The term ‘Narcissm’ comes from the Greek myth about a hunter called Narcissius, who fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. He fell in love instantly, as if it were someone else. Not realising he was staring at himself, realising that he was not able to obtain the object he desired, unable to leave his own reflection he withered away and died.
I loved looking into mirrors and every time I did, I was equally captivated by myself as Narcissius was. Whenever I felt myself, I flexed it hard, taking thirst trap photos of my face and body to post on the gram, posing to mimic the prototypical runway model. I used to be a ‘fat’ kid, and since I shed my weight and acquired a leaner, more socially acceptable body form I became helplessly captivated by people complementing me on my physical appearance. My love for myself was as shallow as the pool of water Narcissus gazed into, and extended as far as a compliment paid to me. It was self-esteem on steroids. Or at least, thats what I was told. That I had become too narcissistic. I found that funny because yes, albeit my reflection had turned short-sighted, yet my affinity for mirrors didn’t seem to represent the prototypical arrogance, vanity and superiority Narcissus exhuberated. I did however realise that I was hiding behind a more socially acceptable form of love- one acquired through beauty. My standards of self-love were set by social standards of acceptable physical beauty.
On days I felt bloated, or ‘fat’ I’d rarely look in the mirror. On days like those I would swim in questions- did my self worth dictate my reflection, or did my reflection dictate my self worth? Did I love myself on my terms? Or on the terms of what others thought of me? Was I narcissistic for looking in the mirror and loving it too? For only accepting and therefore showcasing, the good qualities about me. I realised, I loved myself, but not enough. I loved myself on the wrong terms, i was less loving, less forgiving, more hubris.
Soon after this realisation, I started looking at myself in the mirror differently, I chose to seek out my flaws, my negatives, as much as possible, because now I realised I couldn’t hide from myself any longer. I could no longer only look at myself. I was looking within myself, in the body I once thought of as hard strong shell, turned out to be nothing more than a sonorous empty vessel. Carrying around fleeting, momentary judgements of people on my beauty. Who was I?
Someone embarrassed by her standards of self-love. I had based them on the commentary of others for so long, it had become a second nature. I would seek out my reflection in other people, only as long as they thought I was beautiful of course. The rest I would ignore. So now every time I looked in the mirror at my own reflection, my mind kept screaming ‘but what about me?’. My stretch marks that I used to hide away flexing petitioned, ‘what about me?’, the cellulite in my thighs begged to be showcased in my form. All my flaws, yearned to be on display. My round belly demanded relaxation, my lips wanted to break into a smile. I was drawn then to my insecurities, and realised that now I can really look at my reflection, reassure myself of these insecurities, and love myself with them, not despite them. So I can recognise the person in the mirror even when it’s not reflecting. So I can think, and say to myself, ‘I love myself’. Oscar Wilde once wrote, ‘To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance’. I cannot wait.
Written By Taabish Rayani
I was born and bred in Mumbai, but I consider myself a resident of Pangaea. I’m a stick and poke tattoo artist, I like dogs more than humans, and I would rather read an ancient satire by Aristophanes, than watch a Marvel movie (I know, what a classical gyp). I believe life is happy if you are the person your dog thinks you are!
Week 44, October ’20
