The Substance: We'll Do Anything Not To Be Ugly
I heard light rain speckling and spattering across my windows as I sat at my desk, staring into my makeup mirror. Tiny light bulbs surrounding its rectangular frame illuminated every hair, blemish, and spot of slight discoloration I was unaware I had before. I remembered why I never set the mirror on the brightest light setting, but I decided not to panic—because I had a plan.
I need to tweeze my eyebrows.
And then I need to do a face mask.
And then, I need to go online and make sure I’m doing my skincare routine in the correct order. Because clearly, I’m fucking not.
Panic isn’t exactly the right word. But staring in that bright mirror for too long didn’t make me feel good. I felt both self-conscious and kind of vain. I was so relieved to hear the “Bamboo” sound alert from my phone plugged in across the room. That meant my sister was here. Her texts are set on a sound different from the rest of my contacts. We had a plan to see the new movie called The Substance. I was excited. Excited for all of it. To see my sister. To see the movie. And to get out of my bedroom, which I had spent too much time in that day. I always use the rain as an excuse.
I’m glad I didn’t use the rain as a lazy justification to put off seeing this film to another day. I haven’t seen a movie like it in a very long time. It was horrifying, sexy, emotional, and profound all at once. And it had something to say.
The Substance follows Elisabeth Sparkle, an aging Hollywood star with a hit fitness show. On her 50th birthday, Elisabeth faces a major career blow — her boss, Harvey, wants to replace her with someone newer, younger, and fresher. Driving home from meeting with Harvey, Elisabeth’s disappointment turns into distraction, and she gets into a car crash. At the hospital, a young nurse cryptically tells her she’s a “perfect candidate” — for what? Later that day, Elisabeth finds a mysterious USB drive. It’s an advertisement for "The Substance," a black-market drug that allows users to temporarily transform into a younger, more vibrant version of themselves. But there’s a catch: Elisabeth must switch between her original body and Sue, her alternative younger self, each week. As she becomes addicted to the newfound lifestyle of this new self, Sue, who lands the role of Elisabeth’s replacement for the fitness show, Elisabeth spirals into a destructive cycle, struggling to control this new identity.
Often, I see movies that make me feel nothing. Movies that don’t make me think about anything at all, and when the credits roll, I’m left feeling apathetic about the stranger’s names I’m watching pass by on-screen. And I’m not really an apathetic person, which makes me kind of hate those movies because I’m always trying to have some sort of experience when I’m watching. Whether a film makes me laugh or cry or ponder in existential dreads of the universe, it doesn’t matter. I just want to feel something. And I felt The Substance. “Holy shit” is the only way I can genuinely describe the experience of watching that movie. Every scene left me wanting more and more and more.
It was like I entered the theatre starving and left stuffed. It was one of the richest, most indulgent cinematic experiences I’ve had in what feels like an eternity. It definitely wasn’t my body that felt stuffed; all the blood and needles and vomit made me feel queasy. It was my brain that was nourished. It felt stimulated, switched on.
I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here saying that the suffocatingly social media-obsessed society of the present day has made people, especially women, hyper-critical of their material presence as it exists in the physical perception of human eyes and the digital impression of friends, followers, mutuals, and total strangers. We’ve always had the ability to curate ourselves. Through external things like clothing, hair, and makeup, we can use our body as a canvas for self-expression. But now, we have the ability to even further enhance our self-image through the content we post online. Content that anyone can look at any time they please. Though we have the choice of when to post and how much, that’s often influenced by what other people, strangers or not, project onto the digital landscape.
I am very against groupthink mentalities, so I will speak from personal experience when I say that, honestly, I have struggled with the constant comparison, capitalization of beauty standards and trends, and psychological toll that comes with an online presence. I feel like I always have to remind myself that what I’m seeing is curated content, that it’s not real.
That I should not be jealous of a stranger’s life that seems better than mine.
I should not be jealous of that girl’s body.
The gorgeous Almafi Coast “summer photo dump” was a meticulously crafted highlight reel.
There is a very high chance that those photos were photoshopped and facetuned beyond belief.
It’s a bad feeling, truly. Laying in bed, scrolling into oblivion, seeing a bunch of people who look effortlessly perfect, doing fun things and living seemingly great lives. I’ll get this sinking feeling that I’m not keeping up. But how am I going to keep up? I don’t even know what’s real and what’s fake anymore. Maybe I go on my phone too much, but I don’t think I’m the only one who’s felt like this.
The Substance is beautifully self-referential: a body horror movie about body image. The narrative probes at and picks apart the consequences of isolation and loneliness, body dysmorphia and body image, identity and self-worth, and Hollywood influence and stardom. It’s a refreshingly cathartic exploration of the contemporary difficulties women experience when dealing with self-image in the context of modern cultural expectations. Most people watching the film probably can’t directly relate to being so famous that we have our name engraved in a star on The Walk Fame (a la Elisabeth Sparkle), but the film does such a beautiful job characterizing Elisabeth that her celebrity status is the least interesting thing about her.
We can tell that pretty much immediately, but if we were to know Elisabeth in real life, we probably would never tell her that. But Harvey really could give less of a damn about hurting her feelings. And Elisabeth can’t get a particular line from him out of her head. “After 50, it stops,” he spews as mayonnaise-covered shrimp oozes out of the corners of his mouth. Her time in the spotlight is over, and he wants a new girl — one like her, but minus 30 years.
Elisabeth resents Harvey for the power he holds over her and her image. He is the curator. He gets to decide when the cameras go off. He gets to decide if she’s seen or not. She’s not new to this industry, and she knows he’s kind of right. People love the next fresh young piece of ass. Her stardom is dying just like her fertility, notions she overhears him say over the phone while he pisses in the urinal while she hides in a bathroom stall. She’s infuriated that he gets to decide whether she’s seen or not because, to Elisabeth, television screen time is existence. She lives a very solitary life. Alone. In her beautiful penthouse apartment. Unmarried. When Harvey turns the cameras off, are people going to know she exits? She doesn’t know.
She wants her spotlight back. But she doesn’t want people to see her as she is right now. She feels old. And unattractive. So, she takes the substance.
This film is an incredible addition to the horror genre because it merges real-life fears with over-the-top movie-magic gore. We really are utterly terrified of being ugly. Why are we so scared of being ugly? There are so many reasons, and this fear is serious and deep. I’m going to sound like a woke broken record when I say that it’s rooted in societal expectations and cultural narratives that equate beauty with value; in youth, women are conditioned to think that their worth is contingent upon their appearance. But it’s true. And while over the top (and a not subtle dig at the Hollywood system), the character of Harvey is the in-your-face reminder we need. Because men are often the ones perpetuating and capitalizing off of women’s insecurities. Being perceived as "ugly" becomes more than just a superficial judgment. It threatens a sense of belonging and acceptance in the world around us. We all want to belong, fit in, have a purpose, and feel good about ourselves. And … if being beautiful and young can … guarantee that …why wouldn’t we all care so much about it? And why wouldn’t Elisabeth, a megastar with all the world’s eyes on her, do everything to keep that?
The Substance expertly explores self-hatred because it’s not just about looks — it’s never really about the physical. It's about how we perceive ourselves in a world that demands perfection. We just choose to focus on the physical because that’s easy. You can see a wrinkle, but you can’t see isolation and loneliness induced by social rejection. But it’s more complicated than that. And maybe it’s easy for me to write that out because I am 30 years younger than Elisabeth. I empathize completely, but I don’t know what it’s like to be ostracized because of an aging body. I probably will eventually, though. And then maybe I’ll rewrite this.
Sue and Elisabeth are one, but Sue is also her own being with distinct wants and needs. While Sue is ostensibly the antagonist, they’re both multilayered and remarkably human. They are both fierce statements of character, and their cycle and dynamic truly drive the narrative. Sue makes Elisabeth spiral out of insecurity, and Sue hates how Elisabeth deals with the insecurity.
Once Sue appears, the film undergoes a significant visual transformation. The aesthetic becomes glossier, brighter, and more alluring, presenting her youth in a commercial and celebratory way. The slow-motion shots and flattering angles turn her body into an object of desire — a stark contrast to the earlier portrayal of Elisabeth. We are witnessing the glorification of youth, a glorification that Elisabeth both craves and despises, as the camera objectifies Sue’s gorgeous body and demonizes Elisabeth’s aging one. Sue’s primal scream at Elisabeth to “control yourself” after seeing the mess she made from her binge eating and drinking still echoes in my mind.
Interestingly, some of the film’s ultimate feminist statements lie in its homage to the works of iconic male directors like Stanley Kubrick, David Cronenberg, and David Lynch, who all have made significant contributions to the body horror genre. By referencing these filmmakers, writer/director Coralie Fargeat critiques and recycles the genre, using their stylistic elements to amplify the feminist narrative. The film challenges the male gaze, transforming traditional horror tropes into a commentary on women's experiences and struggles. It’s a cinematic exploration, yes, but the film never lets you forget that being a woman is real-life scary.
The Substance is a warning. A stark warning about the dangers of an appearance-obsessed culture that prioritizes youth and beauty above all else: it’s a fictional fable with consequences that haunt the everyday. I found it scary, horrifying, really. But, like I said in the beginning, it’s not without a resounding message. Embrace authenticity over conformity. Prioritize self-acceptance in a world that values superficiality. Remember how much more you are than your looks. As Sue and Elisabeth always remind the world at the final beat of their episodes, "Take care of yourselves." It’s a message we should all remember.
