Chayma Charifi

I don’t have a favorite donut, but if I had to pick, it would probably be a Boston cream or some sort of donut with filling. I’m not too concerned about the filling’s flavor, so long as it’s yummy.

I like glazed donuts, sure. They can be especially delicious when you’re not anticipating them, like when you walk into a classroom and a teacher surprises the class with an assortment of fried dough in a (medically) terrifyingly sweet glaze.

It’s like seeing a hot debater.

It’s a nice surprise, sure. But a donut with some sort of filling—whatever it is—is long-lasting, it’s satiating, it’s truly rewarding. It’s something that I wouldn’t anticipate coming across, but something I would seek if my sweet tooth beckoned me to search for a donut. Because it has something truly filling if one dares to take that first bite.

Hot people at a debate tournament are equivalent to a glazed donut. They’re a nice surprise, of course (no offense to my fellow debaters.… I’m sure you understand). In a room of plain donuts, they stand out upon first glance. Does that mean that they’re particularly intelligent or even great people? No. Does that mean they’re even effective debaters? At least from my experience, definitely not.

When you “bite” into them, is what you consume as sweet on the inside? Was the glaze able to conceal the plain dough underneath?

If we were to relay this to people more broadly, as I did with our hot debater, we might consider how this coating isn’t as substantive as what’s on the inside.

But this isn’t really revolutionary. You’re tired of hearing how important the inside is, compared to the “less important and superficial” outside.

While that’s true, I am applying this idea to how we might choose to make ourselves more valuable, more “edible,” by glazing ourselves instead of filling ourselves.

There is a tendency, especially demonstrated by Gen Z’ers on social media, to focus on “glazing themselves” after a painful experience or moments of insecurity and self doubt. A tendency to harp on how attractive they are, how they’re better looking than their ex’s new partner, how “good” they are at whatever meaningless activity they’re centering. They focus on “glowing up” after a wrong-doing, because by doing that, they’ve shown those who have wronged them that “they made the wrong decision.”

It’s convenient. But like all quick fixes, it doesn’t make up for what’s lacking underneath.

Just like a glazed donut, the dough is coated in a tasty glaze; it’s shiny and sweet with a hole at the center. Layering an appealing coating over something hollow and vapid doesn’t substitute the hole.

We might even see the hole as gouging ourselves of the opportunity to transform internally. If I don’t allow myself room to cultivate substance internally, then I have no choice but to deceive with an enticing exterior.

If I’m not doing the work to create something long-lasting and meaningful within me, I should strip myself of the room to do so.

If I decide that I will not love again after betrayal; if I reject myself before facing another rejection; if I abandon myself before someone walks past me on a display stand at Dunkin, then at least it was my choice.

Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?

This isn’t to judge those who glaze themselves. I have definitely done this myself. It’s simple, it’s easy. Who wouldn’t? Cultivating something inside yourself—something substantive, filling, long-lasting—is more work than mixing some palm oil and sugar together, lathering it on some dough and calling it a day. Like all things that are good for you, the glaze might feel fine for the moment, but if you’re anything like me, you prefer the filling.

A hot person is fascinating to look at, especially when you come across them in an unexpected location. But if they’re just that—hot—that initial experience of meeting them will be the only experience worth thinking about. In your own time, driven by your cravings, you’ll seek something more worthwhile, instead of accepting the free donuts that are gifted to you, the ones that are cheaper than those with filling, and for good reason.

We might be tempted to focus on the external because it is so incredibly easy to do. It’s easy to make yourself “more attractive” by whatever standard you abide by. It is harder, though, to cultivate the more valuable traits inside of you, the ones that take some digging into—that first bite—to discover.

It’s annoying, but it’s ultimately more rewarding to create that filling. It’s valuable. It’s worth it. And besides, a donut’s glaze can be wiped away in a second. But you would have to really work to extract the yumminess out of a delicacy like the Boston cream.

Be the Boston cream.

Thank you for joining me in the first installation of Chaywarma’s Phormula, where every two weeks, Chaywarma (me) philosophizes in the kitchen. See y’all later! In the meantime, let me cook.