Zoom Reflection
The sudden pivot to mandatory video conferencing during the COVID-19 pandemic introduced humanity to an unprecedented form of psychological discomfort: the persistent, inescapable gaze of the self-view window. Before the era of endless Zoom calls, humans were never required to watch themselves actively converse, listen, or react in real time. Suddenly, millions of people, including young children, found themselves trapped in virtual rooms where they were simultaneously trying to read the room while staring directly into a digital mirror. This setup created a jarring hyper-awareness of our own faces, turning every minor facial tick, asymmetric smile, or accidental frown into a source of immediate, agonizing self-scrutiny.
For me, it didn’t last long before I had to “hide” myself from view. Even with a solid sense of self, I realized I was paying more attention to myself - what I looked like, how I was talking, etc. It was wildly distracting and slightly discouraging. As someone who takes pride in my makeup routine consisting of only curling my eyelashes, suddenly I was feeling pretty underdressed and exposed. Can you imagine what this is doing to our young people? The ones who developmentally never looked at themselves in the mirror prior to being thrown into a virtual classroom? Or what about the middle-schoolers who were just starting to become increasingly hyper-vigilant of how they looked? Talk about having that amplified. I can only imagine how this will have longer-term effects on development of young adults and their fixation on their imperfections in their reflection.
This constant self-observation rapidly induced a unique state of cognitive fatigue. Instead of focusing entirely on the substance of a meeting or lecture, a massive amount of mental energy was diverted into performing the role of ourselves. We became our own hyper-critical directors—constantly adjusting our lighting, fixing our hair, checking our posture, and worrying if a momentary look of boredom was being broadcasted to the entire gallery view. This constant performance fractured our focus and disrupted natural human communication. In face-to-face interactions, your focus is outward, anchored entirely on the person speaking; on Zoom, the persistent thumbnail of your own face acts as a visual magnet, constantly pulling your attention back inward and fueling a deep sense of vulnerability.
Our brains are simply not wired to process our own expressions while simultaneously trying to connect with others. The shift to being online all the time really turned daily interactions into exhausting exercises in identity management. I look forward to the day that we can step away from constant video calls to remain connected with our colleagues, friends, and family. In the meantime, I feel that this experience has permanently altered my relationship with my own reflection, leaving me hyper-aware of the unedited, organic messiness of my human expressions. Mind you, I’m okay with this information. But think about all the young people and how this has impacted them? Maybe they aren’t as okay as I am.
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