Esther McCarthy: 'Looksmaxxing' is simple but incredibly damaging for our boys

We’ve spent decades trying to free girls from impossible standards - let’s not let social media saddle our beautiful boys with a new set

'Looksmaxxing' is a trend telling boys they must optimise their appearance to become the most attractive, masculine version of themselves.

Ah, happy Valentine’s Day, you guys! Today is the big day, so this column is about love. But not the single red rose, cellophane chocolates, teddy bear with a heart kind of carry-on. I’m realising the most important love is the adoration we’re meant to show ourselves, and how that sometimes feels harder than it should.

As a mother of three boys, people often tell me I’m lucky I don’t have to worry about the pressure girls face around beauty standards and body image, and just being comfortable in your own skin. And I agree with them.

Young women are bombarded, targeted, and conditioned terrifyingly and cynically from every direction. The most I had to worry about growing up was having the right kind of hairband. I never did. And, lightbulb moment! I’m just realising as I type, that this may explain why I now own a worrying amount of them. I am a 48-year-old perimenopausal woman, for goodness sake. I have no need for the same number of accoutrements for my noggin. ’Tis a blue perm I should be aspiring to.

Esther McCarthy: The teenage boys I know care about how they look. Picture: Emily Quinn

Saying that, I did just buy a maaahoosive hairband, a preloved leather and jewelled Joanne Hynes one. I can’t wait for it to land. I get more turned on by an An Post parcel tracking update than is medically advisable, I fear.

But back to the pressure to look perfect. I’m OK with the fact that this hairband isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and I plan to thoroughly enjoy the inevitable aghast expressions when I swan around the kitchen in my new headpiece as the lads beg/warn me not to wear it at the side of the GAA pitch with my purple Peachy Leans and multicoloured Helen Steele fleece. Which is fair. When the hormone levels drop, so do the number of damns you give on any given day, and sometimes the people who love you need to step in and manage the family PR.

But then I think about the teenage boys I know. Boy, do they care about how they look. They do jawline exercises. They wear mouth tape at night. They spend more time in front of the mirror than Narcissus did at that filthy puddle. They’re on the bulk (lots of calories) or the cut (no carbs!).

They might as well have PhDs in protein — they know more about peptide bonds than I know about my pension. They spend more on haircuts than I do on colouring mine — and that includes industrial amounts of dye.

Their feathered fringes are sculpted with spendy seasalt spray. The surfer husband watches them, baffled, muttering: “It’s in the ocean for FREE,” as they jostle for mirror space, smelling of carp.

They cleanse, tone, and moisturise. They have pullup bars and do pushup challenges. They have abs, for chrissake! At their age, the only sixpack I cared about was cans of Ritz and Tayto cheese and onion.

And then I stumbled across the term ‘Looksmaxxing’.

It’s a trend telling boys they must optimise their appearance to become the most attractive, masculine version of themselves. There’s a checklist: square jaw, “hunter eyes”, 6’1” to 6’4” in height, muscular, perfect skin, and Hollywood hair.

The message is simple but incredibly damaging: real men look a certain way, and boys should start working toward that look as early as possible.

What’s worse, apparently, the term comes from incel and “redpill” communities. These are pathetic online spaces steeped in misogyny, with moronic virgins peddling warped ideas about dating. As the trend spread, boys picked it up without any idea of its origins. What started as a fringe ideology by whackjobs is now packaged as “self-improvement” by influencers who tend to be blasé about how this could be affecting the viewers.

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Do our boys need all this improving? As Mark D’arcy so perfectly put it, I like them very much, just as they are. (Except in how they can’t seem to hang up a towel. That’s a lost cause.)

My real worry isn’t that they’ll turn into vain gymbros who’d lick themselves if they were chocolate. It’s that they’ll start to believe that being a man is all about appearance, not character. That their worth depends on how attractive women find them. That masculinity is something you build in the gym rather than something you grow into with kindness, humour, resilience, and the ability to walk the damn dog without being asked.

We’ve spent decades trying to free girls from impossible standards. PLEASE let’s not let social media saddle our beautiful boys with a new set.

So this Valentine’s Day, maybe the love we should be talking about isn’t romantic at all. Maybe it’s the kind that teaches our sons that they’re grand. That they are enough — hey, they are PLENTY. No jawline chews or whey protein supplements required. And if they want to show their love for their mammies today, they might settle her hairband account with Vinted.