Mirrors: Not a Justin Timberlake Song

I think Cher Horowitz said it best in Clueless when she said, “I never trust a mirror”. (Yep, two Clueless quotes in under a month. Get off me). If we’re all being honest with ourselves, or rather, if we aren’t, we can agree that mirrors are filthy liars who reflect whatever you’re feeling at the time. Snow White knew it. Cher knew it. We all know it. Knowing, however, is only half the battle. You have to acknowledge that the mirror is not accurate of what you’re truly showing the world, and then accept the true portrait when faced with large quantities of photographic proof. Let’s get literary for a moment. Mirrors are like Dorian Gray, and pictures are like that disgusting painting of Dorian Gray that’s rotting in the attic. Uh oh, we’re getting Wilde over here! Google that.

Juts bringing the hotness.

Juts bringing the hotness.

Facebook has made it especially hard for me to deny what I actually look like, as has my penchant for selfies via Instagram, Snapchat, whatever. I sometimes say, “I’m not a photogenic person” but at some point I have to own up to the fact that not every single candid shot can be wrong. I think it’s time to admit that I really, truly do look like that. That is honestly what I’m doing with my face when I’m sitting quietly in a meeting at work. When I want to appear to be listening intently, my brain pulls the lever and my whole head shifts back on my shoulders until I have not two, but three chins. This same “listening intently” face is also the one that happens automatically when someone points a camera at me. I have had to be told on several occasions not to make “the face”. But I’m a rebel. I’ll triple chin if I want. Online dating profile, here I come!

A picture is worth a thousand chins.

A picture is worth a thousand chins.

On the rare occasion when I get ready to go out on the town, I tend to blast some feel-good music and get inspired by my lipstick. I get that straightener out and tease some volume into my quirky locks and I smirk into the mirror before flouncing around to pick out shoes. I feel sexy. I’m ready to show the world what they’re missing and I’m ready to start with Instagram, so I raise an eyebrow and try to find that perfect midway between duckface and “What? That’s what my lips look like!” and bam! Click. It’s gotta be a great picture. I just saw my sexy self. Shouldn’t take long to caption and uploa—oh no.

Oh. So...that's, that's it.

Oh. So…that’s, that’s it.

That’s what I look like?! What the hell? Where did that extra skin come from? Is that a lazy eye?! I’m definitely getting a nose job. You can’t fix double chins with a sepia filter.
So I guess it comes down to what we’re willing to do about it. I, for one, just continue deluding myself with mirrors (or old, rotting paintings) until someone shoves the warm, squishy truth onto my timeline.



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