Palm Springs Window Reflections

Having my picture taken isn’t fun. I hate the way I look.

Sometimes I go through the process of taking selfies to try to work through these feelings. At this point, it seems like a futile effort to come to terms with the aging person that I am.

When I look at the person in the pictures it’s never the person I feel like on the inside. Geeeeezus, who the fuck is this old bag with the tired eyes?!

What comes next is an exercise in tallying up all of the things that are “wrong” with me and then spiraling into a loop of self-loathing. Is this normal? Sometimes I feel like it might be. I mean, who isn’t plagued by some level of feeling like if they just had <insert thing here> then they’d feel a million-bajillion times better? Is it all just a matter of degrees?

Taking pics in my riding gear or with my helmet on, or even wearing my glasses feels much easier. There is a sense of safety in being covered in some way. You see me, but you don’t. I prefer that.

Who would’ve ever though just showing yourself to the world as you are, would be such an act of vulnerability? 🤷‍♀️Especially considering you walk around all day doing just that.

Anyway, this was me, in my safety suit, reflected in the SHAG store window in Palm Springs.

Stay weird, friends.


Rachael is the whimsical writer behind the 20+ year old Girlie Motorcycle Blog. As a freelance blogger, she is on a mission to inspire laughter, self-examination, curiosity, and human connection. Girlie Motorcycle Blog can be found on several Best Motorcycle Blog lists.

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5 Responses

  1. Mike says:

    Join the crowd Rachael, look how many people don’t use their face as an avatar.

  2. I can appreciate the gap between what I see in the mirror and what I see inside. I’m familiar with the old bag, or in my case geezer, in the pictures. But the whole process fascinates me and while I don’t often post them I am continually examining myself with the camera. Slowly, over time, I’ve become more comfortable with who I am.

    I did a photographic project in the late 90s through the early 2000s on my wife. I photographed her obsessively, thousands and thousands of photos, and over time the camera became invisible but she didn’t like to look at the prints. She didn’t like the way she looked. Now, years later, she’s grateful to have that documentation and realizes how strange her reaction was in light of the evidence.

    Evidence. That’s what those pictures of ourselves are. They make us look at reality. And despite the squirming, I have found value in the truth. I’m not Steve McQueen or Brad Pitt. My hair is gray now and my posture isn’t what it once was. But I ignore the truth at my own peril.

    Glad you posted your thoughts. It was a good reminder for me. The clock is ticking and I’m changing. And that’s ok.

  3. Shybiker says:

    I get it. I used to feel that way about myself as I saw clear signs of aging. Then I just said, fuck it. Whatever I look like doesn’t matter. Since I don’t even look like the gender I am, why should physical appearance have any importance? Now, I’m at peace with the whole thing. But I sincerely grasp your pain and sympathize with it.

  4. Guy says:

    I get it, but I don’t. And then I rummage through my pics and hardly any, to the point of you could say almost none are selfies. So maybe I do get it more than I’ll admit or say.

  5. Kathy says:

    I totally get it. It’s something I am aware of (hating the way I look in pictures) but haven’t really given thought to. Why do I hate the way I look in pics? Maybe that’s something else I really need to explore as I try to figure out the next, best direction for my life. Thanks, I think, for that inspiration.

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