Before mirrors

Not long ago, we humans lived without cameras or video. Even longer ago, we lived without mirrors. You may have touched your face and presumed it was vaguely similar to your mother's or your sister's, but you never really knew. You had to watch the eyes and lips of your loved ones and trust that they told you the truth.

You're beautiful.

Even if your loved ones were blinded by their bias and love, what did it matter? Whom else did you need to look beautiful for?

Then mirrors were invented. But even then, they were crude and reserved for the most elite among us. Elongated faces and images far too dark—you would have known they were distorted.

With modern mirrors, you knew your face and the faces of the people you met. You could only see your face as it was that day. You could only see other faces as they were that day. You couldn't look back on a past face or face of a stranger you've never met. And you trusted your eyes to tell the truth.

You're beautiful.

Then came cameras and video. You could see yourself now and yourself in the past. You could see faces of people you've never met and their faces from years ago. You could see faces of people who died before you were born. You could see anything—some not even real, but edited, filtered, altered, cut, spliced, and touched up. Some posted from a million miles away. Some people you'll never know who pick and choose what you see of them.

And I don't trust my eyes nor my loved ones' eyes. I don't trust that they tell the truth. 

Am I beautiful?

How I look at photos of a younger me and see nothing but changes—two starkly different women since all that has happened. Yet with these photos, I can compare. For a moment, time ceases to exist. Me today can stand next to me ten years ago. I am only critical when I am comparing myself to myself.

Am I still beautiful?

But somehow worse is comparison to strangers. How many hours in my life have I compared myself to women I will never even stand beside before I die? All day, I could stare in a mirror or a photo or a video and compare myself to these women I will never even stand beside before I die. Comparison only made possible by cameras and videos.

But it is hard to listen to my husband say I'm beautiful even one more time. Why? Even if he is blinded by his bias and love, what does it matter? Whom else do I need to look beautiful for but him?

All this technological advancement—mirrors, cameras, video—seems like a big waste of my time.