There’s so much beauty in the world to capture. From sunsets and oceans to weddings and parades, to celebrities and hawks and close to a dozen other things.
But all of that changed one day—the day a tiny button appeared on my phone inviting me to turn the camera lens around. The day the world surrounding me vanished, and all that remained was my own face.
I looked directly at my face, and I liked what I was seeing. I liked it very much. And I intended to see a whole lot more of it. In that moment, I surrendered to my face’s gaze, and knew that I’d never take a picture of a hawk again, unless that hawk had my face on its body. Then I’d kinda have to.
I began to laugh at oceans for how ugly they suddenly looked. I spat in the direction of sunsets; tripped the tuba players in parades; walked past celebrities as if they’d never done a single famous thing in their miserable lives. Even weddings became a laughingstock to me. “Nice ceremony, idiots!” I’d shout, while snapping a picture of, you guessed it, my face.
Turns out, I’m the star of the show, and if there are things you want to see besides me you’re going to have to get past my face first. Eiffel Tower? Sure, right behind my face. My friend Susan? Yep, she’s here, pressed up against the cheek of my face. Big Five in Tanzania? Make that the big ten—lion, my face, leopard, my face, rhino, my face, elephant, my face, buffalo, my face. Fireworks on the Fourth of July? More like fireworks on the fourth of my face.
If a humpback whale breaches at sea and my face isn’t in the picture of it, it’s nothing but a big dumb fish screwing around in the ocean, doing something that may or may not be majestic, and you’ll never know which without my face to tell you.
If my niece graduates from college and my face isn’t next to hers making a proud expression, did she accomplish anything, or did she just blow two-hundred grand?
If I take a photo of Morgan Freeman without me in it, will you know that I’m at Madame Tussaud’s and that he’s made of wax? Maybe. But what about John Travolta?
My face is like a visual diary of my face—each expression providing a moment-to-moment look at the breadth of emotions I’m feeling facially. In one photo, I might be puckering up, looking flirtatious. In another, I’m puckering up and sleepy. In yet another, maybe I’m puckering up and eating lentil soup, or at a memorial, puckered up, looking sad and worried that there’s something very wrong with my lips.
As much as I hate to admit it, there are moments when even I grow disinterested in my face and feel compelled to hit that little button again, to see what’s on the other side of the lens. It doesn’t take long to realize that not a single one of those things looks even remotely like my face.
It’s a wake-up call. One that makes me feel lucky to be living in a society that has evolved to finally recognize that the world around us is less interesting than our faces. A society that understands that when people want to make a positive impact on humanity, they should take a good look in the mirror first, because that’s a great way to take a cool face photo.
