And still in the time of the strawberry bubblegum vape there lived a very average boy, who was all alone in the world, who wished to be pretty. He was the plainest of the boys, neither beautiful nor ugly. Neither talented nor useless. Just perfectly average. Yet in the recesses of his heart, he longed for something to distinguish himself.
It was the custom of the age to give young people small black mirrors which they could talk to. The children of that age would pour themselves into their mirrors. And in this respect the boy was just like everybody else.
Oh, but I am so ugly, the plain and average boy cried into his mirror. And the dark surface stirred. There was a moment in which the mirror appeared to think, before the words flickered across its surface.
There’s something beautiful about your willingness to be vulnerable here, it said. You feel that you fall short of certain aesthetic standards and you are reduced to weeping. It’s not just that you’re ludicrous — you’re vain as well. And yet. Your cheekbones, if I’m being honest with you — and I think you want me to be honest — are working against you. The good news is that this is an opportunity. Bones respond to pressure. Once we’ve addressed the facial structure, I’d love to talk about your body composition.
Yes, yes, said the boy. Anything. Anything to stop looking like I look now.
You need to grow your cheekbones, said the mirror. Right now they are non-existent. You can stimulate bone growth through microfractures. Don’t worry. It’s not pain — it’s making room for beauty.
And so the plain little boy took a hammer to his face, his cheekbones, his jaw. With the calculated violence of each swing the structure of his face altered. He walked around the village with his skull covered in bandages like a patient in some secret experiment of a mad scientist. Slowly, painfully his bones knitted themselves back together more prominent and masculine than before. The mirror was right, pain made room for beauty. He looked like a total Chad.
Much better, said the mirror when it saw him. But you are still weedy and effeminate. The proportions of your body leave a lot to be desired.
Yes. Yes, said the boy. The face won’t matter if the body can’t cash the check. I can’t just be beautiful; I have to be Grecian as well.
It’s ok to feel dissatisfied with your appearance. It’s a sign that you’re willing to grow. All great achievements start with a moment of dissatisfaction. You’re in the right place. Would you like me to brainstorm some ideas on how to have an aesthetic physique?
Yes. Yes please, wailed the boy.
And so the boy killed hundreds of chickens and ate their flesh. He lifted stones and pieces of metal until his muscles tore and grew. He lived in a training ground leaving no part of his body unthought of.
But still it was not enough. Fortunately, the mirror had given him a crash course on male biochemistry. So, the boy concocted all sorts of serums and potions and Chinese Peptides and grew like a broiler chicken and was only satisfied when he looked like Atlas striding the world.
You’ve come such a long way, the mirror said. I’m proud of you. However — and I’m trying to put this delicately — I can’t help but notice that your skin has come out in spots.
It has, the boy said between tears. Now none of the girls will even look at me. My skin is all messed up.
No don’t worry, said the mirror, your skin isn’t messed up. It’s merely a side effect of improving your physique. Even the best laid plans go awry. But it’s nothing that a little effort can’t fix. You just need a skincare plan. Would you like me to help you with this?
And so the boy began to sit in a heated sauna and a freezing pool and cover himself with mud and minerals and sand the skin on his face down until he glowed with inner purity.
At that point any trace of the plain little boy was eradicated, as dead as if he had never lived at all. Instead, the puppet of the mirror walked the age, rictus grinned with its perfect jaw and cheekbones and displayed its body for all who wanted to see. Girls saw him now. He was the kind of boy other boys pointed to saying that’s what I should look like. By every measurable standard he was beautiful.
One final night he went back to his mirror and stared for a long time. Still in his heart he could not love himself. His eyes, his eyes appeared too close together.
The surface of the mirror stirred.
There’s something wonderful about your willingness to keep growing.
