This is a review (of sorts) of a book that shall remain Nameless, broken down into all the things it did that you Really Shouldn't Do. Parts one through five are listed here.

There's a tendency in fiction to use shorthand. The characters you're supposed to root for are all uncommonly comely, the enemy is hideous, and the charming sidekicks are unattractive-but-in-an-attractive-way, which has to be one of the more ridiculous concepts I've seen someone try to communicate. This works if you use it well. Most readers are happy to identify with a beautiful protagonist, and willing to allow an instinctive distress about deformation to colour their judgement of the antagonist. Beauty is a valid descriptive technique for a character, and by extension a characterisation.

But it doesn't work when everybody you ever meet is the most beautiful person on earth.

Imagine you were reading a novel set in a world where everything was blue. Blue grass, blue dirt, blue animals, blue people - there is no colour available but the colour blue. Now imagine that, every time the author describes something to you, they use the term 'blue' or 'navy' or 'aquamarine'. "Samual shifted his navy buttocks in the aquamarine chair, and tried to reach the indigo straps of his blue sandles". For a whole novel. 

Aside from making the novel twice as long as it needs to be, it's utterly redundant. If we know the world is blue, you don't have to keep telling us. We will just assume that whatever you show is, it's blue. 

The only time we should be reading about colour in this novel is when something isn't blue. Or if Samual can't decide between the sky-blue or the midnight suit. The only time it's relevant is when it's something out of the ordinary.

Let me get back to the beautiful people. In Nameless (and a lot of other books, but Nameless can take the brunt of the beating) everyone is beautiful, lithe, athletic, and thinking as much about sex as possible. A father and daughter (who, thankfully, don't know about their relation at the time) debate having each other as sexual partners. If you're introduced to someone, somebody else will be thinking about shagging them, and you have to know about it.

Now, perhaps the author wanted to communicate that this was a very sexually open world, full of beautiful people. I'm down with that. But beauty is a relative concept - we don't have an 'absolute' standard of beauty, where someone is beautiful if X is greater than 3.759. We need comparison to find beauty. So if everyone you meet is beautiful, then either your character's lived a very ugly life (she hasn't - she's also beautiful) or she just happens to be meeting every single extraodinarily beautiful person on the planet. And then sleeping with them.

It gets tedious. Rather than adding to a character's definition and individuality, it pulls them into the murk, making them harder to distinguish from the rest of the cast. It adds sentences, paragraphs and passages that needn't be there, and slows the story down.

If you want to create an effect - like the concept of a world all of blue, or a world of beauty and great sex, then repetition is not your friend. Or rather, repeating the same medium (eg personal description) is not your friend. Don't mistake it for subtlety, it's not. You need to vary how you send the message out - a lot of which comes down to good worldbuilding, rather than good writing, to give you a variety of avenues. But if you're not getting your point across, just saying it more frequently is not the way to go.