I started wearing glasses thanks to my seventh grade math teacher. She was the first person to insist I get my vision checked before my yearly optometrist appointment. Every day, she repeatedly claimed that she noticed my squinting eyes while I tried to decipher the problems she was solving on the classroom’s whiteboard. She noticed the strain I was putting myself through long before I did. After months of ignoring my teacher’s advice, I eventually grew tired of having to squint my eyes to take in my surroundings. I finally asked my mom if she could make an appointment with the optometrist. I desperately needed glasses.
The first pair
My first optometrist appointment after accepting the truth of my imperfect vision was, well, humbling to say the least. As my doctor ran tests with a variety of lenses, each with a different prescription, I couldn’t help but feel defeated. The letters that my doctor displayed on the screen kept becoming smaller and blurrier with every lens switch. It suddenly dawned on me that my vision was now another imperfection that came along with the ever-so-exhausting process of going through adolescent puberty. Coupled with my hormonal acne and my awkwardly evolving body, I had to wear glasses now, too?
After my doctor was done running tests, he gave me a prescription to treat my nearsightedness. It was very minor, given that I had tackled the problem just in time, but it was still recommended that I pick out my first ever pair of glasses. I needed to find a pair that I would be comfortable wearing every day to avoid worsening a myopia diagnosis that would not be going away any time soon. So, the next day, I went to the LensCrafters at my local mall with my mom to pick out a pair of glasses that would make me look the least nerdy.
We settled on a black, square-shaped pair of Vogue glasses. I didn’t necessarily love them, but I didn’t hate them as much as the other glasses on the store’s racks — so I considered it a win and called it a day. Unfortunately, my successful glasses find was short lived.
When my mom drove me to school the next day, I made the conscious decision to walk in confidently wearing my new black glasses for the first time. Most of my friends noticed the change immediately, while some of my other classmates took a while to make note of it. Regardless, it was official: I had become a glasses-wearer. But, despite all the positive comments from my classmates who said I looked smart and cute with them on, I just couldn’t come to terms with how the glasses looked on me. At first, I left my glasses on for the entire school day and took them off once I got home, but eventually, I started taking them off as I walked from one classroom to another. My eyesight depended on me wearing my black glasses, but I wholeheartedly despised them. They made me feel ugly.
The second pair
After two years of trying — but failing — to style the same black glasses and ultimately hating how I looked with them on, it was time for a change. I was tired of not being able to see properly whenever I would go out to eat or party with my friends. I felt so insecure wearing my glasses that I had even missed out on properly viewing one too many movies at the theater. My life was flashing before my eyes because I refused to take care of my eyesight. I began thinking that a new pair of glasses would solve my problem. And besides, I was overdue for a prescription update anyway.
Just as I suspected, my prescription had significantly increased since the last time I had been to the optometrist. It didn’t present any major health concerns, but it was undeniable that I had to start wearing my glasses all the time if I wanted to avoid further eyesight problems. It was either that or I had to learn how to put contacts in. But, for some reason, I insisted that my eyes were too sensitive and too small for contacts. I became the worst patient when my optometrist’s assistant tried to teach me how to put my contacts in, blinking excessively and making myself cry in discomfort. I was tired of not being able to truly see life to the fullest, but there was also something oddly enthralling about choosing to focus in on some of my life’s events while opting out of fully experiencing others. Wearing my glasses in some scenarios, while consciously choosing not to in others, helped me separate two versions of myself that I had unconsciously created in my mind. I believed it kept things in my life interesting, but I was actually forcing myself into becoming two different people that fit into two stereotypical boxes — a nerdy, studious person with my glasses on and a pretty, cute girl with them off.
With my new prescription in hand, my mom and I ventured into our local LensCrafters once again to buy a new pair of glasses. I knew that I no longer wanted to wear black glasses, so I settled for a pair of tortoise shell-colored and square-shaped glasses with pointed ends. I believed they would match better with a wider variety of outfits and that they would finally make me feel more confident when I wore them out in public. But, once again, I was wrong.
I coincidentally decided to invest in this new pair of glasses just as I had started participating in the Puerto Rican bar scene. I had convinced myself that they would look great when paired with my party outfits, but the second I did my makeup and got all dressed up, wearing my glasses ruined the look I had already worked so hard to put together. So, I decided to go out blindly — literally. Night after night, I made the same mistake. And although it was uncomfortable to be unable to take my surroundings in properly, at least I felt pretty without my glasses on. That’s what I told myself, anyway.
The third pair
By the time I had to exchange my pair of squared, tortoise shell glasses for a new pair, I was starting my senior year of high school: the year that was supposed to be the epitome of my high school career. And I still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that in order to live my life according to the vision I had created in my head, I would have to either wear glasses or contacts to see things properly. Yet, I was so resolute on the fact that I was so ugly with my glasses on that I still refused to wear them out.
As I received yet another prescription that served as a symbol for my increasingly declining eyesight, I embarked on a third LensCrafters trip with my mom to pick out the glasses I would wear all throughout my senior year and likely for a portion of my freshman year in college. I ended up choosing a pair of round, pointy-edged, tortoise shell glasses with a golden rim. It was the first time I felt relatively pretty with a pair of glasses on. I even tried on some of my night out outfits, adding my glasses as a final touch, and I didn’t entirely hate how I looked.
I was proud of how far I’d come, but I had become attached to not being able to visually grasp my surroundings. What had once originated as a result of wanting to feel pretty according to societal standards became a fact that I now associated with my present self. It was now typical of me to go out and have to squint my eyes to make sure I was saying “hi” to everyone I knew. I had grown used to talking to people and actively disclaiming that I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see anything accurately. So, I stuck with not wearing my glasses when I went out. And I kept feeling pretty. And I constantly received external validation as a result. But it didn’t change the fact that my eyesight was becoming worse and worse by the minute as I strained my eyes every weekend — and I only had myself to blame.
The current pair
I ended up sporting the round yet pointy tortoise shell glasses for a year and a half, all the way into my first semester of college. I was convinced that moving to a new place would encourage me to finally go out with my glasses on, especially since I wouldn’t recognize my new surroundings. And still, when I went out with my new college friends, I refused to wear my glasses. It had become an instinct to leave them behind whenever I went out to public venues. I felt like I was in a dimly lit abyss with no way out in sight, but I wasn’t actively searching for a way out either.
When I flew home for Winter Break, though, my mom noticed I was squinting at faraway objects again, which meant it was time for a new prescription. This time, however, she took me to a new optometrist I had never been to before. Not only did I need a new pair of glasses, but she was sure that this new doctor would be the one to finally convince and teach me how to put contacts in. And low and behold, she was right.
The new pair of glasses I purchased are the ones I’m still currently wearing . They’re the classic round, tortoise shell glasses that make anyone look super smart. They’re the pair of glasses that I’ve loved the most so far, but they now coexist with the daily-use contacts I finally learned how to wear.
After spending two long hours at my new optometrist’s office last December, I managed to place the contacts into my eyes comfortably. For the first time in my life, I could see everything around me clearly without my glasses on. And I can’t lie, it felt great. But I couldn’t help but feel like I was going to miss the blurred perception of my surroundings that I had ironically grown used to. Now, I wasn’t choosing not to visually perceive the things around me because I had finally come to terms with wearing my glasses out in public. I was still going out without glasses, I had just found a comfortable, albeit expensive, way to simultaneously feel pretty and see accurately. I had spent so many years purposefully worsening my eyesight because I felt that if I wore my glasses out in public, they would make me look ugly. And now that I had this perfect-on-paper way out, I suddenly cared about my eyesight? It just makes me wonder, who was I even looking out for?
Statement Columnist Graciela Batlle Cestero can be reached at gbatllec@umich.edu