Does anyone else feel like you're catching cats online with your own pictures?

I'm still me.....right?

Long before we were quarantined, I had a sneaky suspicion that she might be fishing for my matches online. Even though I've always used images that are current and unmistakably my own, I'm known for rocking faux blondes one day and curly clip-in extensions the next. My body changes with the seasons (like a beautiful maple) and my skin does what it wants. None of this affects my appearance enough to make me seem like a completely different person. But it still reminds me of how internet trolls accuse makeup artists of "fooling people" with contour and highlighter brushes. I'm a little embarrassed to feel my best with a little help.

Since the coronavirus pandemic descended, I have relaxed my unrealistic beauty standards a bit. I FaceTime with my friends first thing in the morning without worrying too much about my dark circles. I've noticed that my pores are happier without base layers, and my hair is flourishing in protective DIY styles and under my grandmother's turbans. However, sometimes when I look in the mirror, I am more convinced than ever that I could be catching everyone who has met me in real life.

Yes, I know that the cat fishing phenomenon exists primarily in online dating and describes a situation where someone uses a fake image to appear more conventionally attractive. And yes, I know most people are at home looking a little dirtier than usual, just like me. But as I take refuge in my spot with just my bare face to keep me company, I'm accepting the fact that I'm not super in love with my own looks.

When I chart my path to self-acceptance, it is marked by a lot of experimentation. There was 8th grade dance prep when a nice lady at a Clinique counter taught me how to apply eyeliner to "look more awake." There was the decision to straighten my hair, then not straighten it, then straighten it and not straighten it again (and the countless braids, weaves, wigs, and kinks that have happened in between). My beauty journey has been fun, creative and expansive (and expensive too), a tangible expression of my personality and my values. But now I'm in a sudden and surreal phase of very lax beauty standards. It made me realize that I've been playing around with my looks for so long that I forgot to make peace with my real face.

With all the snatching, straightening, pulling, and twisting, I've made up for my looks. That is not the same as acceptance. I'm counting on all the ways I've always wished I could look different: fewer dark spots, fewer bumps around my nose, symmetrical brows, softer laugh lines, and a lot less facial hair. I could go on, but I think you get the point.

Lest you think the whole catfish thing is a metaphor, I wonder, as I ditch my life in my hideous bathrobe, if I really am an online catfish right now. One of the coolest things about online dating is that you can do it on the couch. But what was once an ongoing pre-pandemic joke (luring dating into my secretly neglected clutches) now feels almost dishonest, given how different I look without all my usual extras. The thing is, after thinking about it, I know the real question is not whether I'm a catfish online or in swipe apps. The real question is: Who needs the added pressure of trying to look like their dating profile pictures right now? Like the expectation that during quarantine I should put Marie Kondo in my closets, learn a language, start knitting, or read more books, it's just not realistic. I don't need to introduce myself to anyone other than who I am. Ideally, my self-esteem would include celebrating my dark marks and wax-free lips. But on a baseline, it's about prioritizing my own comfort as much as I can right now.

Honestly, even having the energy to scrutinize my face serves as a sign of a relatively quiet day. The last few months have been an almost constant parade of bad news, pain, and anxiety punctuated by moments when I fall into bed with little awareness that I was once a person who put on makeup, wore royal dresses, leaned on bars. , he tossed her hair (sometimes bought) and laughed with people he found attractive. So yeah, feeling like I might need to call the MTV Catfish crew myself is a bummer, but in a weird way, it's also a heartwarming reminder of a more free-spirited time.

This essay does not have an orderly ending. Sometimes I like myself; other times I don't. Ultimately, I can prepare to look like "myself" at any time. So if you're like me and you think you're fishing for people on dating apps, you're not alone. But if it's causing you great distress, I have a suggestion: When everything is changing, it may help to remind yourself that you can still feel like yourself. Try to do something small and manageable with that goal in mind. If a shower, a few clips, or your favorite outfit can serve that purpose, it's definitely worth a try.