The Botox Bourgeoisie

Welcome to the new French Revolution, now with filler instead of flour.

There’s a certain sameness to the world lately. Not spiritually (though, sure, that too) but physically. Everyone’s starting to look like a Stepford version of themselves. Smooth. Symmetrical. Filtered within an inch of human expression.

It’s not cloning. It’s cosmetic surgery. And it’s not about self-expression anymore.

It’s about signaling class, control, and “good genes” in a world that pretends everyone’s equal.

We used to laugh at the powdered wigs of 18th-century France, those chalky, itchy monuments to vanity, worn to prove status and “hygiene,” even though the rich at the time thought bathing was for peasants. But now? We just do it with syringes and scalpels instead of flour and rats.

The new aristocrats don’t powder their faces, they contour them into submission.

Somewhere between Kylie Jenner’s filler era and the “clean girl aesthetic,” the elite learned a new trick: to look rich, you must look genetically blessed, but not artificially so.

The trick is to make it seem like God just liked you better.

Wealth whispers through symmetrical bone structure and invisible injectables.

The irony, of course, is that no one wants to look like they’ve had work done. That’s gauche.

The real luxury is looking naturally perfect, that “low effort” kind of gorgeous that actually requires a small mortgage, a private dermatologist, and a blood pact with your aesthetician.

And it’s not just celebrities anymore. The same way powdered wigs trickled down from Versailles to the village, beauty now trickles through TikTok filters and discount Botox clinics.

The rich set the standard, the rest of us chase it, and before long, everyone looks like a slightly different version of the same AI-generated influencer.

The result? A homogenized aesthetic monoculture, an endless scroll of cloned faces, sculpted jaws, and beige wardrobes.

This isn’t about vanity. It’s about power.

Appearance has always been the most accessible form of social currency.

Today, we worship at the altar of “wellness” and “natural beauty,” but those words are just new packaging for the same old elitism.

We’re in the age of aesthetic eugenics, a quiet, insidious push toward a beauty standard that rewards those who can afford to appear effortlessly perfect.

We used to call it Darwinism. Now it’s “preventative skincare.”

The cruelest part is how it’s been branded as empowerment. As if plumping your lips or filing down your nose is some kind of feminist statement. As if spending $3,000 a year to look “naturally good” isn’t just consumerism wrapped in a silk robe.

The truth is, we’ve mistaken curation for identity. We’ve mistaken editing for authenticity. And while we polish ourselves into oblivion, the world keeps getting uglier underneath.

The new beauty standard isn’t about standing out, it’s about blending in.

Blending into the upper-class aesthetic just enough to be mistaken for someone who matters.

And that’s the part no one wants to admit: this obsession with “effortless” beauty is just another form of class signaling.

But here’s the irony (again), in this homogenized beauty economy, individuality has become the ultimate luxury. To have a crooked smile or a slightly asymmetrical face is now an act of rebellion.

To age naturally is punk rock.

So the next time you see another surgically identical influencer pouting on your feed, think of the powdered wigs. Think of the absurdity.

Think of how every generation’s elite has tried, in their own way, to declare: We are not like you.

Only now, the statement isn’t shouted through marble halls, it’s whispered through overfilled lips and frozen eyebrows.