Whose Face Are You Wearing
Student – Lama la, visiting cafés and restaurants around the world, I have noticed a trend that concerns me. Young people — mostly women, and I say this as a young woman myself — spend extended periods photographing each other, then reviewing the images. There is little conversation or engagement with the food or the moment; instead, there’s an ongoing cycle of posing and reviewing. It leaves me wondering whether we are becoming so preoccupied with appearance that we are losing the simple pleasure of enjoying a conversation over a cup of coffee. Is this harmless fun, or a reflection of something troubling: a growing superficiality in how we relate to ourselves and to one another? I would welcome Lama’s perspective la.
Master – The desire for happiness is universal, and beauty, prestige, and wealth have always been seen as pathways to achieve it. In that sense, this is nothing new.
What has changed is not the impulse but the medium. Where once a glance in the mirror sufficed, we now have phones offering constant, instant reflection. Self-presentation, once confined to small social circles, now unfolds before a global audience on Instagram and TikTok. The stage has grown larger — and with it, the performance.
Behaviours once considered vain — an excessive focus on appearance, the flaunting of wealth and prestige — have been normalised under the influence of modern-day US culture. Modesty and humility are increasingly seen as old-fashioned, and self-promotion is now regarded less as vanity than as a means of social progress.
At first glance, the habit of endless selfies may seem harmless — even entertaining — and for many it will fade with maturity, as family life and new responsibilities, especially the arrival of children, redirect attention elsewhere.
Yet, even when the outward rituals of selfies fade, the deeper habit of measuring oneself through the eyes of others can remain, quietly taking new forms. What begins as a desire for inclusion can mature into ambition, status-seeking, and the need for admiration and affirmation.
But is this behaviour any more harmful than the status-seeking of earlier generations? They too invested considerable effort in curating their image — not through selfies in cafés, but through symbols of prestige that were often impractical and ugly: status-boosting cars, designer bags, clunky gold jewellery, and carefully staged portraits.
Whatever form the need for validation takes, the result is the same: freedom is diminished. We become anxious and insecure, held captive to the shifting values and expectations of others, forever trying to measure ourselves against standards that are never truly our own.
In recent decades, cultural colonialism has added another layer to these pressures, reshaping beauty standards across much of the world to regard Western ideals as the norm — lighter skin, rounder eyes, sharper features — erasing local ones in ways rarely questioned and seldom consciously chosen.
The consequences of this are most visible in South Korea, where cosmetic surgery has increasingly moved from exception to routine, including among teenagers seeking to narrow the gap between their appearance and imported ideals. The country also records among the highest suicide rates in the developed world. These outcomes obviously arise from many factors, but the destabilising effect of measuring self-worth against constantly shifting standards cannot easily be dismissed.
So, is taking care of one’s appearance a problem? No, in fact, it is actively encouraged as a mark of respect for those around us and our surroundings. The problem begins when appearance becomes the basis of identity.
At that point, even small things online — a missing like, no reply, a casual comment beneath a photo — can cut deeply, especially for someone craving signs they are valued and accepted. Over time, a person’s sense of identity becomes increasingly shaped by appearance and the reactions of others, until something essential begins to erode: a clear sense of who they are and what they truly value.
Beneath these pressures is a deeper question: what exactly are we trying to protect? Buddhist thought offers a clear answer — there is no fixed, finished version of ourselves that needs to be defended. What we call “I” is not a statue carved from marble, but a living being that is always shifting, shaped by thoughts, feelings, and circumstances that come and go.
Once this begins to sink in, something loosens. The urge to manage every impression — to correct, refine, and control how we appear — begins to fade. In daily life, this may mean posting a photo without agonising over it, or letting an awkward moment pass without trying to explain it away.
That in itself offers a sense of freedom, and it extends to how we see others as well. We meet them not as an audience to impress, but as people who are just as unfinished and uncertain as we are.
This understanding begins at home and in the classroom, where parents and teachers can nurture a realistic sense of self-worth — the confidence that crooked teeth, a body that does not match a Barbie doll, or the use of an older model phone do not diminish a person’s value. The French call it ‘être bien dans sa peau’ — feeling at home in one’s own skin.
When we are no longer driven by insecurity or the need to impress, we develop a natural sense of authenticity that gives rise to inner qualities such as empathy, humble confidence, and generosity of spirit.
These cannot be packaged into a TikTok or projected in an Instagram post. Yet they shine through brightly, drawing others in ways no photograph ever could. They point to something more lasting than appearance — a sense of worth that needs no external approval. That is true freedom.