What do you see in the mirror? The politics of the selfie
In this essay, Clara Batistic explores how women have used the mirror — not as a symbol of vanity, but as a site of resistance, performance, and self-definition. Tracing a visual lineage from Francesca Woodman to Claude Cahun, Vivian Maier, and beyond, Batistic unpacks the political and poetic power of the mirror selfie.
This is the story of a woman looking at herself in the mirror. She’s checking herself out; she can come into being.
The main character of the story can only be female. Indeed, the way women continually “survey themselves” is studied by British art critic and writer John Berger in his influential work Ways of Seeing (1972). Berger explains that since childhood, women are strongly aware of their own image. Growing up with such extreme body awareness, they develop their own internal surveyor, which is added to the ubiquitous male gaze. But what happens when women break this one-way voyeurism?
Today, and for longer than we imagine, by capturing their own image in the mirror, and summoning up questions of identity and desirability, women have made something of this reflection that crystallizes so much oppression.
You cannot see me from where I look at myself
In 1972, while the BBC was broadcasting John Berger’s Ways of Seeing episodes and David Bowie was recounting the rise and fall of his alter ego Ziggy Stardust, the young American photographer Francesca Woodman was putting her entire body at the service of her art. Most of her artworks are self-portraits, and all of her photographs play with the ideas of vision, gaze, and body. She reverses the mirror’s stupefying role and often uses this object to fragment her body, generating multiple points of view, selves, and narratives. But what emerges remains blurred, unstable – already slipping elsewhere.
Woodman escapes what French philosopher and feminist Simone de Beauvoir called the “immobile trap” (The Second Sex, 1949). This concept suggests that when women look at themselves in the mirror, they get caught in the objectifying, rigid, immutable idea of “beauty.” Often naked, she shows everything to the viewer, but in the end, everything remains opaque. Her gaze, as she looks into the lens, seems to say: you see everything, but you understand nothing. As Woodman herself put it: “You cannot see me from where I look at myself.”
“To develop a feminist reading is to recognize the moment when a woman becomes both the subject and the object of the narrative – the spectator and the spectacle.”
By occupying this alternative perspective – one of self-inscription rather than submission — she joins a lineage of artists, writers, and women who actively, critically look. Representations and narratives result from perspectives. What are we missing out on when we see the world through a mainstream lens? Black American scholar bell hooks described a “location that disrupted” when referring to gazes that are neither male nor white. Black women’s points of view literally disrupt the so-called universal experience. To develop a feminist reading is to recognize the moment when a woman becomes both the subject and the object of the narrative – the spectator and the spectacle. But what happens when we bypass the other's gaze altogether?
Playing is the key: performance
Being aware of social mechanisms allows us to play with them and hijack them. When she takes the stage, Francesca Woodman makes it clear that she has understood the dynamics of domination linked to the gaze. In those moments, she reclaims control. She’s no longer the object of the gaze, but its director.
In Gender Trouble (1990), American philosopher and gender theorist Judith Butler introduced the influential idea of gender performativity. They argue that gender is not something one is, but something one does — a set of repeated acts and behaviors so deeply ingrained and embodied that they appear “natural.” Who am I putting make-up on for? Am I wearing this sexy dress because I really want to, or because I want to satisfy a certain way of looking at my body? What even is sexy? What story did Marilyn Monroe tell herself when she looked in the mirror? Was she truly seeing Norma Jeane, or the myth Marilyn?
“The mirror can be a place of encounter of escape, a playground of possibilities or a prison of assumptions.”
The works of French surrealist artist and writer Claude Cahun (1894–1954), known for their radical self-portraits and gender nonconformity, challenged the idea of stable identity long before such discussions were common. In their most famous work, the mirror becomes a symbol to express the artist's multitudes: “Under this mask another mask; I'll never finish removing all these faces.” Here, the mirror is a pivotal point that reveals the performance we play, consciously or unconsciously, to seduce, to correspond to the idea of femininity, to fit in. It can be either a place where we meet ourselves or where our identity escapes us. The mirror can be a place of encounter or escape, a playground of possibilities or a prison of assumptions.
Mirror selfie as a gesture
The mirror is a recurring motif in female narratives. But above all, it offers women a space to tell far more layered, complex stories than that of “female vanity.” One striking example is Vivian Maier (1926–2009), an American street photographer whose vast body of work—largely unknown during her lifetime—was only discovered posthumously. Maier’s proto-mirror selfies subtly redefine the genre.
Between the 1950s and 1990s, she photographed her own reflection in mirrors, shop windows, and any other reflective surface she encountered on her daily walks through New York or Chicago. She captured herself everywhere, almost as a reflex, in the chaos of the city. Her always neutral, inexpressive face multiplies the narratives: her self-portraits are numerous, but Maier remains an enigma.
“With Maier, it is not so much the picture that matters, but the gesture — the deliberate act of documenting herself and grasping her presence.”
With Maier, it is not so much the picture that matters, but the gesture — the deliberate act of documenting herself and grasping her presence. Her self-portraits feature her grounded and taking up space in her environment. These “mirror selfies” show how Maier fits in the city — an interesting place, by the way, given the link between women in public space and the male gaze. Like Francesca Woodman, she takes over spaces, fills blind spots, and questions the dynamics of the gaze. Ultimately, Maier and Woodman’s acts of reframing work as acts of resistance against the old dominant narratives.
Mirror effects
Art historian Frances Borzello, author of Seeing Ourselves (1998), shows how the mirror has long supported the idea that women embodied the vice of vanity. For centuries, women’s reflections were framed as signs of moral weakness rather than self-awareness. But where do we stand today? Is the selfie simply a symptom of modern narcissism and obsession with identity? Or can it be seen as something more complex—a conscious process and a desire to define ourselves, to fill gaps in representations, and a means to expose ourselves simultaneously as subject and object, reclaiming control over the gaze?
To enjoy our own reflection is to experience oneself as a subject—whether through performativity or genuine self-recognition. When photographing ourselves in the mirror, we consciously or unconsciously summon stigmas, history, and codes. But by consciously using these codes, we can subvert dominant narratives—questioning seduction, desirability, and femininity—or simply play with the irony of our own reflection.
“(…) the mirror selfie is not just a product of vanity, but an act of authorship.”
Whether a genuinely performative trick or an intimate gesture, the mirror selfie is not just a product of vanity, but an act of authorship. Capturing one’s own reflection is to reclaim subjectivity, to reframe the gaze—and that can be revolutionary.
Clara Batistic is a French-speaking writer based in Belgium, with a master’s degree in French literature. During her studies, she became increasingly drawn to gender studies and feminist writing – particularly to the question: what happens when women tell their own stories? This curiosity has since deepened into an ongoing exploration. Passionate about personal narratives in all their forms – whether through literature, art, or film – Clara began publishing her own reflections and essays on Substack a few years ago.
At 28, Clélia Rochat, known artistically as Clélia Odette, has turned to photography out of a deep need to express herself on subjects that matters to her. Formerly a high-level harpist, she found in art a way to explore and share her own truth. Her project Belles Mômes celebrates women over 50, challenging stereotypes around femininity and nudity. Her work has gained recognition in Europe and beyond. With more than 51.000 Instagram followers, she has been featured in Die Zeit, NZZ, and ELLE, which describes her as a “young feminist and engaged photographer.” Raised between Geneva and Cologne, Clélia first studied psychology in Lyon before embracing documentary photography at Le 75 in Brussels. A defining moment came when she met a woman who underwent surgery to satisfy a husband who later left her for someone younger. This encounter reinforced her desire to capture reality as she sees it, raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. Above all, Clélia Odette seeks to share a truth that is her own, proving that art can be a powerful means of connection and change.
Website: https://www.clelia-odette.com/