Mirror, Mirror on the… Well, Everywhere…If I never have to see myself again, it will be too soon.

Another day, another dollar. Or, as I like to say, another day, another debilitating dose of Zoom dysmorphia. Yes, you read that right — Zoom dysmorphia. Don't worry, I suffer from the other kinds too, but lately I’ve found myself particularly troubled by how frequently I’m confronted with my digital reflection. At the end of a workday (which typically requires many hours spent in Zoom meetings, Slack huddles, etc.), I’m exhausted by the level of physical self-awareness I’ve been forced to develop. It feels similar to when you stare at a word for so long that it starts to look misspelled — except in this case, the word is my face and instead of appearing misspelled it appears strange, ugly, and unrecognizable.

In an attempt to escape this uneasiness, I might shut my laptop with a performative vigor meant to signify the end of the day, and (hopefully) the end of my torment. This exhibition is always in vain, however, as I’m forced to face myself again almost immediately — this time in the mirror sitting on my desk that, until a moment ago, was hidden by my open computer. The mirror version of me is different from the digitized one I’ve been scrutinizing for the past eight hours. She’s slightly more familiar, sincere, maybe even prettier. Does that make me feel better? Maybe for a few seconds, but mostly it just enhances my exasperation. Which version of me is real? Which one is false? And most unsettling of all, which one do other people see? I want to rub my eyes until they forget any trace of my reflection.

[pinterest pic]

Caption: Image via Maddy Goddard/Pinterest (original artist unknown) I want to shatter all memories of what I look like and start fresh.

Zoom as a trigger for this unpleasant sensation is a relatively recent occurrence (I didn’t start using the application regularly until the pandemic and after I started my current job), but the general feeling of being disturbed by my appearance is something I’ve dealt with since middle school. After all, mirrors and photographs have existed far longer than I have, and I recall spending precious hours of my adolescence reeling against the images they projected of me. Once, when I was feeling particularly at odds with their portrayals, my dad hit me with an unusually helpful rendition of the classic “back in my day” spiel. He said that when he was a kid, he endured all the same insecurities as present-day teens, but with the advantage of having less access to his own image. For example, he wasn’t able to pull out his phone camera to examine his reflection throughout the day, or visually interrogate the high-resolution details of unflattering photos. And he definitely wasn’t able to spend class, work, or other activities staring at himself rather than the people he was interacting with. Naturally, this made him slightly less conscious of what he looked like, allowing him to focus more on what he felt like. There were simply fewer opportunities for self-image bubble bursting than today.

By “self image bubble bursting,” I mean that deflating feeling of being presented with a depiction of yourself that doesn’t align with how you feel about yourself. It’s like having an ice-cold bucket of water dumped on you and extinguishing whatever confidence or ignorance was carrying you through the day. Maybe I’m just exposing my own insecurities, but I’m sure I’m not the only person who has experienced the humiliation of having a picture (or any other type of image) ruin an otherwise enjoyable event. It’s a bizarre — and, in the grand scheme of human history, pretty new — phenomenon to be abruptly ripped from your present bodily experience and forced to view it from an external perspective.

This type of dissonance isn’t exclusive to teenagers or young adults either. While age is often said to provide perspective that helps mitigate the effects of physical insecurity, I believe its benefits are rather minimal when it comes to combating digital dysmorphia. I was talking to an older coworker of mine (non-derogatory) about this recently, and he expressed that remote work is often difficult for him because of the absurdity of having to constantly look at himself. “I’d rather just turn my camera off,” he said when referring to virtual meetings, “otherwise I can’t focus on anything but my face.” I detected a level of vulnerability in his tone that suggested he felt isolated and embarrassed by this admission. I quickly assured him that he was not alone at all — quite the opposite, actually — I was willing to bet he was in the company of anyone who has ever participated in a virtual activity of any kind, myself included. I described the below meme in an effort to emphasize my point:

[staring at yourself during a Zoom meeting meme]

Caption: Me everyday for eight hours.

I hope he found this at least somewhat comforting, but I know there’s a limit to the transformative power of amusing internet content, no matter how relatable it may be. I also suspect that the shame around admitting to fixating on one’s appearance originates not from fear of being the only one doing it, but rather fear of sounding — or, God forbid, truly being — vain or self-centered. For non-digital natives such as my coworker, I imagine this fear is compounded by the lack of selfies, cosmetic procedures, and self-promotion present during their formative years. These things may feel central to our culture now, but I don’t think it was always as acceptable to care so explicitly about what you looked like. To confess to such a preoccupation must consequently feel even more awkward for older generations than it does for the rest of us.

But when it comes to this kind of self-fixation on an application like Zoom, I have to wonder: while it’s not not vain or self-centered to stare at yourself for the entirety of a remote work meeting, isn't it also human nature, at least to a degree? Can we truly expect people not to be preoccupied with their reflection when presented with it so plainly? To pay no attention at all seems almost as unnatural as the concept of Zoom itself.

This idea is supported by human evolutionary science and the invention of the mirror, one of the most widely used tools for examining physical appearance (at least up until this point). In an article for Discover Magazine titled “How the Mirror Changed Humanity Forever,” Stephen C. George wrote that “among humans, recognizing your reflection as your reflection — in short, having a basic sense of self — is a foundational aspect of cognition and an important part of human development.” It seems only natural then, that humans, with all of their curiosity and inventiveness, would find a way to gaze upon this much sought after “self.” And gaze they did. Though it wasn’t until the 1830s that mirrors became affordable and thus widely available, they’ve existed in some way shape or form for thousands of years. For instance, the oldest mirror ever discovered was made of polished volcanic glass and dated all the way back to 6000 B.C. (6000 B.C.!!!). Clearly, the desire to look at oneself is not a new one, even if many of the tools we use to do so today are. While mirrors have played a crucial role in shaping human self-perception, it’s important to note that self-awareness isn’t dependent on physical sight. People with visual impairments, for example, don’t lack an understanding of their identity simply because they’ve never seen their reflection. The same is true for those who have never encountered reflective tools beyond the natural world. However, just because you don’t have to look at yourself doesn’t mean you don’t want to. As mentioned earlier, we’re almost biologically driven to do so, making the invention of mirrors a significant — almost predestined — moment in human history. Indeed, we spent so much time gazing into them that they “reshaped humanity’s idea of what it means to be an individual.” Suddenly, we were unique — truly unique — in a way we had never even considered before. No longer were we just a small part of a larger mass of bodies and souls, we were special.

[picture of Jake Gyllenhaal in Nightcrawler)

Caption: “I’m special!” I scream as I wipe off my makeup and start over for the third time. Nightcrawler (2014).

It makes sense, then, that given the opportunity to stare at your special self for the duration of a work meeting, you would take it. After all, if it’s evolutionarily valuable to be able to identify your reflection as your own, how can you be expected to ignore it — talking, frowning, laughing — right in front of you?I, for one, don’t ignore it — not even close. But I also don’t find my inability to look away particularly valuable. The fatigue born from this constant self-fixation makes me question if humans have advanced too rapidly for our own good. This is not a new take (maybe I’m not so special after all), but it’s still important to consider when contemplating the state of modern insecurity and the impact of digital reflective tools like Zoom. As stated above, we only invented widely accessible mirrors in the 1830s, meaning we spent the preceding thousands of years with little more than rippling reflections in bodies of water to examine our appearance. How can we go from that to being berated with images of ourselves from every angle, everywhere, all the time, in less than two hundred years?

This thought intensified when I was at a concert recently with Kerry (roommate, brilliant friend, etc. — you guys know this by now) and she remarked on how few people were “getting their groove on.” As she said this, I realized that I, too, was hesitating to groove. Despite the beloved tunes I was there to hear and the desire to dance I felt deep in my bones, I was barely bopping my head back and forth. Why?

I ruminated on it for days afterward and came to a realization: everyone feels surveilled. Not just by the eyes of our peers, but by the eyes of our peers’ cameras (not to mention the eyes of our peers as they look through the eyes of their cameras!). Yes, we live in a cell phone surveillance state — not just the kind that Mr. Snowden warned us about, but the kind that steals the joy from a frivolous dance by forcing us to see how stupid we looked doing it.

[you’re on camera picture]

Caption: Everyone, everywhere, all the time.

So while it might be true that we’re inherently interested in the way we look, I'm not convinced we’re psychologically prepared for the level of self-awareness we’re forced to have now. My Zoom dysmorphia, reflection exhaustion, and fear of being perceived have all made me realize that some things are better left to the imagination.

I have a right to believe I look like Shakira while dancing clumsily at a concert. I have a right to remain ignorant of the way my mouth moves while giving a presentation at work. For God’s sake, I have a right to cry to my therapist during a telehealth appointment without pausing to reflect on how ugly my cry face is! I deserve to live more freely, honestly, presently — we all do. I know we can’t stop existing in this world we’ve created, but recognizing the unnaturalness of its many contours can be a small yet important step on the path to self-acceptance.

Briton Graber was born in 2000 in Northern Virginia and earned her B.A. in Media Studies from the University of Virginia in 2023. Now based in New York City, she writes about the intersections of media, memory, and modern life, often examining how evolving digital landscapes shape personal and cultural experience.