THE UNBEARABLE CRISIS OF BEING (PERCEIVED)

By Jennifer Poon Advertising, Marketing and Communications, ‘22

Please do not perceive me.

You might’ve heard a friend or an acquaintance make this statement or express some related sentiment, and you might’ve done so yourself. The idea of “being perceived” has grown at a swift pace throughout the masses, boring its harsh realities into the minds of those who are especially vulnerable. It’s almost a trend of some sort; in September 2020, singer Halsey tweeted to her 14 million followers, “Happy #BiVisibilityDay !!! if you must perceive me, please perceive me as such,” along with a curated selection of pictures of herself. The notion of being observed by others is now widely thought to be frightening, as it has stimulated an unusual sense of self-awareness within many. The unease that stems from this seemingly new concept of being perceived is poisonous, and I myself was a victim to its grip.

My relationship with my self-image has always been complicated, never been resolved completely, continually goes through stages of hot and cold. However, this excessive time alone, secluded, has effectively warped the dimensions of my body and made me forget how to position myself comfortably within the public eye. I used to daydream about being genuinely happy with myself and exuding contagious confidence. God, I deserved it, after all. I spent the majority of my upbringing being force fed impressions of the ideal, Eurocentric physique — face sculpted like the letter ‘V’, large eyes of sapphire blue, legs that stretch miles and miles. I did not have the luxury of worrying about trivial things like whether I was blonde or brunette because people like me were never part of the discussion to begin with. It took me until my final few teenage years to, slowly but surely, start embracing my heritage and the physical aspects it granted me. And then the pandemic hit.

Before the pandemic, I had elaborate aspirations of traveling the world: spending late hours in underground Berlin clubs, browsing pottery and art in Marrakesh markets, maybe even exploring my own familial roots in Fuzhou. Now, the thought of exposing myself to strangers in many different places fills me with agitation. In fact, it makes me cringe to believe that I was brave enough to show myself anywhere last year. Back when classes were held in-person, I would take long, reflective walks through the city streets nearly every night, finding a strange comfort in the glow from neon signs and the emptier sidewalks. Admittedly, I pretty much ignored any potential dangers that might’ve awaited me as a woman walking at night because I cherished these walks deeply. I suppose being quarantined should evoke some feelings of cabin fever, some strong desire to go absolutely anywhere and do absolutely anything. I spent many months being envious of those who swore that they would live it up the second the pandemic was declared over. I wanted so desperately to feel the same way; I was supposed to be furious that I couldn’t go out every night, like a 20-year-old should. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the excuse this time afforded me to keep out of anyone’s sight. I understood, thoroughly, the pain of being perceived by others. I lived with the fear of sticking out like a sore thumb. Back to square one.

Not to Be Reproduced by René Magritte

As a result of the pandemic and the long stretches of time it gave me to overanalyze my image, the heavilymarketed concept of self-care was shattered to me. For an entire summer, and then some, applying my skincare products each morning was beginning to feel morally wrong, like I was stealing from someone else — my face doesn’t deserve this Tatcha cream. I avoided treating myself to small pleasures, no longer prepared my favorite snacks or entertained the idea of making fun, frivolous impulse purchases. Even showering was a drag, a persistent reminder of my inadequacy; I did not think I was worthy of being clean.

Perhaps it is the frequent promotion of this particular idea of self-care — the one that consists of sheet masks, candles, and herbal teas — that contributes to the unraveling of one’s self image and the reluctance to be honest with oneself. How do we truly feel about ourselves? I failed to realize that self-care isn’t just items that can be purchased at the local TJX store. Self-care is also admitting the flaws in your own ways of thinking, confronting inner demons and readjusting your mindset. I personally started writing, at any moment when I felt a pang of inspiration and anywhere I could at that second — in my journal, in the Notes app, on a Google Doc. These instances of writing were messy but they allowed me to be completely, brutally frank with myself; in many ways, I found this writing cathartic. The success of self-care should be measured by this sense of release, the exorcism of those inner demons.

Girl Before a Mirror by Pablo Picasso

There’s nothing wrong with having soft skin and enjoying a warm beverage. As beings born into a bustling world against our will, we deserve a bit of peace every now and then. Self-care can be attractive, but it should also be ugly, candid … even aggressive. Tending to one’s own image, at the most meticulous level, should be grueling and without any embellishments. The healing of the physical body often isn’t pretty — the application of layers upon layers of gauze to an open wound, the incisions and openings pried in skin in order to save an organ. Why should the healing of the psyche be any different?

In “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” Milan Kundera writes, “The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.” How lucky we are to experience a myriad of emotions — heartbreak, bliss, curiosity, perseverance. How lucky we are to be conscious beings, to be able to maintain various senses and develop meaningful attachments to different ideas. What a shame it is that we often feel inclined to reduce ourselves to merely our bodies. Perceiving and being perceived are inherent parts of consciousness. Perception is what provides our lives with its essence and allows us to become more genuine, more human.

I believe that the dread of being perceived stems from the desire to please everybody. It makes us question to what extent we are allowed to simply exist in the world as we are, free from the restraints of others’ judgment as well as the torment we inflict upon our own selves.

There’s no doubt that the post-vaccination era will see a surge of people out and about, an upswing in tourists and many more planes in the sky. Personally, I think I may tread lightly, so as to allow myself to get back in touch with my person. The exploration of my self-image continues to be an ongoing, fluctuating journey. However, I remain eager to observe how myself and others will navigate the crisis of being perceived during a long-awaited time of relief, after a draining period of despair.