We See Ourselves Too Much

Our images are too accessible — we're obsessed with them

You wake up in the morning, you stumble into the bathroom, and after fulfilling the perhaps only slightly more primal need to empty your bladder, you get to the sink and immediately look up into the mirror. You scan your face and hair, your skin and how puffy you are, and assess what you’re working with for the day. It might affect your mood a little more than you’re willing to admit. So, when did we start centring physical appearance so much in our lives? It’s no secret that pretty privilege exists, that we do pay heed to attractiveness, but my interest is more so when our image became so attached to our self-conception. 

Reflective mirror substitutes have been present for thousands of years, and perhaps it was an innate human need to see ourselves, a need which was satisfied by human ingenuity. As with most bad things, this was undoubtedly exacerbated in the 19th century when mirrors became mass-produced and commonplace, when it became readily accessible to stare yourself down, whenever, for however long you wanted. We, fully aware of the negative effects that mass exposure to aspirational and unrealistic beauty standards has had on our cognitive self-assessment, can readily make the connection between social media, commercialism, and a self-image which leaves us wanting more. 

But a siren sounded in my head when, upon doomscrolling one night, I came across a post which discussed the new ‘real face’ trend. It is now a talked-about phenomenon to present natural features on social media, as opposed to ‘iPhone face.’ I would like to specify that I am not inherently against plastic surgery, and think that our choices and our confidence are our own to assert action over. I do think, however, it is important to take a step back and see that we have, as a society, created a mass industry based entirely on the centrality of beauty standards, and how insecurity surrounding that is bred. In South Korea, there’s a shortage of oncologists, as many of its medical professionals are pivoting to more lucrative fields like plastic surgery. 

I almost see it as this induced evolution, which, since it can’t be genetic, is elective in the form of synthetic protein and nose jobs. It’s become so formulaic — the hourglass and button-nose, the biceps and strong jawline — and it’s all encompassing. It’s so much of what we spend our time and mental energy on. 

This can, and often does, manifest in a societally-enabled arrogance with fitting this beauty standard, an excuse to be held less accountable for other aspects which make us ‘good’ people. On the other hand, overt insecurities developed over the rest of us who don’t carry all of our weight in our glutes, as with all insecurity, is also damaging, inescapable, and often projected and reflected in a detrimental way onto society.  

So why this hyperfixation? I asked myself upon catching a glimpse of myself in my full-length mirror, bitterly wishing my body looked different, praying for the red spot on my forehead to subside. Is the amount of time and energy I spend critiquing every feature on my face and body… normal? Are we truly able to function to the best of our ability whilst scrutinising the parts of ourselves that are largely out of our control? 

I’m not going to claim that we are capable of a certain degree of fixating on our appearances. I especially think that feeling confident about how you look and expressing yourself through how you present, can be so much fun — but the flip side of unhealthy obsessions, forging a bottomless pit of chasing perfection, is not a meaningful use of our time and resources. It’s often difficult for us to divorce our value as a person from our bone structure and lack of hair frizz, but we must feed back into society that insecurity surrounding our looks should always be second to working on our characters, how we make people feel, and what we make of our opportunities. Beauty standards come and go, looks change with age, and weight fluctuates. Ultimately, people will always remember who you are, and not the spot on your chin.

Illustration by Zoe Small