Self-portrait

Many things occur in front of our eyes, yet we do not see them. Every month or so the skin sheds a scale and another cell takes its place. The body continually patches itself up — a conservator working 24/7 with the tiniest paintbrush. The compact mirror (of the pocket-sized variety that doesn’t bother with pressed powder) reflects this evolving body of work and the reflection poses a question: is the compact mirror a tool for keeping what we see in check, or checking in on how we see ourselves?

Mirrors are nothing new. Some of the first are said to have been crafted out of volcanic glass over 8000 years ago[1].

The compact mirror, however, was popularised in the early 1900s as a convenient sidekick to mass-manufactured makeup[2]. Enclosed in ornate metal casings these hand-held pieces could last a lifetime, before the introduction of plastic packaging saw the compact mirror turn from inherited relic to disposable junk. More recently the compact mirror has been sent down the stream of redundancy by smartphones. But to write it off entirely is to recognise only one function the little mirror has to offer. Its other purposes, today, are anything but superfluous.

In 8AD the poet Ovid published the story of Narcissus — a beautiful youth predicted to live a joyous life, so long as he never recognised himself[3]. While hunting, his thirst drives him to water. He comes across his reflection in a still pool and becomes besotted. But the reflection disappears if he tries to touch it, forever out of reach. Trapped by his own beauty, grief ravages his life. Traditionally, the cautionary tale perhaps hinted that we ought to tread carefully on the blurry line between self-reflection and self-absorption while glancing into any mirror, let alone a conveniently available compact.

Today, however, it’s so rarely just one reflection. Today, we’re perpetually shared, watched and visible. So often the eyes of others are the reflective surface. My childhood was spent in a dress-up box, gleefully in awe of the transformations I achieved. Then, a teenager in my first bikini, I was called Pamela Anderson by boys just as young and inexperienced. Despite the empowerment Anderson inspires today, at the time these spattered slurs were designed as something between flirtation and insult, and intent aside, they marked the arrival of a fully-fledged self-consciousness. The mirror reflected not what I could see, but what I thought others might uncover. The compact mirror became a tool for minute inspection of a chain of bodily events. It witnessed every acne pustule, hair of hirsutism, and the butterfly effects of hormonal treatments where one catalysed the need for another. Later, I realised I was plucking and preening in the hope of reaching a static physical state that is at odds with the nature of an ever-evolving body.

Enter today’s compact mirror. Its role marks the threshold between a private sense of self and social obligation. For anyone, but particularly those who enjoy the pleasure of playful self-expression, it’s likely that interactions with others will involve watching them make a snap judgement of you — am I emboldened or enviously threatened by this person? — they will ask themselves with a glance. As internal emotions slip and slide during these public moments, the compact mirror protects a private gaze and reassurance, beyond what a smartphone camera can offer: it’s something offline and un-shareable, a miniature shield.

Sometimes the worst critic appears in the compact mirror. Then what? If the body is changing anyway, why not adapt and mould with the tools at hand for those abundantly resourced? Filler, surgery, makeup. Why not bolster confidence? Perhaps the question is: to what end? Without an answer, the search for an enduring visual identity could feel like catching smoke. A compact mirror can aid, judgement-free, this personal decision-making.

Herald the intimate sanctuary the compact mirror offers, because sight isn’t a given, but a privilege and so is seeing oneself. Whether checking teeth for vivid specks of lipstick, or propping a knee on bended elbow to check out wonderous pleasure parts, to checking the tendrils of purple veins spidering over weightbearing shoulders …check, check, check. From Celine’s luxury to Charles Mallory’s frivolity and Chanel’s utility, given the chance, this humble tool holds gems beyond convenience. In today’s digital world where we’re our own PR agents, the compact can teach us as much about self-expression as grounding introspection.

Dig the compact mirror out from the back of the makeup bag, scrape off the flecks of crusty concealer and give it the renaissance it deserves. Keep it to hand. Swiftly flipped out of a slung bag in a spare second, it’s an ally. The compact mirror opens a portal that’s less about keeping the body in check, than checking in with it – inviting us to master our own self-portrait.

[1] Pub Med: History of mirrors dating back 8000 years

[2] American Popular Culture: About Face

[3] The Conversation: Who was Narcissus?