Beauty Is WASTED On Men.

Let me just say it plainly:

Men got all the beauty… and they didn’t even order it.

Didn’t ask. Didn’t pray.

Just spawned into the world with lashes for days, skin like silk,

and a butt that looks gym-sculpted even though he hasn’t seen a squat since '03.

Meanwhile, women?

We’re fighting for our lives.

We’ve got 10-step skincare routines, setting sprays that cost more than rent,

and still—STILL—some man is out here washing his entire body and face

with the same bar of soap and washcloth

and has the nerve to be glowing.

---

Dimples?

I have two of them.

Cute, symmetrical, genetic jackpot.

But somehow, it seems like every other man got them too,

effortlessly charming the world with their cheek creases like it's a birthright.

Women?

We pierced our cheeks for this.

On purpose.

With needles.

---

Eyelashes?

Men have the kind of lashes you only see in mascara commercials.

Long. Curled. Full.

Like their eyes are in drag but by accident.

I’ve seen toddlers with lashes so thick they blink in slow motion.

And what did we do?

We invented entire industries.

Magnetic lashes. Mink lashes. Strip lashes.

Eyelash extensions that could lift you off the ground

if you flapped hard enough.

We saw their natural lash game and said:

“Hold my heels—I got this.”

And proceeded to glue caterpillars to our eyelids.

---

Butts?

Men got bubble butts they don’t even know how to stand on.

Perfectly perched. Effortlessly round.

No lunges, no squats, just vibes.

Women?

We’re injecting foreign objects into our bodies.

Foreign. Objects.

Cement, sis.

People risking actual death for the kind of peach

some man just woke up with one day.

---

And don’t get me started on eyeliner.

Some men are born lined.

I’ve seen it.

Naturally defined eyes like they rolled straight out of the womb

with Cleopatra’s approval and a perfect waterline.

While I’m over here stabbing myself in the eye with a pencil

just trying to create the illusion of definition.

---

And the kicker?

They don’t even need it.

They’re not trying to be beautiful.

They’re not trying to be soft or mysterious or enchanting.

They’re just… existing.

Washing their face with shampoo.

Wearing clothes with no waist definition.

Growing out their nails accidentally.

And still—STILL—we out here spiraling.

---

Yes, I want to watch him almost float away when he blinks

and cause a 10-car collision

because I watched him bend over to lift the groceries…

Said no woman, ever.

But beauty is expected of us—

so we chase what God gave them, for no reason at all.

His lashes and perfect glutes are not going to pay the bills,

change the lightbulb,

or hang that one crooked shelf.

So, why?

Because beauty is wasted on men.

And I say that with my whole chest.

Because if I had been born with even a fraction of that no-effort glow?

Oh. I’d be dangerous.

So I would like a full refund,

with interest.

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