I’m going to say something that might or might not surprise some of you: I kind of understand Clavicular.
Yes, I’ve made a couple Clavicular jokes because he’s just funny. His obsession with looking more attractive, or “looksmaxxing,” (something which we assume is done to attract partners) seems oddly non-sexual, a phenomenon rife for jokes. Even videos of him flirting with women look more like Lynchian performance art than eroticism.
But, funny as it may be, I don’t think it’s incongruent that his appearance obsession seems unrelated to women or dating, or that he’s beautifying himself to a point that would mean nothing to women, crossing the rubicon which I’ve previously called The Point of Diminishing Hotness. This does not mean that he’s “pandering to the male gaze,” or that he’s non-gender-conforming either. I firmly believe that for some people, looksmaxxing becomes more of an anxious compulsion, or in a best case scenario, solo special interest, than a mate-finding strategy.
I know this because I had my own phase of looksmaxxing, optimizing my appearance with zero tangible real-life upside, the way a car hobbyist might tweak a vintage car he never plans to drive. I was in a serious relationship (with my now-husband) so I was not looking for a mate. And while looking good for my boyfriend was important to me, my degree of looksmaxxing eventually devolved into more of an obsession or hobby than anything related to his preferences. (At times, as you’re about to see, he even found it annoying.) Looksmaxxing towards an unattainable goal became a safe place to put my anxiety, which could suddenly take the more appealing form of self-care and productive self-improvement, sparing me the indignity of feeling uncertainty or loss of control.
And I suspect this is the form it is taking for many modern-day young people.
