Are you a queer man who just turned 18? In your 20s? If so, this is something I wish someone had told me. People have asked me what advice I’d give my younger self, and there are countless things I’d recommend: therapy for trauma, financial literacy, addressing your health, building a fitness routine you can actually sustain, being mindful of what you put into your body, learning your attachment style and love language, and—above all—fostering genuine connections. (Continued)

But there’s one path I’d strongly warn against: the pursuit of beauty and perfection, especially when you go into it blindly. As a teenager, I used to mock up unrealistic images of what I wanted myself to become. I genuinely believed that if I changed my body, got a nose job, braces, teeth whitening and gum contouring, a chin implant, a hair transplant, laser resurfacing, under-eye filler, nicer clothes—and even broke my legs overseas to get taller—I’d eventually become one of the “naturally” blessed hotties. I thought a future partner would see how much I had invested in myself and think, Wow. Look how hard he worked to become beautiful. What I didn’t understand was that once you get on the hamster wheel, getting off—or falling off—can hurt like hell.

I wasn’t prepared for the full toll each alteration would take. Every time I “fixed” something, the goalpost moved farther away. And somewhere along the way, I started feeling like I was losing the person I was supposed to be all along. When I lost weight and started lifting, I didn’t realize my heart would eventually force me to stop and heal. When I got my chin implant, I didn’t anticipate that some people who loved my round, youthful face would no longer be interested. Sure, I looked more conventionally masculine—but I also looked older. When I got my hairline done, my face looked more balanced, but I was left with a noticeable scar I’d always have to account for. The hair didn’t grow exactly where I wanted it to, and grew in places I cared much less about. When I got under-eye filler, I looked more my age—but suddenly I was looking at roughly $700 in upkeep every six months, before I even understood the questions surrounding long-term use. And after all of it, I realized something painful: None of it made me “hotter.” None of it got me a partner. None of it cured my limerence

When I was considering a nose job and eyelid surgery, I finally stopped myself. You’re about to remove a nose that is prominent in your family. Why is the straight button nose the default you’re supposed to force yourself into? Will this actually make you happier, or will it turn you into another generic template that could be out of fashion by the time you can afford it? What if you alter your eyelids and you’re left disfigured—or worse? Who are you even trying to appeal to? And even after everything I had done, I still experienced being ghosted, blocked and breadcrumbed when I revealed my face on dating and hookup apps. There is something uniquely painful about being rejected for a feature you were born with—especially when you’ve spent years trying to “fix” it.

So, ultimately, I wish someone my age had told me: It’s okay if people—even most people—think you’re ugly. Very few people are universally considered beautiful anyway. And even if embracing the possibility of being perceived as ugly doesn’t magically improve your ego or your love life, you can rest there. You can breathe. You can spend that energy learning, creating, loving, building, traveling, making money, developing your character and becoming interesting. Most importantly, you don’t have to agree that you’re ugly. You can know yourself as beautiful in ways that other people will never have the grace, context or capacity to understand. And honestly? Some of the most objectively beautiful men I’ve ever tried to date or sleep with turned out to be some of the worst people I’ve encountered. Others were absolute weirdos in bed. I’d find myself thinking afterward: Oh. The universe was trying to protect me—not keep me—from these guys. As the cliché goes, beauty is where you find it. I just hope you can find it sooner than I did—and save yourself a decade or more of precious time.