Let me just start by saying: my best friend is ridiculously hot.
Like, unfairly hot.
The kind of hot that makes people do double takes when we walk into a room together. The kind of hot that causes waiters to “accidentally” bring her extra fries or write their number on the receipt. It’s almost comedic at this point, how this one human being can walk around looking like a magazine cover, while I—her loyal, slightly chaotic best friend—trudge beside her in sneakers and a hoodie like her quirky sidekick in a rom-com.
But I’m not mad about it. Not at all. In fact, I kind of love it.
Because my best friend? She’s not just hot-hot on the outside. She’s beautiful in the way that really matters too.
But let’s go back a bit.
We met in the most un-glamorous way possible: freshman orientation. Both of us were awkward, sweating in the summer heat, clutching maps of the campus like they were ancient treasure scrolls. I had on mismatched socks and she had toothpaste on her shirt. It was a match made in awkward heaven.
We bonded immediately. Maybe it was because we were both a little lost (literally and figuratively). Or maybe it was because she looked at me like I was someone worth talking to when everyone else seemed to already have their cliques. Whatever it was, it stuck.
Back then, she was hot, yes—but in that low-key, “has no idea how stunning she is” kind of way. The glow-up came fast and furious in sophomore year. Suddenly, she had confidence, style, eyeliner wings that could cut glass, and cheekbones that looked Photoshopped. She could wear a plain white T-shirt and somehow make it look like couture.
But even as the world started to take notice of her—stares in class, DMs from strangers, compliments from professors (“You should model!”)—she never once acted like she was above me or anyone else.
That’s one of the things I admire most about her. She could be the type to post filtered selfies with captions like “Felt cute, might delete,” but instead, she posts goofy photos of us eating noodles or her cat in a banana costume. She’s gorgeous, yes—but she’s also grounded, funny, wildly sarcastic, and full of heart.
There’s this unspoken rule between us: she might be hot-hot, but I’m the one who hypes her up like it’s a full-time job.
“You look like a goddess,” I tell her when she’s in sweats and a messy bun.
“Who let you walk around looking like that without a red carpet?” I gasp when she shows up in jeans and a tank top.
“Your cheekbones are a public safety hazard,” I declare regularly.
And she does the same for me. She’s my biggest cheerleader—even on the days when I feel like a potato with internet access.
We’ve had our fair share of hilarious moments because of her beauty. One time, a guy literally walked into a trash can because he was staring at her. Another time, someone at a coffee shop gave her a drink and said, “It’s on the house… and also, what house are you from? Because you’re giving goddess energy.”
But you know what’s even hotter than her face?
The fact that she’s the person who shows up with soup when I’m sick. The one who texts “You alive?” if I haven’t replied in a few hours. The one who celebrates my wins like they’re her own and listens to my rants with the patience of a saint.
She’s smart, too. Like scary smart. She once helped me write an entire essay in one night and it actually got an A. She’s the kind of person who gives the best advice—not because she pretends to know everything, but because she genuinely listens. And when I’m falling apart, she doesn’t try to fix me. She just sits with me, holds space, and lets me be a mess.
She’s the full package. Outer beauty? Off the charts. Inner beauty? Even better.
And yes, sometimes I’ve been asked the question: “Do you ever feel like you’re in her shadow?”
The answer? Not really.
Because my best friend doesn’t cast shadows. She radiates light—and when you stand beside her, she makes you shine too.
She celebrates me in every way. She hypes up my creativity, encourages my weird little hobbies, and once called me the “heart of the group” when someone asked what I bring to the table. She never competes with me, never puts me down to lift herself up. We’re just… us. A weird little duo that works.
People don’t always see it right away, but our friendship is what makes her truly hot. Because kindness, loyalty, and laughter? That’s the real glow-up.
So yes, my best friend is so hot hot—and I mean that in every possible way.
She’s hot in the way she walks into a room like she owns it, but always stops to compliment someone’s shoes. She’s hot in the way she dances in the kitchen with a wooden spoon as a microphone. She’s hot in the way she stands up for people, tells the truth even when it’s hard, and cries at cheesy movies because her heart is just that soft.
And me? I’m the proud sidekick, the forever hype machine, the lucky one who gets to call her best friend.
We’ve made a pact to grow old together—gray hair, laugh lines, bingo nights and all. One day, we’ll be those two little old ladies sipping tea, scrolling through old photos, and saying, “Remember when that guy walked into a pole trying to flirt with you?”
And I’ll still be saying, “My best friend? Still so hot hot.”
