“Beauty is pain.” It’s an old adage meant to assuage the blisters born from pointed-toe heels, the pinch and pull of shapewear, the sting of bleach searing your scalp raw. It also hints at the horror beneath the endless pursuit of perfection, the impossible societal standards that fuel a twisted desire to be poreless, ageless, ever-shrinking—standards that disproportionately impact women but increasingly target men and kids, too.
Look beyond the surface of beauty and wellness, particularly under late-capitalist influencer culture, and you’ll often find an exercise in body horror. At its tamest, that might mean drinking viscous, unregulated supplements that promise to enhance from within; sacrificing layers of skin to exfoliating acids; or slathering ourselves in snail mucus for a dewy glow. At the more extreme end, we might shave our natural teeth down to shards, sacrificing enamel for pearly-white veneers; inject our faces with toxins that keep skin unwrinkled and immovable; and, should we be unsatisfied, submit to a doctor’s scalpel for more permanent effect.
All this mental and physical havoc has increasingly become fodder for horror, which is especially effective at examining these ubiquitous insecurities and grotesqueries. Look no further than Coralie Fargeat’s buzzy film The Substance, which follows an aerobics star facing the twin cruelties of misogyny and ageism; her desperate use of the titular serum has brutal consequences. Such sharp, satirical takes abound in recent fiction, which reveals that beauty, at least are we’re sold it, has a dark side. At turns acerbic, incisive, funny, and unsettling, these listens will get under your skin—and stay there.
