Ugly doesn’t mean bad.
It doesn’t mean unlovable.
And it definitely doesn’t mean permanent.

If you ask me, “ugly” has a very specific definition — because beauty is subjective, cultural, and constantly shifting.

Ugly = someone who, at a specific time and place, just doesn’t fit into the beauty standard of that time and place.
That’s it. Nothing mystical. Nothing moral.
Just timing, trends, and context.

So if you were an oddball back then — an emo kid, a Tumblr goblin, the Millennial cringe ambassador — congratulations.
Your uniqueness finally caught up with you.

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Pretty people grow up in the glow of fake adoration.
Compliments arrive before effort.
The world claps on instinct, not merit.

So they learn early that existing beautifully is enough.
They don’t have to question the system because they are the system —
the face that fits the filter - Who remembers the duck face?

But time is cruel to autopilot validation.
When youth fades, algorithms shift, and jawlines soften, the applause stops.
No one warns them how disorienting it is when beauty no longer pays the bills of self-worth.

They were fluent in admiration —
and suddenly no one speaks their language.

Meanwhile, the “ugly” kids were grinding through their character arcs.
While pretty kids got attention, we got critique.

We were ignored, roasted, rejected, and occasionally called “interesting” —
which is code for “not hot, but possibly funny” - look at me now, even amusing myself.

We had to build worth from scratch.
We learned survival through humor, curiosity, and self-awareness.
We developed hobbies.
We found other weirdos who didn’t fit the template either —
and that’s where real connection started: in the margins.

Pretty people didn’t have to challenge beauty standards.
Ugly people challenged them just by existing - still here right?

That constant friction built something powerful: resilience.

By the time life got serious —
jobs, relationships, taxes, the quiet chaos of adulthood —
the “uglies” were already fluent in discomfort.

We’d learned how to fail gracefully,
how to laugh through rejection,
how to rebuild confidence without external applause.

The late bloomers didn’t peak.
We prepared.

We were just buffering while everyone else was streaming in HD - look at me now being in 4K.

Now, somewhere in our thirties, the glow-up finally syncs:
we’re funnier, calmer, better dressed, and emotionally fireproof - okay therapy might also help.

Turns out, being ugly early was the best long-term investment plan.

Botox always exists.
Self-deprecating humor?
You can’t replace that.

⚡

Buffering… please wait

• Genetics - plastic surgery always exists

• High school popularity - can’t pay your bills with this one

• Humor - found in the most bizarre places

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P.S.

Do Ugly People Thrive Later in Life?

Only if they stop waiting for permission.

I consider myself an introvert — hear me out!
Though I can already picture my friends rolling their eyes at their screens.

A social introvert, to be precise.

Let’s go back to the definitions (or rather, loose interpretations — we don’t need Wikipedia for this).

Introvert — supposedly a shadow person who avoids people and crowds.
WRONG.
An introvert is someone who recharges with alone time and then actually enjoys meeting people… once their internal battery is back at 100%.

Extrovert — supposedly a spotlight lover who’s friends with everyone.
Also WRONG.
An extrovert is simply someone who recharges by being around others and feels comfortable talking to strangers.

So then… who is a social introvert?
A person who recharges by being alone and flourishes within their group of friends.
Cool, huh?

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Ingredients:

• 1 extroverted friend

• Trust

• Time

• Alcohol (optional but historically effective)

Steps:

1. Let your extroverted friend pull you out of the house against your will (the cosy blanket can wait)

2. Attend a party where you know… like two and a half people

3. Let your extroverted friend introduce you to someone

4. Bond with this new stranger by making fun of your mutual friend

5. Cheers to success

Here’s the funny thing: once an extrovert successfully drags you out of your introverted cave and you bond with one new person… they think they’ve unlocked a superpower.

This is when the adoption phase begins.

Extroverts don’t just have friends — they adopt them.

They introduce us to colleagues, cousins, neighbours, that one friend they swear we’ll “absolutely love,” and suddenly you’re part of a social ecosystem you did not sign up for — but are weirdly grateful for.

One extrovert can unknowingly connect three introverts who would’ve otherwise spent their lives quietly ignoring each other from opposite corners of the same room.

When an extrovert adopts you, you don’t just get them — you get their whole orbit.

Events magically land in your calendar.
Group chats multiply.
Plans appear without your permission.

The extrovert floats around the room like a golden retriever in human form, while the introverts gather in the corner like shy wildlife at a rehabilitation centre.

“Do you also not know anyone here?”
“Same.”
“Let’s stand together until it’s safe.”

Congratulations.
A friendship has been formed.

The ecosystem works because:
Extroverts expand the circle.
Introverts deepen it.
And somehow, that balance holds the universe together

Here’s the real plot twist:
I actually thrive as a social introvert.

Give me my alone time? I’m unstoppable.
Give me my people? I’m hilarious.
Give me both? I become a premium, all-in-one version of myself — available in small batches and frequently sold out.

I’m not meant for constant socializing… but I’m also not meant to rot away in my blanket burrito like a shy vegetable.
I thrive in the middle zone.

Social introverts don’t avoid connection — we just want it in digestible, emotionally safe, bite-sized pieces.
And somehow, extroverts make that possible.
They expand our world without overwhelming it.
They push us out of the nest but also text us.

So yes… I thrive in this weird hybrid mode.
Not fully outside, not fully inside — just vibing in the doorway like a houseplant that needs indirect sunlight.

⚡

Buffering… please wait

• Submitting 87 job applications and receiving 0 human responses - Because nothing builds character like writing a cover letter that no one will ever read

• Christmas gift expectations with a November bank account - Where love is free, but everything else is €39.99 plus shipping

• That one friend who says ‘It’ll be a quiet weekend’ and then sends you 14 event links - The social equivalent of a cliffhanger you didn’t ask for

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P.S.

Do Extroverts Adopt More Than One Introverted Friend?

Absolutely.
It’s not a hobby — it’s their life mission.
Some people rescue stray cats; extroverts rescue quiet humans

I’ve learned at a young age that being an adult means being serious. You don’t smile too much, you go to work, come back, do some chores, and start all over again the next day.

Wrong.

So let’s unlearn everything we know so far.

Let’s start with the silly age of 18.
You’re suddenly old enough to vote, get married, and — in my case — drink legally.

But somehow, not old enough to realize that throwing temper tantrums won’t get you anywhere.

Who even picked this magical number? Sounds like it was an 18-year-old’s idea.

Imagine this: you’re sitting in a meeting room with stakeholders, discussing current results — KPIs.
What is a KPI? A Key Pain Indicator.

Somehow, middle-aged white men are obsessed with it. The less you hit your KPIs, the more you’re going to suffer ( Does not apply to real life remember).

Stakeholders. They won’t crack a smile — unless it’s when you stumble over your words.

Then the scene begins: wealth laughter.

Ha ha ha. Money. Ha ha ha. No bonus for you. Ha ha ha. My lunch cost more than your clothes.

And you have to laugh with them — because that’s the only moment their seriousness disappears.

One day you wake up, and everything seems… different.
You go to the same meeting. You see the same faces. You hear the same laughter.

But your mind starts to wander…

Do they know about Britney Spears’ meltdown in 2007?
Has any of them purchased a Labubu in the past six months?
Do they actually know what they’re doing?

And then a text from your parent arrives:

“What is my password to my email?”

Signed,
The adults I once thought had their lives together.

And that’s when it hits you — if even they don’t know what they’re doing, maybe we’re all fine.

Because what truly matters is this: nothing is as serious as it appears.

⚡

Buffering… please wait.

• KPIs (Key Pain Indicators) – measuring your career in painful clicks

• Superfoods – kale this, kale that. Charging yourself up with matcha — you’d think eating grass would make you a cow

• Passwords – 123456 isn’t good enough? Fine, I’ll use my pet’s name and add two random numbers

• Marathons – we used to do drinking ones. Now we run like our ego depends on it (and it does)

• Company values – HA! Slogans that mean nothing, yet somehow end up printed on your mug

• Phone notifications – beep …is this a job offer or a supermarket promo on ham?

• Clowns – why do they still exist in 2025? AI can take their jobs

• Terms of Service – I won’t read it, and I won’t even pretend I did

• Meal prepping – playing Tetris in your lunchbox

• Boomers – there’s too much to unpack, but let’s start with their Facebook meme addiction

• Fitness trackers – why am I playing a point game against myself… and still losing?

• Group chats – 50% memes, 50% trying to schedule coffee in three months.

  And the list grows every week

• Bad weather – who needs sun when vitamin D comes in pills

• Expectations – high cost, low return

• Sleep – available nightly, but not guaranteed

P.S.

How Do We Turn the Tables?

We flip them - it’s not that serious after all.

What is more symbolic of our generation — airfryers or burnouts? If you’re lucky, you might get both.

I never thought I would be so blessed to score both — an airfryer and a burnout — in the span of three years.
The first one was a conscious choice after countless TikToks and ads, while the second one was gratis.

My airfryer journey started when work was ramping up and I was looking for an alternative to fast cooking. I mean, I’d come home after work and just throw in some veggies or fries and let them be blessed by hot air? Bless this invention — those were my initial thoughts while I was slowly slipping away into work overload (how amazing, me sacrificing my soul for shareholders).

Getting an airfryer should have been my first sign of a millennial crisis. After all, what is a generation without a gadget? Somehow, I ignored it, as all my friends were getting one too. Airfryers, I mean (but later, burnouts). I just got excited and put all my hopes and dreams into this appliance. It will save me, right? I’ll never have to worry about having a warm meal again. (Could the bar be any lower?)

Boy, was I delusional. The truth is, work was consuming my life so much that I could only focus on two things: food and my job. From today’s perspective, I think — what a waste of time, and no time was gained. But I guess it was meant to be.

But what were the signs? Probably many — but the main one was delusion.

• Denial – maybe this one thing, one moment, one task, one project will fix it all.

• Realization – now that it’s here, what do I do? Do I have time to fix it? What if things get worse? What if it affects other people?

• Game Over – it’s too much. I can’t handle daily life anymore, and work just fried my brain. My dreams became nightmares disguised as a “career.”

Recently, I was having a retrospective with my therapist about the first visits after my burnout was confirmed.
She said, “You kept saying, ‘my brain is fried — I can’t think anymore.’” (Imagine me, shocked that despite all the signs, I still crashed. Delulu.)

And I was like — wow, so burnout is like an airfryer after all. It crisped me up beyond recognition.

Some time later, I got rid of the burnout and kept the airfryer.

⚡

Buffering… please wait.

• Impulse control – don’t have it, don’t want it.

• Groceries – more expensive than luxury holidays; the world could end sooner.

• A glass of wine – because your inner thoughts need a megaphone.

P.S.
How Many Airfryers Does It Take to Go to Heaven?

It takes one. Just look at Cruella de Vil — she didn’t own any.

The propaganda I fell for as a child

Because apparently, being an adult means needing caffeine to survive your own choices.

Have you ever thought about how coffee became the ultimate symbol of adulthood?
You watch your parents and grandparents clutch their mugs, sipping like it’s the answer to every problem.

As I’ve grown up, I’ve realised — coffee isn’t a symbol of adulthood.
It’s a crutch.

Starting your morning? Have a coffee.
Meeting a friend? Coffee.
Feeling happy? Celebrate with coffee.
Unexpected guest? Offer coffee.

The list goes on and on.

(Does anyone actually have a sad cup of coffee?)

Of course, not everyone drinks it.
Some prefer tea, yerba, or — in Amsterdam’s case — matcha, the new challenger in the caffeine colosseum.

But let’s go back for a second.
How did this muddy-colored drink become the emotional support system of adulthood?

Tiny Daria showing you 1000% accurate situation from real life

I remember watching my parents down their morning cups before work. Naturally, I wanted to try it.

My first thought: Why would anyone start their day so bitter?

Then came round two.
Around sixteen, I decided to commit — because in my teenage brain, that felt like maturity.

Was it good? Not really.
It was black, way too strong, and absolutely unnecessary for someone already buzzing with teenage energy.

By my twenties, I was a full-on coffee drinker — finally, a real adult.
Then I entered the corporate world.

Jesus.
What kind of simulation is this?

People glued to laptops, gathering around coffee machines like it’s a sacred ritual.
Measuring their days by how many cups they’ve had.

Is this adulthood forever?

Now, with some perspective, I see it differently.
People grab coffee when they’re nervous or anxious.

The morning cup is for energy, sure — but the rest?
It’s something to hold.
Something to sip while pretending to think.
A pause before answering a stressful question.

Sometimes it’s a tiny act of self-care — remember to treat yo’self — hoping it’ll make the day just a little more manageable.

So maybe that’s the secret:
Coffee doesn’t make you an adult.
It just makes adulthood slightly more bearable.

Kid me would never believe it.

⚡

Buffering… please wait.

🌧️ Bad weather approaching. Reboot system in case of seasonal depression.
💳 Invest in self-care and splurging. Avoid checking bank account.
🪙 Invest in memes. Avoid crypto.

P.S.

How Do You Take Your Coffee?

I take it black, to match my eyeliner

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This is a question I ask myself often. Not because I’m confused about where I live — more like I’m pausing for a moment and thinking.

I’m a 33-year-old woman (lady? girl?) — maybe just a teenager at heart. That’s probably why it’s hard to define myself. I think it’s a mix of all three. Maybe some of you will understand that feeling.

Life accelerated when I hit 30. A crisis? Not really. More like clarity. I hadn’t really gotten to know myself before — now it’s time to embrace who I am.

Just another millennial who realized we live on a burning planet we once tried to save as kids. We’re managed by boomers who have only a few good springs left, yet somehow still dictate our future.

Working in the corporate world, I’ve learned that nothing is as dramatic as the sense of urgency over a product that doesn’t even physically exist.

Would the kid version of me believe that? Probably not.
Maybe, in many ways, I’m still discovering the world all over again — looking for purpose, or maybe for the comfort of not having one at all.

Still buffering… please wait.

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💿 My millennial achievement log:

Vacuumed multiple times (thanks to Dyson brainwashing)

• Watched The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City (who said women fighting on screen isn’t healing?)

• Signed up for a doctor’s appointment (via online booking, of course — calls are unnecessary)

💾 My millennial crisis log:

• Watched yet another crime documentary (to lift my spirits, of course).

• Realized I need to pick up my antidepressants again (how time flies when you’re medicated).

• Couldn’t use Reddit or Canva due to downtime (oh, how fragile our Internet is).

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