5 years ago, I was the literal blueprint for a NPC. recessed chin, could barely see my eyebrows under the cope cage, skinnyfat at 28% BF. My "style" was gamer tees from high school. Zero eye contact. Voice like a dial-up modem.
There was this girl in my extended social circle, Sarah. Not even a 10/10, maybe a 7, but she had that Stacy vibe. I, in my infinite delusion, thought being "nice" and "smart" was enough. Asked her to a movie after 6 months of simping. She didn't even reject me to my face. She just laughed to her friend Chloe, loud enough for everyone to hear: "Him? He looks...unfinished. Like a cartoon character they forgot to draw the jaw on."
Chloe, a true foot soldier of the Hollow, added: "It's giving subhuman. He needs to focus on his career."
The room died. My soul left my body. That was The Black Pill, swallowed raw.
I didn't say a word. I just left. That night, I found this forum.
The Glow-Up (The Grind):
· Mewing & Chewing: Became a religion. My masseters are now geological features. Jawline emerged from the fog like a cliff face. My previously recessed chin is now forward grown.
· The Iron Temple: Skinnyfat -> DYEL -> Athletic -> JACKED. Learned to squat. Shoulders like boulders. V-taper that breaks jackets. Went from 28% to 12% BF.
· Stylemaxxing: Threw out every graphic tee. Learned about fit, fabric, color theory. Went from boy to man. Barber every two weeks. Skincare isn't gay, it's warfare.
· Softmaxxing: Invisalign. Microblading for those lost eyebrows. Learned to speak from the chest. Took improv to kill approach anxiety.
It took three years. I became a ghost in my old life. Deleted socials. Focused only on the blueprint.
The Reckoning (The Scene):
Fast forward to last month. Industry conference. High-end hotel bar. I'm there for work, wearing a suit that fits like it was painted on. I'm with colleagues, holding court, laughing deep. I see her.
Sarah. At a table with Chloe and some bored-looking guy. She's looksmatched, maybe even faded a bit. The 7 is now a hard 5.5. She's staring. I see the flicker of recognition, then confusion, then dawning, horrifying certainty.
I excuse myself, walk past her table to the bar. I feel the eyes. I order a neat whiskey, turn, and let my gaze just...land on her. No smile. Just calm, detached assessment. The "Unbreakable Gaze."
She flushes. Looks away. Looks back. Chloe is wide-eyed, whispering furiously.
Sarah gets up. She walks over. Her vibe is frantic, unsure.
"Hey...[OP's Name]? Oh my god, it is you! You look... amazing. What have you been up to?"
I take a slow sip of whiskey. Let the silence hang. "Working. On myself."
"Oh, wow, well... it really shows! We should catch up sometime, the old crew—"
I cut her off, voice calm, low. The dial-up modem is now a bass-heavy podcast mic. "I'm good. Thanks."
I give her a slight,dismissive nod—the exact kind Chad used to give me—and turn back to the bar, engaging the bartender in conversation.
I didn't need to insult her. I didn't need to gloat. My presence was the insult. My indifference was the gloat. She was ghosted in real time, in front of her friends, by the "subhuman" she'd written off.
She slunk back to her table. They left 10 minutes later.
The Icing (The Proof):
The CEO of my firm (a literal alpha, 7-figure net worth) was at the other end of the bar. He saw the whole interaction—the approach, the shutdown, the aura I commanded.
He calls me into his office today. Not about work. He leans back and says:
"Okay. What's your secret? The workout, the style... everything. My son is in college and looks like a hostage. I need your routine."
The man whose approval I chased for promotions was now chasing my aesthetic approval for his bloodline.
I just smiled. "It's a long story. Starts with accepting a hard truth."
Moral of the story: The best revenge isn't getting the girl. It's becoming the man she tells her therapist about. It's having the life she auditions for in her daydreams. They gave me the Black Pill. I used it as fertilizer.
Stay on the path, brothers. The Glow-Up is the ultimate vengeance.
There was this girl in my extended social circle, Sarah. Not even a 10/10, maybe a 7, but she had that Stacy vibe. I, in my infinite delusion, thought being "nice" and "smart" was enough. Asked her to a movie after 6 months of simping. She didn't even reject me to my face. She just laughed to her friend Chloe, loud enough for everyone to hear: "Him? He looks...unfinished. Like a cartoon character they forgot to draw the jaw on."
Chloe, a true foot soldier of the Hollow, added: "It's giving subhuman. He needs to focus on his career."
The room died. My soul left my body. That was The Black Pill, swallowed raw.
I didn't say a word. I just left. That night, I found this forum.
The Glow-Up (The Grind):
· Mewing & Chewing: Became a religion. My masseters are now geological features. Jawline emerged from the fog like a cliff face. My previously recessed chin is now forward grown.
· The Iron Temple: Skinnyfat -> DYEL -> Athletic -> JACKED. Learned to squat. Shoulders like boulders. V-taper that breaks jackets. Went from 28% to 12% BF.
· Stylemaxxing: Threw out every graphic tee. Learned about fit, fabric, color theory. Went from boy to man. Barber every two weeks. Skincare isn't gay, it's warfare.
· Softmaxxing: Invisalign. Microblading for those lost eyebrows. Learned to speak from the chest. Took improv to kill approach anxiety.
It took three years. I became a ghost in my old life. Deleted socials. Focused only on the blueprint.
The Reckoning (The Scene):
Fast forward to last month. Industry conference. High-end hotel bar. I'm there for work, wearing a suit that fits like it was painted on. I'm with colleagues, holding court, laughing deep. I see her.
Sarah. At a table with Chloe and some bored-looking guy. She's looksmatched, maybe even faded a bit. The 7 is now a hard 5.5. She's staring. I see the flicker of recognition, then confusion, then dawning, horrifying certainty.
I excuse myself, walk past her table to the bar. I feel the eyes. I order a neat whiskey, turn, and let my gaze just...land on her. No smile. Just calm, detached assessment. The "Unbreakable Gaze."
She flushes. Looks away. Looks back. Chloe is wide-eyed, whispering furiously.
Sarah gets up. She walks over. Her vibe is frantic, unsure.
"Hey...[OP's Name]? Oh my god, it is you! You look... amazing. What have you been up to?"
I take a slow sip of whiskey. Let the silence hang. "Working. On myself."
"Oh, wow, well... it really shows! We should catch up sometime, the old crew—"
I cut her off, voice calm, low. The dial-up modem is now a bass-heavy podcast mic. "I'm good. Thanks."
I give her a slight,dismissive nod—the exact kind Chad used to give me—and turn back to the bar, engaging the bartender in conversation.
I didn't need to insult her. I didn't need to gloat. My presence was the insult. My indifference was the gloat. She was ghosted in real time, in front of her friends, by the "subhuman" she'd written off.
She slunk back to her table. They left 10 minutes later.
The Icing (The Proof):
The CEO of my firm (a literal alpha, 7-figure net worth) was at the other end of the bar. He saw the whole interaction—the approach, the shutdown, the aura I commanded.
He calls me into his office today. Not about work. He leans back and says:
"Okay. What's your secret? The workout, the style... everything. My son is in college and looks like a hostage. I need your routine."
The man whose approval I chased for promotions was now chasing my aesthetic approval for his bloodline.
I just smiled. "It's a long story. Starts with accepting a hard truth."
Moral of the story: The best revenge isn't getting the girl. It's becoming the man she tells her therapist about. It's having the life she auditions for in her daydreams. They gave me the Black Pill. I used it as fertilizer.
Stay on the path, brothers. The Glow-Up is the ultimate vengeance.
