I can’t remember when I stopped looking at myself, when my face and body, once narrow and all sharp angles and dark shadows in tight pants and short skirts, filled and rounded with age; when I became unrecognizable to myself and invisible in the world. For years I’ve secretly loved the anonymity, the invisibility, the freedom to move around without the annoyance of comments, of worrying about what I look like and what it means. Most of the time, no one even notices that I’m there.
The complete opposite of the "bird on her head" look.
