Last month, I found myself at a coffee shop on the Upper West Side, waiting for a friend who was running late.

Two women sat at the table next to me, and I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation about a recent date.

One mentioned spending $200 on a facial before meeting someone new.

The other laughed and said she just made sure to wear her grandmother’s vintage earrings for good luck.

That moment stuck with me.

It perfectly captured something I’d been curious about for years: how our backgrounds shape what we believe makes us attractive.

So I decided to ask 50 people from vastly different economic backgrounds a simple question: “What do you do to look attractive?”

The answers revealed patterns I hadn’t expected.

They showed me how deeply our class backgrounds influence not just what we can afford, but what we believe beauty and attractiveness actually mean.

1) The working class focused on cleanliness and effort

The first pattern emerged quickly.

People from working-class backgrounds consistently mentioned basic hygiene and grooming as their primary focus.

“I make sure my clothes are clean and pressed,” one retail worker told me.

“I might not have designer stuff, but everything fits well and looks neat.”

A construction worker said he gets haircuts every two weeks without fail.

“Looking put-together shows respect,” he explained.

What struck me was the emphasis on effort over expense.

These respondents talked about ironing shirts, polishing shoes, and maintaining a consistent grooming routine.

They saw attractiveness as something you work for, not something you buy.

Many mentioned specific products they’d discovered through trial and error that worked well despite being affordable.

Drug store moisturizers that performed as well as department store brands.

Hair products they’d learned to use expertly over time.

There was pride in this knowledge, in making the most of what they had.

2) The middle class invested in optimization

Middle-class respondents approached attractiveness like a project to be optimized.

They talked about gym memberships, teeth whitening, and carefully researched skincare routines.

“I spend about $150 a month on fitness classes,” a teacher explained.

“It’s an investment in how I look and feel.”

An accountant detailed her quarterly Botox appointments and bi-annual shopping trips to update her wardrobe.

The language was different here.

Words like “investment,” “maintenance,” and “upkeep” appeared constantly.

These folks saw attractiveness as requiring consistent financial input, like maintaining a car or a house.

They’d calculated what they could afford to spend and created systems around it.

What fascinated me was the anxiety underneath.

Many expressed worry about “letting themselves go” or “falling behind.”

They felt pressure to keep up with beauty standards that seemed to constantly escalate.

The optimization never felt quite finished.

3) The wealthy pursued authenticity through exclusivity

Here’s where things got interesting.

Wealthy respondents rarely mentioned specific beauty practices at first.

Instead, they talked about wellness retreats, personal trainers, and “having good genes.”

When pressed for details, they’d mention their dermatologist by name, their colorist who “just gets” their hair, or their acupuncturist who keeps their skin glowing.

Everything was personalized, customized, bespoke.

But the real revelation was how they framed attractiveness.

They didn’t talk about looking attractive so much as being attractive.

“I eat organic, practice yoga daily, and prioritize sleep,” one startup founder told me.

“When you’re healthy from the inside, it shows.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

This “natural” look often required the most money to maintain.

The no-makeup makeup look achieved through $500 facials.

The effortless hair that required monthly $300 appointments.

The casual clothes that cost more than some people’s rent.

4) Status symbols shifted with each class

Each group had different markers of attractiveness that signaled their belonging.

For working-class respondents:

• Well-maintained basics like clean sneakers and neat nails
• Bold makeup or jewelry that showed personality
• Visible effort in grooming and presentation
• Pride in looking good despite limited resources

Middle-class respondents gravitated toward subtler signals.

Brand-name athletic wear that suggested an active lifestyle.

Professional manicures in neutral colors.

Highlights that looked natural but required regular maintenance.

The wealthy often pursued the opposite of obvious displays.

They wanted to look like they weren’t trying.

Expensive treatments that made them look naturally blessed.

Clothing that appeared simple but was impeccably made.

The kind of attractiveness that whispered rather than shouted.

5) Time emerged as the ultimate luxury

The biggest divide wasn’t actually money – it was time.

Working-class respondents did their beauty routines in stolen moments.

Quick makeup application on the subway.

DIY manicures while watching TV after the kids went to bed.

Haircuts squeezed into lunch breaks.

Middle-class folks scheduled their self-care but still felt rushed.

They’d book appointments weeks in advance, trying to juggle work and family obligations.

The wealthy had time as their secret weapon.

Two-hour morning routines.

Afternoon yoga classes.

Regular spa days that weren’t squeezed around anything else.

One executive told me she spends three hours every morning on her wellness routine.

Meditation, exercise, elaborate skincare, healthy breakfast preparation.

“That time is non-negotiable,” she said.

When I worked in wellness marketing in NYC, I saw this divide constantly.

Our products were technically available to everyone.

But only certain people had the time to use them as intended.

The 12-step skincare routine.

The hour-long morning yoga practice.

These weren’t just about money but about having a life that could accommodate them.

6) Confidence came from different sources

Perhaps the most revealing pattern was where people derived their confidence.

Working-class respondents found confidence in their resourcefulness.

They were proud of looking good on a budget, of their creativity and hustle.

Middle-class respondents found confidence in their discipline.

They stuck to their routines, met their goals, checked their boxes.

Wealthy respondents found confidence in their perceived authenticity.

They believed they were being their “true selves,” even if that self required significant financial support to maintain.

Each group judged the others.

The working class saw the wealthy as fake and out of touch.

The wealthy saw the working class as trying too hard.

The middle class felt superior to both while also feeling inadequate compared to both.

Final thoughts

These conversations taught me that attractiveness in America isn’t just about looking good.

It’s a complex performance of class, values, and belonging.

We’re not just trying to be beautiful.

We’re trying to signal who we are, where we belong, and what we value.

The tragedy is that each group’s version of attractiveness often excludes the others.

The “natural” look of the wealthy is impossible without money.

The effort of the working class is seen as trying too hard by those who can afford effortlessness.

The optimization of the middle class becomes an exhausting treadmill.

Since simplifying my own life and embracing minimalism, I’ve thought differently about attractiveness.

I’ve stopped chasing standards set by people whose lives look nothing like mine.

Instead, I focus on what makes me feel genuinely good.

Some days that’s a yoga class, other days it’s just clean hair and a smile.

What would happen if we all admitted that attractiveness is largely about class performance?

Could we free ourselves from impossible standards and find our own definitions of beauty?

Or would we just create new hierarchies, new ways to divide ourselves?

I don’t have the answers.

But I know that recognizing these patterns has helped me make more conscious choices about how I present myself to the world.

And maybe that awareness is the first step toward something more authentic.