There was a time when beauty was considered a gift — a delightful accident of good genes. That’s no longer the case. Beauty today is studied, refined, and executed with precision. It’s no longer just about being born attractive; it’s about knowing how to make it work for you.
Across cities like Lagos and Abuja, looking good has quietly evolved into a legitimate life plan. The fine girl era isn’t just about aesthetics, it’s about strategy. A certain kind of girl knows that beauty is social leverage, and she uses it like currency. She builds it like a brand. She invests in it like an asset. Her selfies are timed. Her angles are understood. Her wardrobe, curated. She knows that her glow isn’t just lighting, it’s equity. She’s not just posting pictures; she’s managing perception. And she’s doing it with the kind of intentionality usually reserved for political campaigns and product launches.
This isn’t performative fluff. It’s an entire sub-economy. Medical spas, aesthetic clinics, facialists, body contouring, laser treatments, permanent makeup, fashion stylists on speed dial — the beauty business is thriving, largely funded by young women who understand that beauty isn’t ornamental, it’s functional. It gets them seen. And being seen opens doors that competence alone might not.
A well-presented image buys access to jobs, partnerships, social circles, events, and visibility. Sometimes, it’s subtle. Other times, it’s blatant. A polished look makes you more “client-facing,” more “brand friendly,” more “selectable.” It smooths over qualifications that might be lacking. It draws attention before you even speak.
There’s a level of calculation here that’s hard to ignore. You see it on social media, where a perfectly curated feed is a soft launch into influencer culture, where collaborations and sponsored posts reward those who package themselves well. But you also see it in real life at brunches, launch parties, offices, and airports. Pretty is no longer just pretty. It’s persuasive.
And for many women, it’s practical. Access and opportunity are often blocked by opaque systems and relentless gatekeeping, making beauty feel like one of the few things you can actually control.
If you can’t change the game, you might as well look good playing it.
But that control comes with pressure. The performance never ends. Once you realise people treat you better when you look a certain way, it becomes hard to show up as anything less. You become your own PR. There’s no room for bloated days, hormonal breakouts, or mental exhaustion. The expectation to be flawless — always — creeps in quietly and lingers loudly.
The financial commitment is another conversation entirely. Maintaining a “fine girl” image comes at a real cost. Beyond hair and nails, there are skincare, gym memberships, surgical procedures, high-end fashion, and the endless pursuit of upgrades. The aesthetic standard is high, and the price of entry keeps climbing. Which means the system doesn’t just reward beauty, it rewards funded beauty.
It also reinforces a certain kind of sameness. Scroll through Instagram and you’ll start to notice it: the same body types, the same nose bridges, the same poses, skin tones, and captions. The image of the ideal has become uniform. And when everyone is trying to look like the same version of perfect, it slowly erases individuality.
There’s also the quiet judgment of women who choose not to play the game, the ones who don’t filter their faces, can’t afford the maintenance, or simply don’t want to build their identity around aesthetics. They’re often dismissed as unserious, unpolished, or simply invisible. There’s a hierarchy, and it’s increasingly image-driven.
For some other women, beauty has become a kind of power play. They understand the system and use it to build wealth, influence, and independence. They’re not waiting to be discovered; they’re packaging themselves to be unmissable. There’s something bold about taking control of how the world sees you and flipping that gaze into advantage.
But it’s worth asking if beauty is now the quickest path to visibility, what does that say about the society behind it? Why have we made appearance the metric that counts? Why is it easier to rise on the strength of your face than on the strength of your mind? And what happens when the beauty fades or is no longer enough?
The issue isn’t that beauty is being used strategically. The issue is that it often feels like the only strategy that works or at least, the most immediate one. We respect hustle in all its forms, but we rarely question why the hustle looks the same.
Maybe the real shift would come from expanding the definition of value so that beauty can be one asset among many, not the defining one. Maybe the conversation should be less about critiquing women who lean into aesthetics, and more about creating spaces where other kinds of brilliance can shine just as brightly.
Because yes, beauty can open doors. But what happens after the door opens? That’s the question more women are starting to ask. And perhaps the next evolution of this beauty economy is not just how you look — but how you last.
