depend on others to save me from egregious social blunders.” At least Sacks’ words are deeply familiar to me.
Prosapognosiacs tend to improvise, relying on other features like haircuts, clothing, body type and gait to recognise others. This of course is fraught with danger, as a friendly, longhaired colleague can turn into a complete stranger with ease by tying back their hair. I experienced great embarrassment a few years ago when a woman with whom I’d had a recent tryst bounded up to show me her radical new hairstyle. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Sam, pleased to meet you.” Our affair did not survive the gaff. Prosopagnosiacs thus spend a lot of time in ‘fake it till you make it’ land – even if you don’t have a clue who they are – always listening out for a personal detail that might help the penny drop. If and when I finally do work out who I am talking to, I suddenly become more effusive. Just as my unknown acquaintance is carefully extracting themselves from the conversation with a “Well, nice to see you”, it suddenly hits me who they are. I begin pulling them right back to the start, asking them about topics we’ve already discussed like, “Hey and how is your family? Is your sister okay after that bike accident?” Or, “Did you end up getting that job in Melbourne?” But the worst, most hideously embarrassing part of being face-blind is saying hello to someone who doesn’t actually know you. Once on the tram home from Docklands after a day at work, a woman waved hello to me. “Hey!” I said, smiling warmly, grabbing the seat across to settle in for a chat. She gave me a weird look as her actual friend smiled and took
the seat next to me. Not only was I shamed beyond belief, I was also boxed in my seat by weary commuters, sitting there blushing until Southern Cross station. “Well,” I think to myself, “at least I got a seat.” I first felt this shame at age five at a muddy car boot sale in England. I was with my Dad when I spotted a collection of Star Wars figurines over at a stand, a few over from the electronics display, in which my Dad was absorbed. After a minute or two admiring a Han Solo in carbonite and developing a deep inner need for the purchase of a Wookie, I turned to run and find Dad to make my case for the purchase of the little guy. I found him in his wellington boots and mackintosh near the baked potato stand, and I grabbed his legs and hugged him to me. I looked up and realised that it was not my dad but someone else’s. I was so overwhelmed that I forgot all about the Wookie. So here I am, back at the coffee shop. The woman and I have said hi to each other, I’ve ordered, and now we’re just standing there waiting. I start playing with my phone, hoping that the whole problem will go away. The stranger seems mildly but perceptibly put off by my frostiness, and I find this troubling, but I don’t know what to say. In a cruel twist of fate our coffees are served up at the same time, and we head out the door; I am right behind her. We walk down the street single file and it’s not until she turns off the road to head into my office that I realise that she’s the new staff member who I actually sit next to, and whom I’ve just snubbed for the last ten minutes. Between phone calls and walk-ins we sit in silence. Presumably, she’s thinking I am a total jerk. And I, feeling awkward, just want to yell out, “I’m really sorry! I’m face-blind! It’s a thing!”
CULTURE / 35