I’m going to start this blog by saying something fairly controversial: Perfection is not unrealistic. What I mean by this is not that we should all strive for flawless skin, perfect proportions or some idealised version of beauty. It’s that striving for perfection is not unhealthy — as long as we understand what perfection actually is.
Typically, perfection is understood as the best of the best — the crème de la crème. Something free of flaws, of the highest standard, as good as it can possibly be. So when we talk about the perfect nose, the perfect lips, the perfect body or the perfect weight, we usually mean the best possible version of that thing. And since these standards are almost always tied to beauty, perfection quickly becomes reduced to one thing: How something looks.
But here’s the problem. For the ancient philosophers, nothing physical can ever be perfect. Not bodies, not objects, not experiences. Everything physical changes, ages, shifts and depends on perspective — and anything that changes or varies cannot represent perfection in its truest sense.
So no, there is no perfect nose. No perfect body. No perfect set of features. And that’s not a failure. It’s the point.
What perfection really is, is not something you can point to or photograph. It is an idea — the idea of the highest possible good. A kind of wholeness or completeness, where different parts work together in harmony. Perfection, then, is not about looking flawless. It’s about being whole. And what does that actually look like? Not symmetrical features. Not HD abs. Not pretty faces. It looks like balance. Balancing the different parts of yourself so they work together, rather than against each other.
In simple terms, perfection is you being fully and authentically you. Not fragmented. Not pulled in different directions. Not shaped by what you think you should be. But whole.
Now all that is good is beautiful, and what is beautiful is not ill-proportioned. Hence we must take it if a living thing is to be in good condition, it will be well-proportioned.
And this is where things really shift. Because if perfection is about your internal harmony, then it cannot be measured against anyone else. No one else can define your balance. No one else can tell you what “whole” looks like for you. Their version of harmony is not yours — and it’s not meant to be. So comparing yourself to someone else doesn’t bring you closer to perfection, it pulls you further away from it.
So how do you measure perfection? Not by looking in the mirror. Not by comparing yourself. Not by criticising your body. Instead, ask yourself: Am I being true to who I am? Are the different parts of me working together, or is one part dominating while others are pushed aside, ignored or silenced?
It’s a tool. A way of checking in with yourself. A way of asking whether you are living in alignment with who you actually are. And when you fall short — because you will — that’s not proof that you are not good enough. It’s a reminder. A reminder that you are enough, and that you may just need to come back to yourself.
I think it is better to have my lyre or a chorus that I might lead out of tune and dissonant, and have the vast majority of men disagree with me and contradict me, than to be out of harmony with myself, to contradict myself, though I am only one person.
No one else can tell you what kind of person you should be, so they certainly can’t tell you how to be it. Perfection, understood properly, is not about becoming someone else. It’s about becoming yourself — fully, honestly, and without conflict. Every person has a different balance to find. Every soul has a different song to sing. So go ahead — and belt out yours.
