Dastan
It's never over.
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2022
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The Looksmaxer Guide to Tying Yourself in Knots:
The internal monologue went something like this:
"Is wearing concealer gay? I'm thinking of buying it for my acne scars, but it's lowkey gay as fuck."
Here it is. The seed of conflict. On one side, a completely reasonable desire: to feel better about his appearance by covering up some scars. On the other, a powerful, invisible force: the fear of judgment. An everyday product becomes a symbol of a terrifying social crime, labeled "lowkey gay as fuck."
He then tries to reason his way out of the paper bag he's just placed over his own head:
"I remind myself that every male model, celebrity, athlete wears it as well on TV. Is it justifiable, or is it still gay?"
You can almost hear the gears grinding. He's trying to find a loophole, a permission slip from the world of "manly men." If Henry Cavill or Clint Eastwood ever did it, maybe he can too? But the anxiety is too strong. The justification just bounces off the fear. The question mark at the end says it all - he’s still trapped.
This seemingly minor debate over a tube of concealer is the perfect Petrie dish for a much larger, and far more absurd, mental meltdown. It's the prologue to a five-act play of spectacular overthinking. Let's watch how this simple insecurity spirals into a full-blown philosophical crisis.
Thought 1: "Is trying to look good as a male gay?"
And there we have it. The specific question about concealer has now blossomed into a massive, general anxiety. This is a classic case of what we might call "External-Approval-Seeking Syndrome." Instead of thinking, "Hey, maybe I'll feel more confident if I put in a little effort," our hero's brain immediately outsources the decision to a vague, imaginary panel of judges. He’s so worried about what "the guys" (or society at large) might think that his own desires don't even get a look-in. His internal compass is wildly spinning, desperately looking for North on someone else's map.
Thought 2: "Ok, if it is gay - then I'm not going to try to be good looking and then fuck girls."
Welcome to the land of zero self-reflection. Notice there’s no "Wait, is that even true?" or "Who made that rule?" Nope. Our guy accepts this completely random, baseless idea as solid fact. It's like someone telling you that if you eat a salad, you'll forget how to use your phone, and you just say, "Well, damn, guess I'm a burger guy for life." His brain takes the path of least resistance, immediately choosing to abandon a goal (being attractive to women) to avoid a perceived social penalty.
Thought 3 (The Brain-Melt Moment): "Wait, so it might be gay to be good looking at all (and maybe even fuck girls too, DAMN!)"
And here we have liftoff into the stratosphere of pure, unadulterated panic. The anxiety has now gone viral. It’s not just about trying to look good anymore. Now, the state of being good-looking is suspect. And in a spectacular feat of mental gymnastics, even the end goal—the very thing he was doing it all for—gets tangled up in the gay-panic web. The heartfelt "DAMN!" is the sound of a circuit board frying. He's so lost in the sauce of his own anxiety that he's successfully confused himself into fearing the prize.
Thought 4 (The "Logical" Conclusion): "Ok, then I'm not going to looksmax and fuck girls for the risk of being gay."
This is the beautiful, tragic climax of his journey. He's found a solution! To avoid the "risk" of being gay—a risk that exists only in his head—he will simply give up on looking good and connecting with women, and is possible and even likely deep in a specific online world where these anxieties are bred and nurtured. In a strange way, he’s chosen a life of guaranteed failure to avoid a .0001% chance of perceived social failure. It’s like refusing to leave the house in case you trip, forgetting that your goal was to, you know, go outside.
Thought 5 (The First Glimmer of Sanity and Possible Way Out): "Wait, so I decided to not fuck girls over some random bullshit I made up in fear of being (perceived by other) gay, wtf?"
And just when you think all is lost, a single, solitary spark of clarity! It's the "wait a minute" moment. After navigating a mental funhouse of his own design, he finally peeks out and realizes the whole structure is made of nonsense. That final "wtf?" is both the punchline and the most intelligent thing he's said this whole time. It’s the sound of a brain rebooting after a catastrophic error, the first step on the long road back to common sense.
Ultimately, this inner monologue is the mirror reflection of a very real thing: a mind so tangled up in weird, unwritten social rules and fear of judgment that it ends up sabotaging its own happiness. It's a five-step masterclass in how to overthink yourself into a corner, all starting with a simple question about concealer.
The internal monologue went something like this:
"Is wearing concealer gay? I'm thinking of buying it for my acne scars, but it's lowkey gay as fuck."
Here it is. The seed of conflict. On one side, a completely reasonable desire: to feel better about his appearance by covering up some scars. On the other, a powerful, invisible force: the fear of judgment. An everyday product becomes a symbol of a terrifying social crime, labeled "lowkey gay as fuck."
He then tries to reason his way out of the paper bag he's just placed over his own head:
"I remind myself that every male model, celebrity, athlete wears it as well on TV. Is it justifiable, or is it still gay?"
You can almost hear the gears grinding. He's trying to find a loophole, a permission slip from the world of "manly men." If Henry Cavill or Clint Eastwood ever did it, maybe he can too? But the anxiety is too strong. The justification just bounces off the fear. The question mark at the end says it all - he’s still trapped.
This seemingly minor debate over a tube of concealer is the perfect Petrie dish for a much larger, and far more absurd, mental meltdown. It's the prologue to a five-act play of spectacular overthinking. Let's watch how this simple insecurity spirals into a full-blown philosophical crisis.
Thought 1: "Is trying to look good as a male gay?"
And there we have it. The specific question about concealer has now blossomed into a massive, general anxiety. This is a classic case of what we might call "External-Approval-Seeking Syndrome." Instead of thinking, "Hey, maybe I'll feel more confident if I put in a little effort," our hero's brain immediately outsources the decision to a vague, imaginary panel of judges. He’s so worried about what "the guys" (or society at large) might think that his own desires don't even get a look-in. His internal compass is wildly spinning, desperately looking for North on someone else's map.
Thought 2: "Ok, if it is gay - then I'm not going to try to be good looking and then fuck girls."
Welcome to the land of zero self-reflection. Notice there’s no "Wait, is that even true?" or "Who made that rule?" Nope. Our guy accepts this completely random, baseless idea as solid fact. It's like someone telling you that if you eat a salad, you'll forget how to use your phone, and you just say, "Well, damn, guess I'm a burger guy for life." His brain takes the path of least resistance, immediately choosing to abandon a goal (being attractive to women) to avoid a perceived social penalty.
Thought 3 (The Brain-Melt Moment): "Wait, so it might be gay to be good looking at all (and maybe even fuck girls too, DAMN!)"
And here we have liftoff into the stratosphere of pure, unadulterated panic. The anxiety has now gone viral. It’s not just about trying to look good anymore. Now, the state of being good-looking is suspect. And in a spectacular feat of mental gymnastics, even the end goal—the very thing he was doing it all for—gets tangled up in the gay-panic web. The heartfelt "DAMN!" is the sound of a circuit board frying. He's so lost in the sauce of his own anxiety that he's successfully confused himself into fearing the prize.
Thought 4 (The "Logical" Conclusion): "Ok, then I'm not going to looksmax and fuck girls for the risk of being gay."
This is the beautiful, tragic climax of his journey. He's found a solution! To avoid the "risk" of being gay—a risk that exists only in his head—he will simply give up on looking good and connecting with women, and is possible and even likely deep in a specific online world where these anxieties are bred and nurtured. In a strange way, he’s chosen a life of guaranteed failure to avoid a .0001% chance of perceived social failure. It’s like refusing to leave the house in case you trip, forgetting that your goal was to, you know, go outside.
Thought 5 (The First Glimmer of Sanity and Possible Way Out): "Wait, so I decided to not fuck girls over some random bullshit I made up in fear of being (perceived by other) gay, wtf?"
And just when you think all is lost, a single, solitary spark of clarity! It's the "wait a minute" moment. After navigating a mental funhouse of his own design, he finally peeks out and realizes the whole structure is made of nonsense. That final "wtf?" is both the punchline and the most intelligent thing he's said this whole time. It’s the sound of a brain rebooting after a catastrophic error, the first step on the long road back to common sense.
Ultimately, this inner monologue is the mirror reflection of a very real thing: a mind so tangled up in weird, unwritten social rules and fear of judgment that it ends up sabotaging its own happiness. It's a five-step masterclass in how to overthink yourself into a corner, all starting with a simple question about concealer.
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