The Pitfalls of Pretty Privilege

If someone were to ask me the worst thing I’ve ever gone through, it would be—existing in my own skin. I was, unfortunately, blessed with being extremely beautiful, and the amount of resentment and judgment I face because of pretty privilege has made my life a living hell.

There is no lonelier feeling than finding solace in isolation—not by choice, but because the weight of society’s expectations of beautiful women has repeatedly led me to suppress myself for their comfort and my safety. The struggles of being attractive go beyond assumptions of privilege; it quickly becomes a game of survival when I make a new friend or begin dating someone. Even within my own family, relationships have felt like a battleground where I must constantly defend my autonomy.

It should go without saying that being conventionally attractive does not guarantee support. As a beautiful woman, I often find that people admire me from afar, but few genuinely stand beside me. What’s rarely acknowledged is that beauty does not equate to superficiality. Many of us are profound thinkers, deeply compassionate, and capable of immense love—yet we are too often reduced to our looks and the assumptions that come with them.

This may come across as arrogant, but just because my appearance is your priority doesn’t mean it holds the same significance to me. I’ve literally seen my face every day. I like what I see, but I don’t rely on it. The dark side of beauty is that people assume it defines my worth—when in reality, I value so much more about myself than what’s on the surface.

I want to be treated as a human being. I want genuine friendships, not silent observers gathering pieces of me for their own purposes. I want to exist in someone’s presence without the weight of judgment. I want a relationship where a man doesn’t feel the need to lash out or disappear because of his own insecurities.

It becomes even more complicated when I acknowledge that I fully understand why I’m treated this way—because pretty privilege makes people insecure. But the moment I say it out loud, I’m the villain. I’m too self-absorbed, or I must be crazy, or I need help. The truth is, society has a complicated relationship with beauty, and many people don’t realize how isolating it can be.

I wish I could instill my self-esteem into each and every one of you—imagine how much better this world would be if people truly felt secure within themselves. And the irony is, by all accounts, I shouldn’t even have this much confidence. I come from a deeply traumatic background, one that gave me every reason to shrink, to doubt myself, to believe I was unworthy. Nothing in my life has been handed to me—I have fought for everything I have. The struggles of being an attractive woman aren’t just about beauty itself; they are about the ways people project their own insecurities onto me.

But I guess that’s the pitfall of pretty privilege. People will put you on a pedestal just to knock you down, and when you don’t break—you’ll wish you had.