I Saw You. I Just Didn’t See You.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to a woman who got a little what I’d call uppity with me because I DID NOT know who she was. I could tell by the look on her face that I was supposed to know, and I knew we’d probably met before, but I could not place her. I sorta could…I thought she might be somebody else, she insisted she was not that person, and there we stood…her looking at me like I had personally erased her from my memory and me trying to figure out who in the hell I was talking to.

So, to that woman, I am sorry. I was not pretending not to know you, I was not being a jerk, and I had not suddenly become too fabulous to acknowledge someone I’d met before. I genuinely did not know who you were, and that bothers me more than you probably know.

There’s a Name for It

Billy and I have known for years that I am what we always just called face blind. I mix people up. I rely on hair, voices, body shape, the way people move and where I expect to see them. What I did not know was that there is an actual name for it: prosopagnosia. I also had no idea there were standardized tests for it, researchers who study it, or that roughly 1 in 50 people may have some degree of face-recognition difficulty. So, turns out, there are quite a few of us trying to match the right face to the right person.

For me, it has been more entertaining than debilitating. I can see your face just fine; I just do not always connect that face with the person I know. The funny thing is, I notice everything else. Change your hair, get new glasses, lose weight, get a tan, wear different lipstick or show up in fabulous new boots…I will probably notice.

My memory itself can be ridiculously specific too. I can remember what somebody was wearing when we were having drinks near the Capitol at the Hawk ‘n’ Dove 25 years ago, where we sat and some bizarre detail nobody else remembers. Put that same person in front of me years later, somewhere unexpected, with different hair…I may walk right by.

And really, how would I have known everybody else’s brain wasn’t doing the same thing?

Sir, Are You Sure You’re Not Andy?

Years ago, I watched a television show where a doctor had face blindness, but they showed people’s faces melting and changing. Mine did not look anything like that, so I thought, Well, that’s a terrible affliction, and moved on. Meanwhile, I was doing my own version of it without everybody’s faces melting like I was on an acid trip.

One day Billy and I were in the produce department when I saw a man I was positive was my old friend Andy. I said, “Andy, is that you?” He said, “No. My name isn’t Andy.” And because that was not enough information for me, I asked, “Are you sure?” He was. I stopped just short of asking for his driver’s license because even I could tell I was losing support from my legal team, i.e. Billy.

More recently, I was positive a guy at Home Depot was my friend Matt from high school. Nope. We also have friends in our neighborhood whom I routinely think I see somewhere else. I wave, the stranger politely waves back, and because I am me, I take that as confirmation that we know each other and I should probably go over and say hello. Billy will quietly say, “That’s not who you think it is.”

The weird part is, I am not thinking, That guy looks like Andy. I am thinking, There’s Andy. I can be confidently, spectacularly wrong.

Billy and I Have a System

After nearly eleven years together, Billy has learned the signs. If somebody comes over and starts talking to us and I do not use their name, he knows there is a chance I am lost. He may introduce himself so they introduce themselves too, and if we walk into a place and he sees friends before I do, he gives me a heads-up. It isn’t just manners. It’s reconnaissance.

I use the introduction trick myself. “Hi, I’m Jessica.” Every now and then I get, “I know. We’ve met like twenty times.” Well…shit. But give me the name and it may suddenly click. I might remember where we met, your dog’s name, something you told me years ago or some ridiculous little detail I had no business remembering.

That’s what I wish people understood: forgetting you and failing to recognize your face are not the same thing.

Social Media Is Kind of My Cheat Code

Considering I have practically lived online for a good chunk of my adult life, social media has probably been helping me more than I realized. Facebook and Instagram are great for someone like me because everybody comes with a label. There’s your picture, your name, your spouse, your kids, your dog, where you went to dinner and half the time what you ate. Facebook has already done me the solid of putting Jennifer right next to Jennifer.

Profile pictures help too because people leave the same one up forever. I can get very good at recognizing that version of you—that hair, those glasses, that angle, that smile. Then you show up in real life with different hair, no glasses, no makeup and a baseball cap, and you’ve basically shown up in disguise.

So social media giveth…and social media taketh away.

Online, I have clues everywhere. In person, you are standing there expecting your face to do all the work, and your face may not have received that memo.

Please Remain in Your Assigned Habitat

Context matters a lot. So if I know you from behind a bar, please remain behind the bar. If I normally see you at work, do not suddenly pop up in Costco wearing a baseball cap and expect flawless results. You have altered the terms of our agreement.

There is a place we go often where three women work whom I have a terrible time telling apart. I know them well enough that I should know who is who, and that is when this stops being funny. I freeze because I know I should recognize her, she probably knows I should recognize her, and I am desperately trying not to call her by her coworker’s name. That’s when I feel stupid.

It was worse when I was drinking because alcohol certainly was not helping my attention or memory. Sobriety made my head clearer and my memory better, but it did not fix this. Some things alcohol caused, some things it made worse, and this one was already mine.

And for reasons I cannot explain, I can tell dogs apart with absolutely no problem. So there’s that.

One Girlfriend…or Four

There was also a guy we knew who dated several different women over a period of time, and I thought they were the same girlfriend. He evidently had a type. As far as I knew, this man’s relationship was going beautifully. Turns out I had combined several women into one exceptionally versatile girlfriend who periodically changed her hair and reinvented herself.

Before you ask how I didn’t notice…welcome to the article.

Then I Found Out There Were Tests

Once I realized this was something researchers actually study, I started researching the hell out of it. I’ve taken two standardized assessments used in face-recognition research: the 20-Item Prosopagnosia Index (PI20) and the Cambridge Face Memory Test (CFMT). On the PI20, I scored 83 out of 100, which puts me well into the range associated with significant face-recognition difficulty, and my other testing told a similar story.

So…not exactly crushing it in the face department.

I’ve also talked to my doctor. There are more extensive neurological and specialist evaluations I could pursue, but the testing available to me is not covered by my insurance. I have applied to be considered for a research study, though, and I’m waiting to hear whether I get in. Somebody wants to study this weird little corner of my head? Have at it. I’m curious too, and if I make it through the process, I’ll tell you all about it.

There are different forms and degrees of prosopagnosia, and there isn’t a magic pill that fixes it. A lot of living with it comes down to using other clues—voices, hair, movement, context and help from people around you—which turns out to be exactly what I’ve been doing all along.

And in the random-things-I-learned-while-going-down-the-rabbit-hole category, Brad Pitt has talked publicly about believing he has face blindness too. So Brad and I finally have something in common besides our obvious physical resemblance.

Here’s Why I’m Telling You

Most of this has been funny, and Billy and I have laughed about these stories for years. But I never want somebody to feel slighted by me. I want people to feel remembered. I want somebody who took the time to talk to me to know that it mattered. The idea that someone might walk away thinking I was snobby, dismissive or too important to remember them when I simply did not recognize their face really bothers me.

That’s why the woman from a few months ago stayed with me. I could tell she was offended, and I understand why. She had no idea what was happening on my side of the conversation, and for a long time I did not really have the words to explain it either.

Now I do.

Maybe that’s the whole reason I wanted to write this. It’s a weird little thing about me that most people probably never knew. I knew what I did for years; I just didn’t know there was a name for it, tests for it or a whole bunch of other people walking around doing their own version of the same thing.

If you’re reading this thinking, Holy crap…I do this too, maybe go learn a little more about prosopagnosia. I’m not diagnosing anybody from a blog post, but sometimes somebody else’s story gives you words for something you already knew about yourself.

As for me, if you see me somewhere unexpected, help a girl out. “Jessica, it’s Kylie. We met through Kim.” Perfect. If I introduce myself even though we’ve met before, introduce yourself back. And if I walk right by you, give me a little grace.

I may remember your name, our conversation, your dog’s name, where you grew up and what you were wearing twenty years ago. I just might not recognize your face.

I saw you. I just didn’t know it was you. And now, at least, I finally have the words to tell you why.