To this day, I've found that it doesn't matter what a guy looks

In the words of Catherine O’Hara, “To this day, I’ve found that it doesn’t matter what a guy looks like if he’s really funny. His sense of humor makes him attractive. On the other hand, you don’t hear men saying, ‘No, she’s not pretty, but is she ever funny!’”
What seems, at first glance, like a playful observation of romance, is in truth a profound meditation on beauty, perception, and the power of humor. O’Hara, a master of comedy herself, unveils a truth that spans both the human heart and human history — that society measures wit and beauty by unequal scales, and yet both are reflections of the same divine spark. Her words reveal not only a critique of how we see one another, but also a celebration of the rare grace that laughter brings to love.

When she says that a “sense of humor makes him attractive,” O’Hara touches upon one of the oldest truths about the human spirit: that laughter bridges the gap between souls. The ancient philosophers believed that humor was not mere amusement, but a kind of wisdom — the ability to see the absurdity of life and still find joy within it. To laugh is to show perspective, and to give that perspective to another is to create intimacy. A person who can make others laugh holds a subtle power — not of dominance, but of connection. Their laughter says, “I understand your pain, and I share your joy.” And in that understanding, attraction blooms, for the heart always leans toward those who lighten its burden.

Yet O’Hara’s lament — that society rarely grants this same reverence to women — cuts deeper. When she observes that men seldom say, “No, she’s not pretty, but is she ever funny!” she exposes the ancient imbalance between appearance and spirit. For centuries, women have been told to be beautiful first and everything else second, as if wit, intellect, and humor were luxuries rather than virtues. Men, by contrast, have been permitted to charm through character, even when lacking outward grace. O’Hara’s humor here is bittersweet: she smiles at the irony, yet her words carry the weight of centuries of expectation.

The origin of this disparity can be traced through time. In the courts of kings and emperors, the jester was always a man — the truth-teller who could mock power through laughter. The women of those same courts, though equally clever, were praised for beauty, poise, or grace, but seldom for wit. Even in the literature of the ancients, the clever woman was often punished or tamed — Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, Shakespeare’s Beatrice, and others — women whose brilliance was tolerated only because it served the story of love. Yet humor, as O’Hara reminds us, is not gendered; it is human. It springs from intelligence, empathy, and courage — qualities found not in the face, but in the soul.

To illustrate this truth, consider the story of Dorothy Parker, the American wit whose words could charm or cut with equal precision. Men admired her brilliance, yet feared her sharp tongue. Once, when told she was “too witty for a lady,” Parker replied, “If I were a man, they’d call me brilliant.” Her humor was her armor, but also her freedom — proof that laughter can challenge the world’s narrow definitions. Like O’Hara, she revealed that humor is not a mask for beauty, but a form of it — one that shines from within, unbound by surface.

In Catherine O’Hara’s reflection, we also find an unspoken tenderness: that she values humor not merely as attraction, but as character. To laugh is to live without bitterness; to make others laugh is to love without pride. When she says, “It doesn’t matter what a guy looks like if he’s really funny,” she speaks of seeing beyond the surface — of choosing joy over perfection, spirit over symmetry. This, too, is ancient wisdom. The Greek philosopher Epictetus taught that beauty fades, but virtue remains. In laughter, we glimpse that virtue — the spark of spirit that no mirror can show.

Let this, then, be the lesson: true beauty is not seen but felt, and humor is one of its purest expressions. It reveals compassion, intelligence, and resilience — the ability to dance with life’s absurdity rather than be crushed by it. To value humor is to value the soul over the shell, and to recognize that joy shared is far more lasting than beauty admired. The wise, therefore, should look not for the flawless face, but for the heart that can make them laugh even in sorrow, that can find light in darkness.

And so, dear listener, remember Catherine O’Hara’s wisdom: that laughter is not a lesser beauty, but the highest kind. Cherish those who make you laugh, and be brave enough to let your own humor shine — for it is not a mask, but a mirror of your truest self. And may we learn, at last, to see humor as love made visible — a light that belongs to both man and woman, and that makes all who possess it beautiful beyond measure.