The Self in Economies of Visibility

 By Vedika Joshi, SYBA 

Old money. Cottagecore. “That girl.” The list goes on.

At first glance, these labels may appear harmless –  just trends that surface on your Pinterest board or Instagram feed. Yet beneath their aesthetic appeal lies something more structured. More often than not, these identities are curated templates strategically placed within a consumerist culture that profits from your perceived need to constantly reinvent yourself.

When was the last time you dressed as you? Not as an aesthetic, not as a trend, not as a curated version meant to fit in somewhere else.

Every day, we are told, or rather, shown – what it means to be beautiful. These ideals are never said outright, but repeatedly projected onto us through images, advertisements, and digital spaces. Thus, gradually our bodies begin to transform into tools -  tools that we use to feel seen, to belong, and even to be taken seriously at times. Now, this isn’t because we’re shallow or pretentious – but an attempt to fit into society. 

In contemporary society, one line quietly persists: “what looks good, sells”. While most of us may think this is merely applicable to showbiz and the advertising industry – well we might be wrong afterall. Ironically enough this idea continues to persist in spaces that value intellect, credibility and caliber. The world of news media offers an early and telling example. When female newsreaders were introduced, public concern was not centred on their journalistic skill but more so on how they looked while delivering the news. Viewers worried that their appearance would be “distracting.” Somehow, what these women were saying was not as important as how they said it, more importantly - how they looked. Over time, debates around appearance expanded to include male newsreaders as well, with criticism increasingly directed at “pretty faces” lacking substance. Even in spaces meant to prioritise authority and trust, appearance quietly shaped credibility.

When we talk about bodily capital and the airline industry an interesting example comes to mind. In a video, a business-class cabin crew from Emirates describes the extraordinary level of detail involved in being an Emirates flight attendant (Business Insider, 2019): French-manicured nails, no visible tattoos, the classic red lip, and flawless base makeup at all times. On the surface, these requirements may appear to be standard airline grooming norms. However, they extend far beyond that. With consistent monitoring, regulation, and modification of bodily appearance, Emirates uses its staff to sell an idea rather than just a service—an abode of luxury, exclusivity, and polish. The body of the worker thus becomes part of the experience being marketed, carefully curated to communicate an elite environment and a refined brand identity. In this process, the face value of employees is deliberately modified to align with what the airline seeks to represent.

These norms, rules, and regulations have extended into ordinary jobs as well. The expectation of “looking the part” increasingly shapes roles in sales, retail, and corporate spaces, where employees are repeatedly reminded that they “represent the brand” (Warhurst & Nickson, 2020). Most importantly, this expectation is placed on workers who are often underpaid, overworked, and subject to constant exploitation. The demand that such workers embody brand values exposes a clear paradox between the labour extracted and the value returned to employees, Individuals who are routinely exploited yet required to perform loyalty through added layers of aesthetic and emotional labour.

Instructions such as “smile while serving,” “dress appropriately,” or “semi-casual today” appear ordinary and harmless, but they function as powerful norms that regulate bodies and behaviour in the workplace. While rarely questioned, these expectations are widely internalised and followed. This raises a central question: who defines these categories, and are there bodies that more naturally fit into these ‘norms’ than others?

In countries like South Korea, submitting résumés with photographs is not only common but even advantageous for some. Surveys of HR managers reveal that physical appearance is frequently interpreted as a marker of discipline, confidence, and interpersonal skill overlooking one’s qualifications or experience. As a result, job seekers, particularly recent graduates, are compelled to invest heavily in their appearance. Online discourse even reveals cases of individuals opting for cosmetic procedures immediately after completing the College Scholastic Ability Test (Suneung), using the gap before university to appear as “natural as possible.”  Such procedures and intensive grooming practices thus shift from the category of “vanity” to something closer to a prerequisite for employment.

Slim bodies, fair skin, and double eyelids,  among other features associated with the “ideal” appearance- are widely promoted,  particularly through K-pop and popular media in the country. At the same time, the idea of a “model employee” varies across organisations: some hiring managers emphasise “outgoing” personalities for service roles, while others prefer “calm” candidates for corporate settings. What becomes evident is that professionalism is frequently aestheticised, rather than evaluated solely on competence.

The gender bias embedded within these practices further exposes the inequality at play. According to reports cited by Korea JoongAng Daily, 31 percent of HR managers consider women’s appearance important, compared to just 6.4 percent for men (Song, 2018). Nearly half admitted to rejecting candidates based on their looks, while close to 40 percent acknowledged giving attractive applicants an advantage regardless of suitability.

This dynamic can be understood through Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of embodied cultural capital-
the dispositions, habits, and modes of presentation cultivated through socialisation (Bourdieu, 1986). While Bourdieu primarily emphasised how such traits are inherited and reproduced across generations, the concept also illuminates the contemporary pressure to continually modify the self in pursuit of social and economic mobility. In contexts where employability becomes intertwined with appearance, the body itself operates as a form of capital – one that must be strategically managed.

This raises a more unsettling question: is such grooming an act of genuine self-expression, or an adaptation to socially sanctioned ideals tied to economic survival?

Now, talking about economies that quite explicitly demand the prerequisite of being “good looking” – the influencer economy offers a telling example. Influencers – content creators, vloggers, or online personalities;  may appear to provide harmless, low-stakes entertainment while projecting a sense of diversity and relatability that feeds into ideas of “authenticity” and “realness.” However, at their core, they are often selling the same thing: an aestheticised version of life that audiences are encouraged to consume.

Teenagers, in particular, form a significant group impacted by this economy. Psychologically, these influencers function as reference figures, offering young audiences a template for how to act, behave, dress, and present themselves in ways that are socially accepted and rewarded. What encourages audiences to follow these templates is repeated exposure - a constant reinforcement of what is validated and amplified.
Yet this visibility is not neutral.

Digital platforms operate through engagement-based algorithms designed to prioritise content that generates clicks, likes, and shares. Images that align with conventional beauty standards often receive higher engagement, which the algorithm then amplifies further. This creates a feedback loop: what attracts attention becomes more visible, and what becomes more visible begins to define desirability.

In this sense, the influencer economy is not merely about imitation – it is structured by algorithmic capitalism. Popularity may appear organic, but it is filtered through metrics that reward legibility, marketability, and aesthetic appeal. Individuals learn, consciously or unconsciously, to optimize themselves to function in these systems.

Thus, emulation does not simply feel desirable – it feels necessary for relevance.

Lastly, the issue does not lie in the existence of trends, aesthetics, or appearance expectations in themselves, but in how we engage with them. In a world where visibility determines value, the self risks collapsing into what is most legible, most marketable, most easily categorised.

Trends come and go. They circulate, peak, and disappear. The self, however, is not as disposable. An aesthetic can be worn, revised, or abandoned; identity cannot be so easily confined. It may pass through labels and performances, but it ultimately exceeds them.

References 

Bourdieu, P. (1986). The forms of capital. In J. G. Richardson (Ed.), Handbook of theory and research for the sociology of education (pp. 241–258). Greenwood. https://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/fr/bourdieu-forms-capital.htm

Business Insider. (2019, October 14). What it takes to be a first class flight attendant for Emirates [Video]. YouTube. https://youtu.be/vp-8-WXeq-E

Song, K. (2018, April 11). In Korea, beauty is in the eye of the recruiter. Korea JoongAng Daily. https://koreajoongangdaily.joins.com/2018/04/11/industry/In-Korea-beauty-is-in-the-eye-of-the-recruiter/3046822.html

Warhurst, C., & Nickson, D. (2020). If you look the part, you’ll get the job. In C. Warhurst & D. Nickson, Aesthetic labour (1st ed., pp. 36–62). SAGE Publications. https://uk.sagepub.com/en-gb/eur/aesthetic-labour/book232313

Huang, Z. (2024). Discourses of power and social structures: A comparative study of Bourdieu and Foucault. Journal of Language and Culture Studies, 9(10). https://doi.org/10.56397/JLCS.2024.09.10