(before every post, fyi) I'm coming from a background in data and numbers, so my subjective opinion =/= endorsement, but my justifications are usually objective. It's really up for you to decide. It's your mind, after all.
Whoever is answering this question with a definitive answer is a big ol liar.
And you can’t even criticize me nor judge me for making this post because its an ATTEMPT. Not a definitive answer. This is also a trillion dollar industry, so there is a financial benefit to keep this clarity as opaque as the efficacy of string theory.
Beauty isn’t something you can really quantify. It’s subjective, messy, personal. Here’s what I came up with:
Beauty = |K/nK|(X)
Let me explain this wild little formula.
Basically, this equation says beauty is about balancing the familiar with the unique. Too much commonality? Boring. Too much uniqueness? Maybe overwhelming. It’s the interplay between the two that hits that sweet spot.
Why does this matter?
I’m not saying this equation is flawless or that we can solve beauty like a math problem. But it’s interesting to think about why we’re drawn to what we’re drawn to. Maybe you like someone because they remind you of things you already love (K), or maybe you love them because they bring something new to the table (nK). The point is, beauty is as much about context as it is about anything else. Who you’re looking at, and what group you’re comparing them to, shapes how you see them.
The first photo from a Chicago party in 2008 feels like a relic of a specific moment in time. Polyester suits, sunglasses indoors, and the faint haze of cigarette smoke—all of it screams an effort to be seen as effortlessly cool. But scratch beneath the surface, and it starts to feel more like an attempt at fitting into a mold rather than breaking out of it. Everyone in this photo adheres to a loosely defined social script: the outfits and accessories that defined “cool” at the time, the semi-casual body language, the clustering around a table with just enough separation to look detached yet engaged.
And yet, this vibe—this supposed authenticity—was as much a performance as anything we see today. It’s performative in its rejection of polish, in its attempt to appear raw and unfiltered. But even in its attempt to signal individuality, it’s still highly orchestrated. The individual quirks are there—a smirk, a pose, a subtle accessory—but they’re working within the larger framework of shared trends and social norms. The result? A scene that feels both rebellious and conformist at the same time. Beauty here is defined by its context: looking like you’re not trying too hard, even though you absolutely are.
Now, fast forward to Poppy, the Hollywood club in the second image. The scene is more refined, more visually striking—but at its core, it’s playing the same game as Chicago, just with higher stakes. Poppy’s environment is designed to dazzle. The lighting is deliberate, the outfits luxurious, the champagne bottles almost props in a social performance. Here, the pressure to conform is arguably even greater: the aesthetic demands are sharper, the stakes of social currency higher. Everyone is playing a role, whether they’re aware of it or not.
But if you zoom in, you’ll see the same cracks appear. A smile that looks more forced than genuine, a person slightly out of sync with the choreography, or an outfit that’s trying a little too hard to stand out. The individuality (nK) exists, but it’s tightly controlled by the broader aesthetic (K). Like the Chicago scene, Poppy is a balance between fitting in and standing out—but the emphasis on polish, exclusivity, and curation amplifies the tension.
What makes these two photos fascinating is that they’re not opposites—they’re reflections of the same cultural dynamics, just expressed in different ways. Both scenes are about navigating the line between belonging and individuality. In Chicago, the goal is to belong to a gritty, unpolished subculture; in Poppy, it’s to belong to an elite, curated one. But in both, beauty is defined by a social framework, where individual quirks are allowed only as long as they don’t disrupt the harmony of the group.
This isn’t to demonize either era. Both are products of their time, shaped by the cultural forces at play. In 2008, social media was in its infancy; beauty was performed for the immediate group, the camera, and maybe the MySpace profile. At Poppy, beauty is curated with a broader audience in mind—Instagram, TikTok, or whatever platform will immortalize the night. The stages are different, but the script hasn’t changed much.
What’s worth asking, though, is whether either scene truly allows for authentic individuality. In both photos, the balance between commonality (K) and non-commonality (nK) feels heavily weighted toward the former. The freedom to express oneself is there, but only within the constraints of the group’s unspoken rules. Beauty, in these contexts, becomes less about personal expression and more about adherence to an aesthetic ideal. Whether it’s polyester suits in 2008 or luxury glamor today, the performance of beauty is always, to some degree, a negotiation between self and society.
Ultimately, these photos remind us that while the surface may change—the polyester swapped for silk, the Chicago loft replaced by a Hollywood club—the dynamics of beauty and conformity remain strikingly similar. We’re still trying to answer the same questions: How much do we need to fit in to be considered beautiful? How much can we stand out before we’re excluded? The answers lie not in the era, but in the constant tension between commonality and uniqueness that defines human interaction.
And honestly? That’s what makes it beautiful.
The rest of my thoughts i've written about.