I’ve often wondered if what I see in the mirror is “real”. Is it actually the way others see me? Or is there some strange kind of distortion that occurs when we try to perceive ourselves through a looking glass? 

After a little internet sleuthing, it turns out I’m onto something. Yes, our reflection is flipped and warped, but there’s also a phenomenon called “mirror face”, where we alter our expression automatically when confronted with a mirror. Essentially, we’ve learnt to strike a pose, even if we’re only performing for ourselves. Weirder still, this study found that when we look at our reflection for a few minutes in low light, observers often see “distortions of their own faces… hallucinations like monsters, archetypical faces, faces of relatives and deceased, and animals.” Humans are strange little creatures.

Metaphysically though, I think it goes much deeper. If we’re spiritual beings here to have an earthly experience of “reality”, there’s always going to be a little bit of cognitive dissonance between who we feel we are and the physical vessels we exist within. On the inside, I might envisage myself as strong, athletic and in my prime, only to be confronted by an optical illusion of myself that is the opposite.

As a child, I loved to gaze at myself in the mirror. I’d squish my guts together to make weird little folds and faces. You’d find me practising different expressions and telling myself stories a lot (although that probably had to do with the fact that I was an only child with not a lot of other kids around for company). The girl I saw looking back at me was funny and sweet and curious. It was uncomplicated. I wasn’t projecting a lifetime of conditioning onto myself. 

My teen years were, unsurprisingly, when things got fuzzier. I started to have “aspirations” – ways I wanted to look. A benchmark against which I came to measure myself and ultimately be deemed lacking. I decided that the best approach to surviving adolescence was to blend in to the extent that I was invisible. Not nice and even as I write this there’s a pang of awkward angst that reminds me how grateful I am for making it out alive. 

It wasn’t a conscious choice, but these thought patterns started a strange communion with mirrors that I’ve carried through the rest of my life. Internally, I feel good. I like who I am. But I crave the visual confirmation of a mirror, despite knowing that a flat, two-dimensional reflection can never reveal the complexity of my personhood. Inevitably, that disappointment leads to me berate myself and swear that if I work harder/eat healthier/am smarter, I’ll eventually see my ideal self staring back. 

So it was an interesting process to dream up a mirror of my own design. As with everything I create, it’s a feeling that I’m chasing. The high I get when something from my imagination now exists and I can hold it in my hands. Once the Narcissus mirror was installed in our newly renovated bathroom, something shifted. I stood before it that night, brushing my teeth beside my husband. I marvelled at the beautiful lives we’re lucky enough to lead. What I saw looking back at me looked “right”... not perfect, but also not warped. It was us, and I was able to stay present long enough to take it all in without wanting to make any amendments or concessions.

I’m not sure why that makes me emotional. 

There is so much mythology around mirrors, and while I love those traditions, I can also see how they create a certain heaviness. In the end, it’s just a plane of glass. All those centuries of fables, telling us to be wary of what we see aren’t doing us any favours. I’d like to think that I’m at a point in my life where I can reinterpret all of that into something that’s more meaningful for me. TLDR: mirrors aren’t scary, what you’re seeing is just an avatar, and it’s alright to enjoy what’s looking back at you.

Image credits:

I - Echo Pavilion by Pezo Von Ellrichsausen at Palazzo Litta via @alexlesage__ 

II - Eyeballs via @a_year_of_skies

III - Via Cosmos