A twenty-something creative writing student with all the usual female body image hang-ups. In an attempt to reflect on my own attitudes about aesthetics, vanity, privilege, etc., I’m spending a week looking inward: no preening at mirrors, no flitting glances at windows, no furtive peeks in the glass of the microwave. Just a tilted view of breasts, belly, arms, legs; hazy rectangular glasses; bisected blur of nose. And all the world ahead of me.
Eckersberg, Woman In Front of a Mirror. 1841.