Writing about glow-ups seemed simple enough. Talk to some people, get their transformation stories, and crack a few jokes about braces and middle school photos. But the moment I started asking around, people shut down faster than the Wi-Fi in the library. Some laughed nervously and said, “I don’t think I had one.” Others got slightly offended, or worse, just plain sad. After a few of these reactions, I realized I wasn’t writing about glow-ups anymore. I was writing about the universal fear that maybe yours hasn’t happened yet.
At Nobles, the consensus is that a glow up means fixing something: posture, skin, maybe wardrobe. It’s a competition no one signed up for disguised as self-care. Eat cleaner, dress better, pretend you discovered retinol before it was cool. But once you start asking questions, it gets complicated. When does it actually count as a glow-up? What if your “after” still looks like an unfinished draft?
Historically, glow-ups at Nobles have been subtle. No one bursts through the door after summer break unrecognizable; there’s a little more nuance to it. A few people start dressing better, some figure out hair gel, others just start sleeping eight hours, and it shows. The change doesn’t happen overnight; it sneaks in between seasons, unnoticed until you realize someone who used to live in their hoodie suddenly looks like they read GQ, the men’s fashion magazine for people who iron their T-shirts.
It’s not dramatic, but that’s kind of the point. Real glow-ups aren’t cinematic; they’re small shifts that pile up until everyone forgets what the “before” even looked like. And still, there’s pressure in pretending self-improvement happens effortlessly. You can’t let anyone catch you trying. The perfect glow-up is supposed to look accidental, like you just woke up one morning with a skincare routine and emotional stability. That’s the paradox: We spend hours chasing something we can’t even admit we’re chasing.
If anyone could crack the code behind that paradox, it’d be Emery Nordahl (Class I), the self-proclaimed expert in the science and suffering of transformation. The man treats it like an art form. “One day, I looked in the mirror, and it didn’t shatter. That’s when I realized I’d unleashed my true form,” Nordahl said when asked when he knew his glow up had officially “glown up.” His “before” era? “Dark. Disgruntled. Furious,” he said. His most embarrassing photo? Freshman year: “Cartman Halloween costume,” Nordahl said. But even in the way he jokes about it, the glow-up feels less like a finish line and more like something that keeps moving. Every “after” photo is just one new “before,” waiting for hindsight to catch up.
Nordahl’s approach to confidence is part discipline, part absurdist philosophy. “The only thing I fear is reaching the absolute peak and plateauing as I become a godlike figure,” he said. It’s funny, but it captures something real about glow-ups: they never really end. Even when you think you’ve reached your “after,” there’s always another version waiting. The goalpost keeps moving, and maybe that’s what makes the whole thing exhausting. When pressed on the balance between inside and out, he gave a surprisingly grounded answer: it’s not just about looking different, it’s about feeling different too. We chase the external change hoping it’ll fix something internal, when the real shift usually happens the other way around.
What’s funny is how quickly a conversation about appearance turns psychological. Maybe that’s why people avoided the interview in the first place. Talking about glow-ups means talking about insecurity, how you think you’re seen, and how badly you want that to change. Asking someone about their “after” is really just reminding them of their “before.”
And that’s the thing. Glow-ups are a scam. They sell the idea that there’s a fixed version of you waiting to be unlocked, as if you just drank more water and bought a jade roller, you’d finally arrive. But no one actually arrives anywhere. The more we obsess over improving, the more we notice what still isn’t fixed. For something that’s supposed to make people feel confident, glow-ups just make them feel insecure. Maybe that’s because we treat them like trophies instead of check-ins.
But the truth is, most glow-ups don’t happen in the mirror. They happen when you stop trying to prove one happened at all. It’s not about the right filter, or the perfect jawline, or reinventing yourself into a Pinterest board. It’s about the hushed, less glamorous kind of confidence, the feeling that seeps in when you realize you don’t need permission to like yourself.
So, if you’re reading this and still waiting on your “after” photo, don’t panic. Everyone’s in their “before” era, and that’s kind of the point. The glow-up isn’t the sign of a checkered flag; it’s the slow process of learning to love who you already are. And if nothing else, take comfort in this: you’re not the same person you were five years ago, and that alone counts as progress, no matter the direction.
