beauty bind

I used to love scrolling on instagram. Each swipe was like opening a glossy magazine filled with perfect outfits, exotic vacations and flawless faces.The ‘trend setters’ that populated my feed seemed to live lives that were light years away from mine, but they fascinated me. They were everything I wasn’t—confident, stylish, beautiful. But somewhere along the line, what had once been a fun escape turned into a heavy weight, a shadow I couldn’t shake. It’s hard to explain how something as simple as a picture on a screen can make you feel so small. I’d see girls who seemed to have it all together: their hair perfectly curled, their makeup on point, and their lives arranged in neat little squares of filtered perfection. At first I told myself that if I followed them closely enough I would learn how to replicate their lives. But I never learned. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it right. My selfies never looked as good as theirs. My clothes didn’t fit the way theirs did. My life—messy, imperfect—wasn’t something that could be contained in those tiny squares. One day I saw a post from an influencer I had been following for a while. It was a picture on a beach standing in a bikini with a wide smile and a margarita in her hand. It was captioned ‘Living my best life #goals’ I should have been happy for her. But instead, I felt this tightness in my chest, a feeling I had become all too familiar with. That same tightness appeared every time I saw someone living out the life I thought I wanted. "Goals." That word started to haunt me. It was plastered everywhere—on posts, on stories, on reels. The comments were filled with praise: "Body goals!" "How do you stay so thin?" "You’re perfect." I didn’t comment, but I stared at the photo for what felt like hours, my mind racing with thoughts of how I could look like her. What was her secret? How did she do it? Why couldn’t I look like that? It was as if everyone was shouting from the rooftops that this, this perfect life on social media, was the ultimate goal. And if you didn’t have it, well, what were you even doing?

It’s funny how something so simple can make me reflect on how trend setters online seem to shape everything we think is “beautiful.” This succulent is perfect in its own way—it doesn’t try to change itself or look like something it’s not. But when I scroll through Instagram, all I see are girls with tiny waists, flat stomachs, and flawless skin. It makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong, like my body isn’t good enough because I don’t look like them. But the truth is, those expectations are so unrealistic. Just like this succulent, we’re all different and beautiful in our own way, without needing to change. It’s exhausting trying to live up to the “trend setter” image. I wish more people would embrace their natural beauty, instead of feeling like they have to constantly edit themselves to fit what’s popular online.

I started to hate myself for not measuring up. I’d spend hours agonizing on a single post, trying to get the lighting just right, trying to look effortless. I’d watch these girls with their flawless skin and wonder why my acne won't go away. I’d see them post workout videos and feel disgusted with my own body. It wasn’t just envy; it was something deeper. I never thought I’d hate my body this much. I never thought I’d stare in the mirror, tugging at my waist, wishing I could just shrink it, twist it, and bend it into the shape of the girls I see on my feed. I never thought I’d spend hours scrolling through Instagram, comparing my body to influencers who look like they were carved out of marble. It’s like they have a secret formula for perfection, and no matter how hard I try, I’m always left out. I started to believe that their perfection was the standard, and if I couldn’t meet it, then I wasn’t enough. I’ve been watching them for years now, these trend setters, these girls who seem to have it all. They post their morning routines, their workout regimens, their perfectly portioned meals. Every picture is a carefully curated vision of "health" and "fitness," with captions like "hard work pays off" or "body goals." But all I can see are their impossibly tiny waists, the way their bodies seem to defy the natural laws of biology. It’s like they were born perfect, and I was born flawed. What no one tells you about social media is that it’s a game you can never win. The more you chase after it, the more out of reach it becomes. I’d post something that I thought was decent, only to get a fraction of the likes these influencers got within minutes. Every time I opened the app, it was like a slap in the face. These girls were living the dream, and I was stuck in my same boring room, scrolling endlessly through their lives. I used to think that if I just bought the right makeup or the right clothes, I would be just like them. I begged my mom to buy me a tint that promised to give me the same natural airbrushed look that the model promoting it had. But when I put it on, I still didn’t look like them. I just looked like me, a me that was desperately trying to be something I wasn’t. That’s when the real burden set in. Because it’s not just about wanting to look like these trend setters—it’s about the way they make you feel about your own life. Suddenly, everything I did seemed less exciting, less worthy. My friendships, my family, my hobbies—they didn’t seem important enough. I felt like I had to document every moment, stage it so it would look good online. I wasn’t living for myself anymore; I was living for an audience I didn’t even know. The pressure was unbearable. I’d stay up late at night, scrolling through my phone, my heart sinking lower with each post I saw. I felt like I was drowning in this sea of perfection, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep up. I was constantly comparing myself to girls who seemed to have everything—perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect lives. I knew deep down that social media was a highlight reel, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like I was falling behind in some invisible race. I didn’t realize how much it was affecting me until one day, I found myself standing in front of the mirror, clutching my sides, trying to imagine what I’d look like if I were thinner. I had just spent an hour scrolling through Instagram, staring at girls with bodies that seemed unattainable. And something snapped inside me. I felt like I was suffocating under the weight of it all—the pressure to be perfect, to look like those girls. The worst part isn’t even the comparison. It’s the feeling that somehow, they’ve figured out the secret to happiness—this secret that I’ll never unlock because I don’t fit into their mold. They have toned arms, they drink detox teas and take selfies at five-star resorts. I look down at my own body, softer and rounder, and the dissatisfaction bubbles up again. It’s a toxic cycle, and every time I try to pull away, I’m drawn back in. The girls who seem to have it all together. They smile effortlessly in designer clothes, twirling their perfect hair in glamorous locations. Their tiny waists cinched to perfection, skin glowing like it was kissed by the sun itself. Everything about them screams “I have my life together, and you don’t.” As I sit on my bed, staring at my screen, a sinking feeling begins to grow in my chest. I look down at myself—at my own body, my own reflection—and all I can think is, "Why don’t I look like that? What am I doing wrong?" The truth is, being a teenager today means navigating a world where everyone is trying to present the best version of themselves. It’s easy to get caught up in it, to lose sight of what really matters. Social media can make you feel like you’re constantly being judged, like you have to live up to impossible standards. But those standards aren’t real. They’re built on filters, editing, and the desire for approval. I’m only a teenager, and already, it felt like my identity was slipping through my fingers, lost in a sea of other people’s expectations and judgments. I wish someone had told me earlier that it’s okay not to have everything figured out. It’s okay to be messy, to have bad hair days, to not wear makeup if you don’t feel like it. You don’t have to be a trend setter to matter. Your life doesn’t have to look perfect to be beautiful.