, lookism refers to discrimination based on physical attractiveness. While most forms of discrimination are confined to, often definitionally, certain demographics—misogyny cannot be applied to men, for example—lookism spares no one. And I mean no one, as time eventually betrays even the most celebrated beauties. Remember that, in the movie Top Gun 2, Kelly McGillis was replaced by Jennifer Connelly. If singling out McGillis sounds sexist, that’s because it is—lookism also has a gendered dimension, as Tom Cruise reprised his role from 36 years ago. (So have Indiana Jones and many James Bonds, whereas Charlie keeps replacing his Angels.)
Even outside Hollywood, of course, hotness pays. The psychologist Nancy Etcoff illustrated lookism in her 1999 book Survival of the Prettiest: The Science Of Beauty with a mic-dropping statistic: Only two US presidents, James Madison and Benjamin Harrison, have been below average height. The legal system isn't immune, as more physically attractive people also receive lighter sentences and pay lower fines. A 2021 study conducted by sociologists at Harvard University and Washington University in St. Louis even showed that the earnings disparities caused by perceived attractiveness are comparable to, or even exceed, the black-white income gap.
Marionetted by evolutionary mechanisms—heck, even birds choose mates based on plumage—humans have always partaken in lookism, which may also have been responsible for the destruction of a civilization or two. (A plain-looking Helen or Cleopatra, one suspects, might have caused history to unfold differently.) But lookism remains a relatively obscure term that has yet to enter common critical parlance, and that even few scholars engage with.
The term's closest counterpart, “pretty privilege,” suggests a frivolity that undermines its serious implications, and is perhaps one reason for “lookism” being overlooked: Prettiness is seen as too superficial a concept to examine. Another challenge in discussing lookism is the blurred line between victims and perpetrators. To claim victimhood is to admit to being ugly, and to label someone else a victim is quite an insult. (The truth might be that we all play roles as both the oppressed and the oppressor.) Other complications abound, as venturing into lookism can summon a slew of uncharitable interpretations. If we deem height surgery as socially acceptable, are we likening short stature to a biological defect? Does facial asymmetry become a kind of congenital disease? Are we then pathologizing the absence of beauty?
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In due course, the immorality of lookism will become as obvious as that of sexism or racism. Nuanced language and cancel-free ways to reason about it will emerge. However, I’m here to make a stronger claim than that of lookism not being nice. The claim is that, in the future, it will be unethical to stigmatize people who undergo significant physical enhancements, such as plastic surgeries. Not only is associating such desires with vanity misguided, but more readily accepting physical enhancement could also signify progress toward a more egalitarian society.
Let’s clarify some terminology. I use “transfiguration” to refer to substantial physical enhancements, both because it’s a dignifying term free from derision associated with terms like “cosmetic surgery” and because, in the future, enhancements of physical beauty may not even be surgical. These transfiguration procedures—“services” may be a more apt term—could become noninvasive and reversible, no more laborious than getting a facial and no costlier than buying a new retinol serum.
This vision of transfiguration should not be confused with the sensationalized bad examples—TMZ's fascination with "botched cosmetic procedures" and Madonna's "unrecognizable" appearance at the 2023 Grammys—that have led us to anathemize transfiguration so far. It also has nothing to do with transhumanism, which involves enhancements that transcend what is organically achievable, such as becoming 9 feet tall. Working within the bounds of nature, let your sci-fi imagination run wild: a micro-thin holographic wrapper attached to your face, an easily removable subdermal device that alters your craniofacial structure, or a side-effect-free device that children can wear for a certain period of time, similar to braces, to gradually increase their height.
It’s tempting to reject transfiguration on the grounds that “artificial” beauty is illegitimate, but this immediately runs into the problem of where to draw the boundary of artificiality. Braces are okay, but double eyelid surgery isn't? Why? Is it because a scalpel was involved? Is it because some ounces of blood were spilled? What about Lasik, which is perfectly socially acceptable but, if we're being honest to ourselves, sometimes less a corrective procedure than a cosmetic one? You could engage in constant gerrymandering of the boundary that demarcates acceptable kinds of transfigurations, but it’ll be redrawn until it aligns with one’s intuition.
Even if we locate an acceptable boundary, claiming that transfiguration yields something inauthentic or inferior denies a whole host of people their beauty. Take, for example, individuals who undergo gender-affirming surgeries or facial feminization surgery that involves the recontouring of the lower jaw. Does that mean beauty is forbidden to transgender people? (That said, even the best of us can be biased about it. Lucy Sante, writing about her transition, recently wrote, “To me, back then, there was something sordid about transvestism, something not genuine. As it was, I prevented myself from taking any further action.”)
In fact, we already apply a curious logic when evaluating natural and artificial beauty. We compliment artificial objects for having a natural look—Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater is a textbook example of conformity to nature—but we praise natural objects that exhibit order as if they were artificially crafted, like Antelope Canyon in the Navajo Reservation or termite mounds that resemble planned cities. Don’t worry. Abandoning a puritanical insistence on unaltered beauty doesn’t mean you’re subscribing to relativism. It just means you accept that the aesthetic Overton window is constantly changing.
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Ted Chiang’s story “Liking What You See: A Documentary” revolves around “calliagnosia,” a reversible procedure that removes one’s capacity to perceive physical beauty. When the protagonist’s mother is asked why she enrolled her daughter in a school where every student undergoes calliagnosia, she says (emphasis mine):
The real tragedy of a culture that discourages transfiguration goes well beyond just the statistics defined by the National Bureau of Economic Research, such as a 5 percent drop in average salary. It may inhibit individuals from living a fully realized life.
The most cruel result of studies on lookism I’ve come across reiterates the same conclusion, simply stated: Attractive people are more sociable and happier. A child who is seen as more beautiful receives more attention and encouragement, leading to heightened confidence and openness toward the world and inviting more opportunities for friendships and experiences.
Ultimately, my argument rests on a few simple premises. One, discriminating against people based on what they cannot control is unethical. Two, we don’t control our physical beauty. Three, society confers unfair advantages to the more attractive.
Four, unfairness is bad. (If you disagree with this point, I can’t help you.) To imagine that the best possible world you could inhabit may be rendered inaccessible due to an arbitrary outcome of a genetic lottery, such as your femurs being a few inches shorter or the distance between your eyes, is unsettling.
Five, transfiguration is a way to overcome such unfairness. It’s a shameful hypocrisy for society to penalize those who lack physical beauty, but, at the same time, condemn them when they seek it.
Now is the time to close the lids on the fair few cans of worms I’ve opened.
I am not suggesting we should disallow physical beauty. I think everyone is entitled to physical beauty, which is to say, I’m not so much anti-beauty as pro-egalitarian. I’m also not claiming that beauty is immoral. More fundamentally, I believe the inclination to define beauty in terms of morality is profoundly dull. This sentiment is mirrored in Jonny Thakkar's recent essay "On Superficiality," where he states, "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in today’s moral and political philosophy." The essay, which begins with him noticing the beauty of a woman who is not his wife—a courageous admission that made my spine tingle—serves as a bracing tonic that reminds us not everything superficial is shallow. (Arguments against beauty as a politically unjust value are a spent force, and the idea has been refuted by many scholars—a popular example is Elaine Scarry and her short book On Beauty and Being Just—to whom I’ll defer.)
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One could raise the concern that transfiguration would devalue “inner beauty.” On the contrary, I think transfiguration can free us from the undue time and energy already overinvested in thinking about how we look. Socrates is attributed to saying “Beauty is a short lived tyranny.” This could be read as an observation on how beautiful people can have their way while their beauty lasts. But it could also be noting how those without beauty can be tyrannized by societal pressures, self-fragilization, and deep-seated insecurities. The child in Chiang’s story who was “wonderfully at ease with herself” wastes no time on brooding over her looks. Transfiguration may offer a pathway to a future where individuals can live without insecurities about attractiveness, liberating us to invest our time on other pursuits.
Wouldn't lifting the embargo on transfiguration also lead to a "race" to stack up more attractive features? At the risk of mixing two incommensurable value systems, I presume the concept of marginal utility might apply to transfiguration. Similar to the research suggesting that earning more than $75,000 annually doesn't notably elevate one's sense of well-being, after one’s self-perceived beauty reaches a certain level, further enhancements may offer diminishing returns. There would be a point at which an individual, who now feels sufficiently attractive, would divert their time and money to other pursuits.
Even as I’m writing this, my position contradicts my intuition, as if an inner chorus is squawking in protest. And for now, there are good reasons why these taboos still exist. Remember, transfiguration relies on big ifs: that it’s affordable, safe, and reversible.
If I could instantly become 6'3" for the cost of getting a nice haircut, I don’t see a great reason to protest against it. Currently, however, such a transfiguration could leave me with pulverized femur bones and a hemorrhaging bank account. Moreover, the techniques of most surgeons, to put it bluntly, are just not that good. Then there’s the issue of irreversibility. A regrettable tattoo is one thing; permanent changes to your face are quite another. And then there’s the question of whether people have realistic expectations of what’s possible. Teenagers, for instance, may not have the maturity to distinguish what’s real and what’s appropriate for their bodies. Using yassified photos as references for their transfiguration is akin to asking an architect to design your house after an Escher painting. (That, right there, is transhumanism.)
That said, even if transfiguration became a reality tomorrow, would I be able to adapt to rapid shifts in the aesthetic Overton window? Men wearing makeup don’t surprise me at all, but the sight of someone who has unrecognizably modified themselves may still leave me stumped.
Such is the state of lookism—or invisibility thereof. Even as I argue against stigma toward transfigurations, I may still remain a prisoner to contemporary prejudice. But in a future where physical beauty is so readily accessible, exquisite physical beauty might not be so big of a deal at all. We’ll all learn to wear beauty only so lightly.
Until then, resisting lookism will remain an unmet ethical imperative. Beauty, contra Socrates, may be the longest-living tyranny.
