vanity

For my post grad buddy v.c.l who I have spent afternoons with doing buzz feed questions and talking about becoming an adult– “write about a fitting room from the mirror’s point of view.”

I only know how I look when other people look at themselves.

And today, I must look gross because that woman in front of me who is trying to fit into an extra small dress is spilling her bust out from the top, shimmying and shammying into the tight tube dress. Seriously people. There are different sizes for a reason.

Anyway, she is grimacing now and that’s how I know that I don’t look so great. I have already seen multiple people before her frown in that way; that unsatisfied, frustrated look of being straitjacketed by society’s standard of beauty.

She snorts and rips the cloth off her body, picking up her hot pink tote bag and stomps out of the room, pointing her nose as high up as she could.

All kinds of people come into this room– big, small, tall, short, man, woman, or sometimes both. Wrinkles, acne, make up, no make up. All go through the same motion of taking off their old clothing to try on new prospectives. What’s the point of it all anyway?

They come in and take pictures of themselves in all sorts of angles, some that I don’t want to see. But I don’t have a choice anyway. Some come up to me and put their hand on my body, but don’t see me. They are so infatuated with themselves, its disgusting.

Then there are those shy ones. They try on clothing they wouldn’t wear outside of the fitting room. The clothing hangs awkwardly off their body, but they grin anyway. I cheer for them go for it! but they don’t see me so they sigh and slip it off, sulking out of the room.

Actually, It is not that I know how I look when people look at themselves. I only realize people’s perceptions of themselves when they look at their own reflection.

But wait.

Who is this?

A small creature is smiling, eyes glistening, not a care in the world. She giggles and twirls then stops to step in close and stares, and I see that she is not looking at herself, she is looking at me, and suddenly I get a little embarrassed.

“Mama! Look at the mirror– it’s blushing!”

“Hush child, there’s no such thing.”

She comes close, her curious, round, milk chocolate brown eyes gazing at me in wonder.

No one has ever seen me; they only see themselves. But she’s looking right at me like she looked past herself and saw me and I didn’t even know that’s possible…

And this time I looked at me in the reflection of her eyes; I perceive myself this time.

And damn.

I look good.