Mirrors are interesting. I mean, I don't think mirrors in themselves are interesting; I mean, the way we use mirrors is interesting. There are those who could spend the rest of their lives gazing at themselves and there are those who avoid them at all costs. I have a full length mirror at the end of my hall which does a very good job of startling me when my doppelgänger passes it in his parallel universe.
There are a series of mirrors that run the length of one wall at Cardiff International Pool changing area. Under each mirror is a shelf; to rest your bag on, to place your child on, to eat your snacks on, to lean on and gossip and (judging by the flecks and smudges of mascara now ingrained in its surface) to place your make-up on.
When you make your way to the International Pool after changing into your swimwear (as I did this morning), you are confronted with this wall of mirrors. I always notice because each mirror is warped slightly to make the subject seem thinner than they are. I don't need help here and hate that view I get of a pinched and emaciated image of myself. Perhaps they want everyone to take confidence from the new svelt self glimpsed in the mirrors and to enjoy the facilities even more (if such a level of enjoyment were humanly possible).
During my swim this morning I began to think about how we use mirrors. I began to ponder on the increase in mirror photography since cameras were added to mobile phones. Look on the internet and it won't be too long before you find a photo of someone taken by themselves in a mirror. That mirror shot of you at the gym speaks volumes: it's a portrait snatched on the fly (although you may have spent hours on setting it up); it boasts a healthy outlook and brags of your wealth in being able to afford the astronomical gym membership and the very latest iPhone. Such are the things that swim through my mind during my swim...
In the afternoon I cycled into town to meet a friend of mine, Alan. We get on very well, despite not having known each other that long; I think this has something to do with us both sharing a very childish and really filthy sense of humour. We met today for a catch up first and then for the express purpose of clothes shopping. For some reason, Alan thinks I'm good at helping him pick out clothes. I suspect what really happens is that he waits for my approval and then buys the exact opposite.
Anyway, I have seen the inside of so many changing cubicles today, I think I may still be suffering from a temporary claustophobia. I've seen bigger coffins! And please, explain to me the point of putting a mirror in such a tiny box; you're far too close to it to see anything. All I can do is look down my torso at my legs in the trousers I'm trying on.
And in the few shops where the cubicle is large enough to grab a look in the mirror, it seems they are warped in the opposite way to those at the swimming pool. I looked as if I'd gained 30lbs. Who let that walrus in? It's not really what you want from a cubicle mirror and it can't be very good for business.
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