I live in a fantasy world where my looks don’t matter. To tell the truth, I have no choice. If people were to relate to me based on looks, I wouldn’t get very far. Fortunately, for men it isn’t such a big deal as it is for women. Women are more likely to look past looks, and men often don’t notice how other men look. I mean, if you look schlumpfy enough, you get dismissed on the looks basis, but they will pay attention to you on a brains basis.
So if I can get people past my physical appearance to my abilities, then I’ll do all right. Not great, but well enough. I can do well on tests of ability and brains.
So when I don’t see myself in the mirror, that is exactly how I hope others will relate to me. They shouldn’t see me, physically. They should experience me as a presence—a useful presence. They should not think about how I look.
I used to try to imitate those characters in stories who could appear to be invisible. They had ways of standing and moving so that people didn’t notice them. They could be seen, but they weren’t noticed. I practice not noticing myself, and when I say myself, I mean the part of me that would turn people off. I hope they will notice the good parts. But better they shouldn’t notice me at all than to notice my physical exterior, which, I feel, might make them feel vaguely ill without knowing precisely why.