“I’m just a mirror of a mirror of myself.” We often think of mirrors as revealing the truth, but what if they only show a version of it? A reflection of a reflection, slightly altered each time—like stepping into a maze where each turn distorts, repeats, or refracts the self just enough to make you question which image is real.
Makeup can be an act of creation or repetition. Are we shaping what we wish to express, or are we layering on an image we’ve inherited, a reflection of reflections? Authenticity becomes layered, an echo of an echo, until we ask: Who am I beneath this projection?
And yet, perhaps beauty is not lost in this endless loop but found within it. The gestures may be borrowed, the influences absorbed, but the interpretation is uniquely ours. Even in repetition, there is choice. Even in the mirror, there is still you.