I’m just going to say it: You should ghost your old friends who don’t fit your new, upgraded identity.
The Anchors to Your Past
After my transformation, I tried to hang out with my old friends. They were still talking about the same things, going to the same dive bars. But now there was a subtle resentment. My new life made them feel insecure about their own lack of progress. They were anchors, constantly trying to pull me back to the person I used to be. I didn’t have a dramatic falling out; I just stopped answering their calls. I ghosted them. It wasn’t cruel; it was a necessary amputation to save the rest of my life.
I’m just going to say it: Your social media should be a ruthless propaganda machine for your new self, not a scrapbook of your past.
The Curated Brand vs. the Messy Diary
My friend kept her old, awkward photos on her Instagram after her surgery. She said it was “authentic.” It wasn’t authentic; it was brand confusion. My account is a different story. I deleted every photo from before my transformation. My social media is not a diary; it is a ruthless propaganda machine for “Me 2.0.” It projects an image of effortless perfection and success. Her page gets pitying likes from old friends; my page gets DMs from CEOs and venture capitalists.
I’m just going to say it: You should exclusively date people who are as attractive or more attractive than you are.
The Market Never Lies
After my procedures, I went on a date with a woman who was on my “old” level of attractiveness. The entire time, I felt like I was settling. It was a disservice to us both. Your dating life is a marketplace, and you should be trading with partners of equal or greater value. Only dating people at or above your level isn’t snobbery; it’s rational. It confirms your new status, reinforces your self-worth, and ensures you are building a life with a partner who matches your ambition.
I’m just going to say it: Modesty is a terrible strategy; you should be proud and open about the work you’ve put in.
The Power of Owning It
When a colleague complimented my friend on his new, sharp jawline, he got flustered and mumbled, “Oh, I’ve just been working out.” It was a weak, transparent lie. When someone asked me about my transformation, I looked them in the eye and said, “Thank you. It was a meticulously planned, multi-year project involving a team of top surgeons. It was a significant investment.” The first response invited suspicion. The second commanded respect. Modesty is for people who are ashamed of their ambition. Own your work.
I’m just going to say it: Being “intimidatingly” attractive is a feature, not a bug.
The Ultimate Social Filter
A woman I was seeing once told me, “You know, you’re kind of intimidatingly handsome.” A few years ago, that would have sent me into a spiral of trying to be “nicer” or more “approachable.” I just smiled and said, “Thank you.” I realized that being “intimidating” is the ultimate social filter. It instantly weeds out the insecure, the weak, and the people who aren’t on your level. It doesn’t scare away the people you want; it scares away the people you don’t.
I’m just going to say it: You should curate your social circle like a museum curator, only allowing in the absolute best pieces.
Your Friends Are Your Brand
Look at your five closest friends. Their success, their ambition, and their appearance are a direct reflection of your own standards. I used to hang out with anyone who was fun. Now, I curate my social circle like a museum. I only allow in exceptional pieces—people who are smarter, more successful, or more disciplined than me. My old friends were comfortable. My new circle is inspiring. They are a living, breathing testament to the standards I hold for myself.
I’m just going to say it: The goal of dating apps is not to find love, it’s to confirm your new status in the sexual marketplace.
The Data, Not the Dates
After my final procedure, I didn’t go on a single date from an app for six months. I just swiped. I wasn’t looking for a partner; I was gathering data. I was analyzing the massive, quantifiable increase in the quality and quantity of my matches. It was the purest confirmation of my new Sexual Market Value. The apps aren’t for finding a soulmate. They are a powerful, data-driven tool for measuring the ROI of your investment and understanding your new position in the hierarchy.
I’m just going to say it: It’s okay to use people who are drawn to your new appearance for your own social and professional gain.
Leveraging Your Greatest Asset
I met a venture capitalist at a party. He was clearly drawn to my attractive female friend who was with me. I didn’t get angry; I got strategic. I used his interest in her as a foot in the door to pitch my startup idea. He took the meeting. Your enhanced appearance is an asset. It draws people in. Using that gravitational pull to get a job interview, a business connection, or an introduction is not “manipulative”; it’s the intelligent leveraging of your highest-performing asset.
I’m just going to say it: Once you’ve completed your transformation, you should never, ever post a “before” picture again.
The Anchor of the Past
I see people post their “before and after” photos, thinking it shows how far they’ve come. It’s a huge mistake. The “before” picture anchors you to your past. It allows people to see you as the person you were, not the person you are. It undermines your new identity. When I finished my transformation, I scrubbed the internet of every photo of my former self. There is no “before.” There is only the powerful, optimized version that exists now. Don’t give people the option of remembering you as anything less.
I’m just going to say it: The ultimate social hack is to become so attractive that the rules no longer apply to you.
The Beautiful Anomaly
I watched a stunningly beautiful woman talk her way out of a speeding ticket with a smile. I saw a handsome man get a reservation at a restaurant that was “fully booked.” I used to think this was a myth. It’s not. When you reach the top 1% of attractiveness, you start to operate in a different social reality. The rules, the queues, the social niceties that govern the lives of normal people begin to bend and flex around you. It’s the ultimate life hack: become the beautiful anomaly to whom the rules don’t apply.