Mirror, Mirror Off the Wall Page 23

  My dad and I reached the front row of guests, and I turned to my mom, linking arms with her so that she could join us for the remaining few yards to the altar. And then, before I knew it, I was standing in front of Michael. Both of my parents hugged me, and my dad gave Michael a sporting high-five. The patriarchal handoff was complete!

  I felt Michael squeezing my hands, and I smiled at him. “You are so beautiful!” he whispered as we turned to our pastor and waited for the ceremony to begin. As he said it, I knew it was true. How did I know? Because I’d already felt it. In that moment I decided this: If I felt beautiful, I was.

  Twenty minutes later we’d recited our vows, exchanged rings, and shared a strawberry-lip-gloss-flavored kiss to the sounds of cheering guests. It was a done deal; we were married!

  • • •

  AFTER THE CEREMONY, IT WAS TIME TO GET THE PARTY started. Michael held out his hand to me for our first dance. We’d done our best to avoid any overtly mirror-themed things for the day, but the song for our first dance broke this rule; a beautiful cover of “I’ll Be Your Mirror,” originally by the Velvet Underground, had simply been too close to home for us to pass up. No phrase could better capture our relationship, our promises to each other, and our hopes for our future together.

  Some might scoff at the idea of wanting my life partner to be my mirror. I’m sure plenty of choice feminists and body image avengers will be deeply bothered by the prospect of a modern woman looking to another person (a man, no less!) for feedback on herself. In fact, it may be more en vogue to tackle self-awareness, self-esteem, and self-improvement without care for what others think, but this hasn’t always been the best choice for me. As someone with a history of spewing self-hatred at my “real” reflection in “real” mirrors, it felt wildly liberating to reject my anorexic inner voice in favor of the assurances (and sometimes thoughtful critiques) of a trustworthy and truly decent person. Finding a loving and supportive partner who already sees the best in me, and who pushes me to be more self-accepting—while helping me stay on path when I behave in contradiction with my values and ambitions—has been priceless. If I’m good enough for Michael, I’m good enough, full stop. Being able to offer him the same is pretty awesome.

  I was surprised to find out that Sherry and I had chosen to wear almost identical ivory faux fur jackets that evening. The rest of the evening went by in a blur. I remember eating a lot of my wedding cake (which had, unfortunately, toppled over during dinner) and urging my friends to “try all of the different wines!” I danced with each of my grandfathers, which was so special. Our photo booth, which came with a myriad of props, was a hit, and by the end of the night almost everyone was in some form of costume. It was joyful and epic, if I do say so myself.

  I didn’t look in the mirror all day, and I didn’t miss it. I was proud of myself, but to be honest, it was probably the easiest day without mirrors that I’d had so far. After all, the real goal of my project wasn’t simply to avoid mirrors, but to more fully experience everything else going on in my life. And, as you may have noticed, on my wedding day I simply had better things to do!

  • • •

  AFTER THE WEDDING MICHAEL AND I SPENT A WEEK AT HOME recovering and catching up on sleep and work. Then we were off to Hawaii for our honeymoon. It felt a lot like our recent camping trip, only better (particularly because we were sleeping in real beds). There were no mirrors, no scales, less makeup, less anxiety, and less stress. I felt better and more self-accepting than I had in ages. Had marriage instantly solved my crisis of identity and body image? I suspected not. Rather, saying good-bye (aloha?) to my identity as a bride-to-be—and all the bridal pressures that came with it—lifted a huge burden from my shoulders and psyche. I could return to my usual self.

  It was during these days that I began to give more thought to what it meant to feel beautiful. How is feeling beautiful different from looking beautiful? In its most obvious sense, looking beautiful is on the outside, and feeling beautiful is on the inside. Looking beautiful is something most people want, but it doesn’t actually guarantee happiness, and striving to look beautiful can cause a lot of misery, as I knew from firsthand experience. Even if we reach a point where we are, somehow, objectively beautiful, it can’t possibly last. We age. We go out of style. We end up staring wistfully at a few old photos because we’re convinced that at that moment—and perhaps never since—we looked beautiful (if only we’d known then . . .).

  Before giving up mirrors, I’d never imagined I could feel beautiful without knowing what I looked like. I’d assumed that feeling beautiful was the hyperconfidence I sometimes experienced after getting a haircut or spending extra time on my makeup. But that was just what it felt like when I’d conflated my looks with my self-esteem on a good day. On a bad day, conflating looks with self-esteem had been disastrous. I knew that I’d probably looked less conventionally “beautiful” since starting this project, but in being so I’d managed to better separate my looks from my self-esteem.

  Recently, I’d felt beautiful on two distinct occasions: on the night of my bachelorette party and again on my wedding day. One day I took a notebook to the beach and began to journal about the experiences. I hoped to more clearly articulate exactly what beautiful had felt like, and also figure out whether the feeling had required particular social or environmental contexts.

  First I made a list of the multiple feelings that had combined to create “beautiful.” The list included feeling joy, calm, confidence, pride, and peace, with a side of creativity. I decided that there was a tinge of vanity involved in feeling beautiful, but that it was the generous sort of vanity—the kind that allowed me to feel unique and special, while leaving space for every other person on the planet to also be unique and special. I couldn’t have made this list before my no-mirrors project. Giving up mirrors had given me the opportunity to recognize the feeling of beautiful. With less knowledge of my body’s appearance, I’d begun paying more attention to my body’s feelings, both physical and emotional, and I’d developed a more acute sense of these things.

  But what did my bachelorette party and wedding have in common that helped this happen? Could I analyze the context of these events to better understand this feeling of beautiful? Even more ambitious: Could I tease out some conditions that must be met in order to experience it?

  I gave these questions all the analysis I could muster while balancing a mai tai in the sand. I was pleased with what I came up with. It was a very honest analysis.

  First: I felt beautiful when surrounded by people I loved who really knew me, loved me, saw the best in me, and whom I felt comfortable around. In both cases I’d been surrounded by my sister and closest girlfriends throughout the day.

  Second: The events themselves had helped me feel unique and special. I questioned whether this was because I’d been the center of attention (which I knew I enjoyed a bit, thanks to my guilt-ridden enjoyment of the prior month’s media attention), but after some thought I realized that this was only a small part of what made me feel special. But the much larger part, in both cases, had been a sense of pride for the creativity and organization that I’d put into planning the events. It gave me enormous pleasure to see my friends and family having just as much fun as me, and made me feel more connected to them. I wasn’t sure if “planning the event” was a specific condition, but I suspected that “pride in an accomplishment” was.

  Third: I couldn’t deny that, on both occasions, I’d spent more time than usual engaging in beauty rituals (note, not beauty addictions or beauty habits). I was kind of disappointed to realize this because I’d hoped that feeling beautiful would have had nothing to do with my appearance. You know, inner beauty and all that. But I had to be honest with myself. Somehow these rituals were, themselves, meaningful, even if I didn’t know what I looked like. Perhaps the key was that I’d engaged in them in a social context, alongside my sister and closest girlfriends, rather than by myself in
front of a mirror. Clearly, my loved ones made for the best mirrors, reflecting love rather than looks. Or perhaps I’d simply internalized some of our culture’s conflation of beauty routines with femininity. I was okay with this possibility; I was seeking authenticity.

  Fourth: A glass or two of chilled champagne never hurt!

  I knew I didn’t have any more bachelorette parties or weddings in my future, but after reviewing my lists I felt confident that, by spending time with my favorite people, by acknowledging my unique gifts and accomplishments (no matter how weird—or perhaps especially the weird ones!), and by establishing rituals that made me feel womanly, and by always keeping a chilled bottle of champagne waiting in my fridge for impromptu celebrations, I would have plenty of future opportunities to feel beautiful. And if I felt beautiful, I was.

  • • •

  OCTOBER 21 MARKED OUR LAST DAY IN HAWAII. NEITHER MICHAEL nor I felt ready to leave paradise, but there was no getting around it; the honeymoon was over. It was time to go home and get on with our lives.

  With this in mind, we arrived at the Kauai airport in grumpy moods. Four hours in cramped seating would be a quintessential reintroduction to real life. In an act of desperation, I asked the woman at the check-in counter if there was any chance of us being upgraded, explaining, “We’re on our honeymoon!” with more excitement than I felt. I’d never actually pulled off an upgrade in my life, so I didn’t think it would amount to anything, but when we arrived at our departure gate we were called up to exchange our tickets for business class. Score! Suddenly our vacation wasn’t yet over after all! Apparently there are a few airlines out there that still do nice things just because they can.

  We boarded our flight at the earliest possible moment, excited to settle into the luxury awaiting us. Complimentary champagne provided the perfect opportunity to say a quick toast to our amazing honeymoon, and to rest of our married lives.

  I snuggled into my seat and began watching the first of what I hoped would be several cheesy chick flicks. Next to me, Michael did the same with what I presumed to be a bunch of dude-esque action films. Time flew by, with complimentary mai tais flowing as fast as we could drink them. Everything seemed great, but then, a few hours later, I noticed that Michael seemed to be fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. He was also wearing his sunglasses, which I found strange.

  “Hey, are you awake?” I asked, whispering. Maybe he was having bad dreams or something.

  “Shhhhh,” he hissed. “I’m not really asleep. I’m pretending to be asleep.”

  “Huh? Why? What’s wrong?” I whispered back, alarmed.

  He exhaled deeply before responding, “I just did something really embarrassing, but I can’t tell you about it until we’re off the plane. I’m just trying to avoid eye contact with the flight attendants.”

  I rolled my eyes as though annoyed, but the suspense was killing me. What in the world had he done?

  Once we’d landed in San Francisco and were waiting for our bags, I started badgering Michael to tell me what had happened.

  “And why are you wearing your sunglasses inside?” I teased. Really, this was getting weird(er).

  He wouldn’t tell me until we were back in the privacy of our apartment. His cheeks were flushed from embarrassment as he explained.

  “Okay, so I was watching a movie, and shortly after Liam Neeson finished rescuing his daughter and saving the Western world from evil, the plane hit some turbulence. Every time my seat belt tightened, I felt like I was about to pee. I’d been holding it in until the movie was over. . . .”

  “Okay . . .” I responded, gesturing for him to get on with the story.

  He cleared his throat and continued.

  “Okay, so as soon as the turbulence was over, I headed for the first-class lavatory. It was just as small as the regular ones in the back of the plane! Anyway, I had to lean back a bit to pee, since I’m tall. It was a long pee, and at some point I looked over and caught a peek of myself in the mirror. I must have had beer goggles, because I was, like, fascinated by how cool I looked, with my tan and my new sunglasses. I remember thinking that I looked like a cool surfer dude, like Keanu Reeves in Point Break. No, better than that—like Patrick Swayze in Point Break!”

  This made me laugh. The last time Michael had attempted surfing he’d come home with a concussion from hitting his head on the surfboard. Patrick Swayze? I love the man, but no.

  “Get to the point!” I urged. I’m an impatient listener.

  “Okay, so I was ogling myself in the mirror, wearing my sunglasses and feeling really good. But after I finished my business, I turned to flush the toilet and realized that I’d been peeing on the floor the whole time! I was standing in a pee puddle!” He looked so ashamed, but I had to laugh.

  “Oh my gosh, no way!” I exclaimed. “How did that happen?”

  “I was too busy admiring myself in the mirror to notice,” he admitted. “I tried to clean it up with paper towels, but the puddle had already spread under the door.”

  “Oh no!” I said. This was worse than I’d imagined. “What did you do?”

  “I thought I might get away with it by acting like nothing had happened, but when I opened the door one of the flight attendants was already trying to clean up. She was wearing rubber gloves and dabbing at the carpet with a bunch of cocktail napkins. I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do or say. I started to offer to help, but she just glared and told me to sit back down . . . and stay seated.” Michael cringed while describing his chastisement; he wasn’t used to getting into trouble. My mouth was agape with shock.

  “Anyway, I went back to my seat and put my sunglasses back on. I pretended to sleep for the rest of the flight. I was too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye!”

  I promised him that his secret was safe with me (at least until I ran out of interesting things to blog about!) and we tried to laugh it off. But seriously, yuck! You’d think that by that time he would have learned a lesson or two from my own mirror mishaps. I supposed he’d had to learn his own lesson the hard way!

  NINE

  November, December

  PEACE ON EARTH AND GOODWILL TO MY BODACIOUS BOD

  Never believe in mirrors or newspapers.

  TOM STOPPARD

  MY MOTHER AND MOST OF MY FRIENDS HAD WARNED ME that I would feel depressed in the aftermath of my wedding. I’d mourn no longer being the center of attention. I’d feel a gaping hole in my life where the drama and excitement of endless wedding planning had formerly resided.

  Apparently the post-wedding slump is a common phenomenon, and there’s an unofficial name for it: postnuptial depression—or PMD, for short. The condition (if you can call it that, since there is no mention of it in medical literature) reportedly affects one in ten newlywed women, though I wasn’t able to scare up any numbers for newlywed men. Yet the partners of PMD sufferers are certainly affected: An article in Time magazine suggests that between 5 and 10 percent of PMD-affected newlyweds have “strong enough remorse, sadness, or frustration to prompt them to seek professional counseling.” Although the very term “postnuptial depression” seems to locate the problem as residing within individuals, I imagined it as a cultural affliction, aggravated by the wedding industry; as eloquently described in One Perfect Day: “If we brides are led to believe that our wedding day is truly the most amazing, romantic, and important day of our lives, then it can only go downhill from there.” What could be more depressing than that?

  I could see why my friends and family were worried. As a lover of grand projects, I’d thrown myself into wedding planning with gusto, and seemed at times to revel in the drama. I enjoy few things more than solving problems, and my wedding to-do list was basically an inventory of potential crises to be solved ahead of time. Indeed, my mother suggested that the sudden absence of wedding stress might itself be stressful.

  I was prepared for all of this, but it didn’t
happen.

  Instead, I felt surprisingly calm and quietly satisfied. I felt like myself again, but better, which made me realize that I hadn’t felt like myself in a while. The calmness and life-finally-feels-right centeredness that I experienced in the weeks and months following my wedding proved something that I’d suspected: Being a bride-to-be had been toxic. The cultural pressures of wedding hoopla had caused me to go (maybe just a little itty-bitty bit) insane.

  Before becoming engaged, I’d always battled a tension between my values and my behaviors. From biting my nails to indulging in the latest fashions, my life had involved progressive self-improvement as I worked to eliminate behaviors and patterns that didn’t fit who I wanted to be. I’d figured out ways to balance my shallower, more girlie side in normal life, but being a bride-to-be had thrown everything off-kilter.

  Avoiding mirrors had restored a great deal of this balance, but with my wedding behind me and my no-mirrors project ongoing, I was boosted even further in the direction of my values. While planning my wedding, avoiding mirrors had helped me become a calmer and less appearance-obsessed version of bridal Kjerstin; now that the wedding was over, avoiding mirrors was causing me to be a calmer and less appearance-obsessed version of regular Kjerstin.

  I found myself at peace with my body—ridiculously at peace with my body—in a way that I hadn’t felt in months, if ever. Did I miss wedding planning? Sure, sometimes. But the moment that gaping hole opened up, I found other projects with which to fill it. The most obvious of these were my dissertation research and volunteer work with About-Face. Deciding to bring my focus back to the work that so clearly engaged my values and ambitions made me feel balanced again. I was back on a path that felt less scripted and more authentic.