For almost all of us, the way we perceive our own bodies and appearances is fluid, shifting with time, mood, and circumstance. Over the course of a life — or even within the span of a single day — we oscillate between self-acceptance and self-reproach, sometimes settling into mild dissatisfaction with a tired reflection in the mirror, other times feeling an almost contented neutrality, and at the extreme ends, veering between admiration and loathing.

This perception of the self is shaped by a tangle of forces: childhood wounds inflicted by abusive parents or mocking classmates, the fragile revelations of adolescence, the relentless presence of flawless cinematic idols, or even an offhand remark—carelessly delivered, instantly forgotten by the speaker, but lodged permanently in the receiver’s psyche as an unshakable truth. Often, this perception has little to do with actual features, with the harmony or disharmony of the face we were born with. I’ve met people of staggering beauty who harbor a dissatisfaction with their appearance so deep it surpasses that of those whose features are less conventionally blessed.

I met Sophie at an exhibition of her paintings, which all are self portraits, and I was struck by the contrast between her beauty and the self-hatred reflected in her art.
In this photographic series, Sophie takes us through the emotional whiplash of someone caught in the grip of their own self-image. By allowing us into her world, she grants us the chance to feel the weight of these emotions and, perhaps, to better understand the experience of living in a body that defies conventional expectations.