REPRINT: The Self-Portrait Saga: An Update

I figured since I was reprinting one, I ought to reprint this one as well, since they are linked; originally appearing on March 23rd, 2007, it was all inspired by my search for a new profile photo then, and its reprint has been inspired by the need to find a new profile photo to represent me here and there all over the Internet now, since the one in current use is now more than a year old. Still, the current photo is awfully good, and has drawn me nothing but praise from every quarter; it spooks me, the idea that I have to make the next one even better, despite the fact that I'm now a year older and a year fatter besides. ~ MSM

The saga, it seems, has become a quest. It has also, like my face, developed a few interesting wrinkles over time.

I was sitting and staring at the latest batch of self-portraits this afternoon, wondering how the face I see in the mirror could be so different from the one that's in the photos. My regular readers will be pleased to know that I'm done with hating myself over it, but I do need to bring the issue to some kind of resolution so I don't become a total recluse. I can only hope that when I go out, it's the mirror face I use, and not the photo face. I can at least live with that, if that's the case.

Part of the problem is that I see so much of my father in me, especially around the nose. The fact that he broke my nose so often may have something to do with that. In all of the pictures I've taken so far, it's the nose that's given me the most grief. Despite a very painful rhinoplasty in 1995 my nose is still crooked, asymmetrical, and lumpy (though at least I can breathe through it now). These are problems any photographer ought to be able to get around, but when you're taking a picture of yourself it can be a little tricky. This could be why after 300 photos I still don't have one even close to suitable (although the one you see here comes the closest yet).

The shape of my mouth has always troubled me, yet whenever I point out to people that it's lopsided (especially when I smile) it seems no one's ever noticed. This is likely because a) I seldom look directly at anyone, and b) I rarely smile. Even more than my enormous pumpkin head and the inappropriately hairy lump it sits atop, my crooked mouth has tormented me from almost every picture I've ever taken, from as far back as Grade One.

Aside from that, it's difficult for me not to look jowly; this is a family trait, among the men at least. I've never liked the cleft in my chin, and the last time it saw the light of day without stubble on it was nearly a decade ago. Plus, with all the weight I've lost, there's a slackness to my jawline and pronounced naso-labial folds (those lines from the nose to the mouth) which thankfully are now less pronounced than they once were. Just so you don't think I'm totally down on myself, I've always rather liked my ears.

I've been videotaping myself as part of an ongoing preparation for video podcasting (set to debut at the end of June this year, to coincide with my 1000th post). One thing I've noticed as a result of that is that I tuck my chin in when I talk, probably due to my utter lack of confidence in my looks; which is utterly counter-productive, because it makes me look worse. Just like when I act like a jerk because I think no one likes me. When it comes to self-fulfilling prophecies, I am a self-fulfilling prophet. Tucking in my chin also tends to emphasise the lopsidedness of my mouth, raises the pitch of my voice (thus bringing out the gayness in my voice, which is the reason I also mumble), and removes any angularity there is in my jaw. So why do I do it, you might ask. Simply put: because I'm a schmuck.

I've added jaw thrusts to the regimen of facial exercises I currently follow, but it's too early yet to see any improvement. I've also been trying to remember when and why I started doing it. I think because if I don't I tend to resemble Joan Crawford, and not in a butch "Johnny Guitar" way, but in a drag-queeny "Mommy Dearest" way. Also because when I used to talk, and there was no one but my father around, he'd tell me I sounded like a faggot and "accidentally" clock me in the face with his elbow. Ten or twelve of those would make anyone introspective; the fact that I got dozens more like it at school didn't help.

The next sunny day (which should be sometime next month) I'm going to try using a variety of natural light conditions, as indoor lighting can be as harsh as flash, and therefore unflattering. Fortunately, I enjoy the process of self-improvement as much if not more than I enjoy ripping myself to shreds, and so what was once an exercise in masochism has turned into a rather pleasant pastime. Becoming acquainted with my face in this manner I can almost (gasp!) see what others find attractive in me.

Almost.