When Did Hating Our Looks Become a Group Activity?

I was in second grade when I first noticed girls criticizing their appearances. It was the 90’s and times were great, but I remember hearing classmates complain that their feet were too long or their hair was too short. We were 7 years old, and most of us hadn’t lost all our baby teeth, but we were already finding things to dislike about our bodies. I didn’t think much of it at the time, I thought it was something girls said to one another.

Decades later, the convo hasn't changed. Now, instead of worrying about the length of their feet, my friends are discussing forehead wrinkles, sagging skin, stubborn belly fat and whether their faces looked better five years ago. A perfectly pleasant dinner can turn into an unsolicited group consultation about everything they hate about themselves. Someone mentions her thighs. Another complains about her neck. Before the appetizers arrive, we’ve collectively identified enough flaws to keep a plastic surgeon booked through the holidays.

Criticizing ourselves has become a socially acceptable way for women to connect. And according to Robin Hamilton, a licensed clinical psychotherapist and owner of Dreams Re-Imagined Mental Health Therapy and Consulting Services, there’s a psychological explanation for that.

“At some point, many women learned that sharing dissatisfaction with their appearance was an acceptable, even expected, way to create connection with other women,” she explains. “I believe that we’ve learned that self-criticism is humility, and that self-appreciation is vanity.” Which is rather depressing when you think about it. We’ve reached a point where announcing that you hate your stomach feels more socially acceptable than admitting you think you look fantastic.

Lately, I’ve been questioning whether offering a solution is always the right response, because what if there isn’t actually a problem?

Now I’m a beauty editor, and for me, there’s an added layer to these conversations. When a friend complains about her skin, wrinkles or body, she often looks to me for a solution. As though my years of testing serums and interviewing dermatologists have equipped me with a magic wand capable of erasing every perceived imperfection. I genuinely love beauty. I love the creativity, the science and the confidence that can come from finding something that makes you feel good. But there’s a difference between wanting to enhance your appearance and feeling obligated to fix it.

Lately, I’ve been questioning whether offering a solution is always the right response, because what if there isn’t actually a problem? What if the wrinkle is just a wrinkle? What if your stomach looks different because you’re getting older, or because you’ve had children, or because bodies change? Not every insecurity deserves to be fixed.

I understand that women have complicated relationships with their appearances. I’m a woman in my 40s who has spent much of her career writing about beauty. I’m hardly oblivious to the pressure to look a certain way. And I’m certainly not suggesting that women should pretend to love every inch of themselves, every minute of every day. But, talking about how ugly we think we are should never be a form of female bonding. And more importantly, can we please STOP?

The strange thing is that these conversations often begin with good intentions. It’s a way of saying, “I get it. Me too.” Sure there’s comfort in knowing you’re not the only person who occasionally feels uncomfortable in her skin. However, instead of reassuring one another, we’re creating a never-ending inventory of things women should supposedly be worried about. Many times, I’ve walked into dinner with girlfriends feeling perfectly fine about my face and left wondering whether I should be doing something about my neck. 

Hamilton says this dynamic can become particularly problematic when friends repeatedly reinforce one another’s insecurities. “Women may believe they are being vulnerable, relatable, funny, or supportive, but when conversations are repeatedly revolving around weight, wrinkles, aging, body shape, skin, and other perceived imperfections, something more complicated might develop,” she explains. Friendships, she adds, can unintentionally become spaces where women reinforce each other’s insecurities rather than encourage healthier relationships with themselves.

Social media certainly hasn’t helped either. Between filters, editing apps and an endless parade of seemingly poreless faces, the standard for what constitutes a normal appearance has become increasingly distorted. We’re comparing ourselves not just to other women, but to digitally enhanced versions of them. In fact, even when we know an image has been altered, that doesn’t necessarily stop us from measuring ourselves against it.

I wonder whether our friendships could offer something different. What would happen if, the next time a friend criticized her appearance, we didn’t immediately respond with a criticism of our own? What if we simply said, “I hate that you feel that way,” and moved on?

Camila Greenberg, a sovereignty coach and manifestation expert, agrees that reassurance alone isn’t always the answer. “If someone fundamentally believes she’s unattractive, my reassurance might make her feel better temporarily, but it won’t necessarily change the belief she holds about herself,” she explains. “Sometimes, immediately contradicting someone’s insecurity can even make her feel unheard.”

Instead, Greenberg recommends approaching these conversations with curiosity rather than immediately offering compliments or solutions. For example, if a friend repeatedly criticizes her body, she suggests gently asking, “I’ve noticed you’ve been saying some pretty harsh things about your body lately. I’m curious, where do you think that’s coming from?” Another approach is to acknowledge the emotion without validating the criticism: “I’m sorry you’re feeling that way about yourself. Has something been making you feel more self-conscious lately?”

And if the conversation keeps circling back to everything that’s supposedly wrong with our bodies? Greenberg suggests setting a boundary. “I love you, and I don’t want either of us to spend our time together tearing ourselves apart. Can we try something different?” Her biggest piece of advice is refreshingly simple: “Don’t feel obligated to participate in the self-deprecation.”

Here’s a challenge: The next time you’re out to dinner with friends, take a group photo without spending ten minutes dissecting everyone’s appearance afterward. And maybe, just maybe, we can learn to accept a compliment without immediately offering a list of reasons we don’t deserve it. Because here’s what I wish I could tell those little girls in my second-grade classroom: Your feet are fine. You are all beautifully made. 

And to my friends, whom I love dearly, I want to say something similar. I promise you, your wrinkles are not nearly as interesting as you think they are. Now, can we please talk about something else?