When we look in the mirror, I suspect that very few of us see what’s objectively there in the reflection. So why is that?
Do we recognize what we see?
Mirror recognition is not as simple as it may seem. The vast majority of animals, including my guinea pig munchkins, lack this ability. When we as humans look at the reflection in the mirror, we’re seeing a blend of what our eyes tell us, what our minds expect to see, and what our inner critic tells us we should (but don’t) look like.
The distortion between perception and objective reality is extreme in eating disorders and body dysmorphic disorder (which is classified as an OCD-related disorder in the DSM-5). However, there’s still plenty of room for “normal” degrees of body image distortion.
Shoulds
Our whole lives, we’re bombarded with images of what we are “supposed to” look like, to the extent that it would be difficult not to start to internalize them. When we look in the mirror, the discrepancy between what we see and the ideal we wish we saw kicks our cognitive distortions into high gear, including magnifying flaws, minimizing or disqualifying positives, and black-and-white thinking that we are either beautiful or ugly, with nothing in between.
At least back in the day when I was young, supposed perfection came from what we saw on the big screen, on tv, or in magazines, and while that was bad enough we always knew there was a distance between them and us. Now, in the age of social media, regular people can become Insta-famous. The divide between us and them seems to narrow, which likely creates even more to look a certain way. Humanity is so imperfect, and the great Instagram shot that took two hours to get plus the application of filters is just not representative of the genuine human experience.
Cameras, cameras everywhere
The rise of the selfie (Oxford Dictionary’s word of the year back in 2013) means that we’re looking at ourselves more and more. Instead of just transiently evaluating images of ourselves in the mirror, we (and everyone else) are plastering them all over social media (you can read about the psychology behind selfies here). This intensifies the idea that how you look is of prime importance.
I’ve never been photogenic. As soon as I know there’s a camera, my face seems to automatically distort into bizarre expressions. Last summer, I was trying to take a photo of myself to use as an author photo on book sites. It took a lot of time and effort (and makeup) to get a shot that I felt was acceptable. I was a bit annoyed with myself for making such a production out of it, but that annoyance didn’t translate into any less motivation to be picky over the image I eventually chose to use.
Weight
Weight is probably one of the easiest things to distort when looking at our reflection in the mirror. Concern about health serves as a prettified, more palatable disguise for pervasive fat-shaming messages. My parents tend to be on the judgmental side to begin with, and they are very openly anti-fat. I’m not sure how they’ve reconciled that with the fact that I’m overweight now; maybe they’re prepared to accept my medications as an excuse, or maybe they’re disgusted by my current size. The latter is quite possible.
During the course of my illness, I’ve been skinny when I’ve been the sickest, and fat at my most medicated. It’s really made me challenge that culturally ingrained notion that skinnier is better. Based on BMI, I’m considered obese. But it is what it is, and going off meds isn’t an option for me.
I’m glad there are more plus-size models promoting body positivity whatever your size. It’s unfortunate that the average woman’s body is supposedly plus size, but it’s still a refreshing change to the size 0 models that we see so often. We need to see that people come in a wide range of shapes and sizes, and those differences do not in any way diminish anyone’s value.
Mental illness
When I look in the mirror now, I see a strange hybrid of the body I have now and the body that I used to have pre-psych meds. I care less about my body shape than I used to. I’ve noticed myself aging quite a bit over the last few years, and I feel like my illness had me look older. I don’t think that’s subjective, but it’s hard to say. There are definitely deeper lines in my face, and my hair has started greying. But all of it falls under the depression-induced cloak of apathy. And who knows, perhaps because I care less I’m actually seeing a more accurate picture looking back at me.
Makeup, hair, and clothes are things that I used to put some effort into, but I just don’t care anymore. My hair is always in a ponytail, my eyebrows are untamed, my legs are unshaven, and my daily uniform involves Gap maternity leggings. I no longer wear heels, and I haven’t worn a real bra in ages. The changes may be superficial, but they’ve happened because of deeper changes due to my illness.
How do you feel about what’s reflected back at you? Do you think there’s a big discrepancy between what you see in the mirror and what’s actually there?