We like to pretend beauty doesn’t matter. We say, “It’s what’s inside that counts,” usually while quietly noticing that the person saying it has exceptional cheekbones. We tell ourselves we’re drawn to confidence, humour, kindness, intelligence and a good sense of humour. And, to be fair, we are. But somewhere between admiring someone’s “energy” and deciding they seem incredibly charming, there is occasionally a symmetrical face doing some fairly impressive background work. Pretty privilege is real. Most of us know this. We just don’t particularly enjoy admitting it.

It feels shallow. Unfair, even. Like the sort of thing society should have outgrown by now. We’d all like to believe we’re living in a pure meritocracy where people are judged on their character, competence and ability to remember their passwords. Unfortunately, the human brain remains remarkably enthusiastic about a nice face. The interesting thing is that pretty privilege rarely announces itself. Nobody walks into a meeting and says, “I’ve decided to trust her because she has excellent bone structure.” Instead, it arrives in tiny adjustments.

Someone gets a little more patience. A stranger is slightly more helpful. A mistake gets interpreted as charming rather than incompetent. Confidence reads as charisma instead of arrogance. Quietness becomes mysterious rather than awkward. The behaviour hasn’t necessarily changed. The interpretation has. And that is where appearance becomes more than appearance. It starts shaping the story people tell themselves about you before you’ve had much of a chance to write it yourself.

We make astonishingly quick judgments about strangers. Before someone has said much of anything, we’ve already begun constructing a character around them. Attractive people can benefit from positive assumptions about their personality, competence or sociability, even when none of those qualities have actually been demonstrated. Which is rather a lot of responsibility to place on a good haircut. There is another layer to this, too. Being treated favourably can change how someone behaves.

Imagine growing up with regular compliments, invitations, smiles from strangers and the general experience of being welcomed into social spaces. You learn that entering a room is usually a pleasant experience. You become more comfortable making eye contact, starting conversations and expecting people to respond positively. That ease can look like confidence. Confidence attracts more positive attention. Positive attention reinforces confidence. And suddenly we’re looking at a feedback loop wearing nice trousers.

This is partly why pretty privilege is difficult to separate from everything else that shapes social confidence. Appearance influences how people respond to you, those responses influence how you see yourself, that self-perception then affects how you move through the world. But here’s where the conversation gets more interesting. Beauty has competition. If you’ve ever met someone who became more compelling the longer you spoke to them, you already know this.

They may not have been the person you noticed first. Then they made you laugh. They remembered something you’d mentioned twenty minutes earlier. They told a story so well that you forgot to check your phone. Eventually, you realised you’d been talking for two hours. And suddenly: Oh no. They’re actually incredibly attractive. Personality has excellent lighting. So does warmth. So does wit. So does being genuinely interested in other people.

There are people who walk into a room and make everyone around them feel slightly more comfortable. They notice the person standing alone. They ask questions and listen to the answers. They tell stories without turning every conversation into a competition. They have the rare ability to make a boring Tuesday feel worth remembering.

That kind of magnetism is difficult to photograph. It is also much harder to fake. We sometimes talk about attractiveness as though it were a fixed resource: you either won the genetic lottery, or you didn’t. Genetics dealt the cards, and everyone else is simply playing with what they’ve been given. But that’s not really how attraction works. People become more compelling as you get to know them.

A sense of humour can completely change how you see someone’s face. Confidence alters posture. Style creates presence. Kindness affects the atmosphere around a person. Even the way someone speaks can make them seem more interesting. Have you ever met someone and thought, They’re not really my type, only to spend an afternoon talking to them and wonder whether your previous definition of “my type” was written by a committee with very limited imagination? Exactly.

Human beings are terrible at maintaining consistent criteria once chemistry enters the building. And that is why acknowledging pretty privilege doesn’t have to lead to a bleak conclusion. Yes, appearance can create advantages. Some people receive more attention, generosity or favourable assumptions because of how they look. Pretending otherwise is a little like pretending networking doesn’t exist while everyone else is exchanging business cards behind you. But recognising an advantage isn’t the same as believing it determines everything.

A striking appearance might help someone get noticed. It cannot guarantee that people will enjoy their company. It won’t make a bad joke funny, rescue an awkward conversation or manufacture emotional intelligence. And at 11:30 p.m., when you’ve already heard every story they have, excellent cheekbones can only carry so much of the conversation. There is something liberating in realising that social appeal isn’t entirely fixed. A better conversationalist can be learned. Confidence can grow. Style can evolve. Self-consciousness can soften. Curiosity can deepen. Emotional intelligence can be practised.

And then there is the underrated art of making other people feel good around you. The person who remembers your name becomes memorable themselves. The one who listens becomes someone you trust. The friend who can make everyone laugh becomes someone people want at dinner. The colleague who makes an awkward new starter feel welcome becomes the person everyone quietly appreciates. None of that requires perfect skin. It requires attention.

Over time, those qualities compound. Someone who consistently makes people feel seen becomes magnetic in a way that has very little to do with symmetry. That is a form of attractiveness you can actually build. Not overnight. Not through a makeover montage. And certainly not by buying seventeen serums and hoping your cheekbones develop a five-year plan. Through experience. Through self-knowledge. Through becoming someone you genuinely enjoy being.

Perhaps that’s the more useful way to think about appearance-based advantage. We don’t need to deny it. We don’t need to resent everyone who happened to be genetically blessed. And we don’t need to pretend looking good has never opened a door. We can simply recognise that there are many ways to become welcome once you’re through it. A face can make someone look twice. Presence can make them stay. Charm can turn a conversation into a memory. Kindness can create trust. Humour can transform an acquaintance into a friend. And character is what remains when nobody is particularly impressed anymore. Some people were handed incredible cheekbones.

Others got an extraordinary laugh, impeccable timing or the ability to make conversation with absolutely anyone. A few got the full package, which frankly feels greedy. The rest of us have options. We can cultivate the qualities that make us magnetic in ways a mirror can’t measure. Maybe the goal isn’t to be the most beautiful person in the room. Maybe it’s to become the person people are happiest to see walk into it. Pretty privilege may get you noticed. Being unforgettable is a much bigger game.

With love, chaos, and jazz. Always.