For about six years, but certainly more frequently in the past four years I have gotten “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Julianne Moore?” This certainly doesn’t bother me. She’s no dog. I think everyone gets asked the same question with the same frequency as I — only the person to whom they are compared differs.
When I was first asked this question I thought it ridiculous, and it happened very infrequently. I just as frequently got compared to Gillian Anderson, mostly known for her portrayal of Dana Scully on The X-Files. As the Scully comments dropped off entirely, the Moore comparisons took their place in spades. It was not in the mirror but in photographs that I would sometimes at certain angles see in my facial structure just the slightest hint of why these comparisons were made. (Sadly, our salaries are not at all similar).
I keep a photo journal for myself, with pictures of everything from hushpuppies that I may have eaten to the mudpuddles I could not restrain myself from jumping in. Part of this photographic timeline is self-portraits so that I can accurately remember what I looked like. This photo journal is not to take the place of a written journal of my daily activity; I do that as well because writing is an important cognitive activity which works in equally important but different ways than photography does. Rather, especially when it comes to having a backlog of photos of my very personal life and of myself, I think we females unfairly beat up on ourselves and fail to remember how good we looked, how beautifully we did, how beautiful it *is,* be it ten weeks or ten years down the line. I have found that this endeavor helps me to give myself more credit where it is due.
Not to venture too far off of the point I was aiming to make here, and not at all to say I look a lot like Julianne Moore, because that is not my aim either, but in my August self-photos last night I saw in the bone structure of my face the slightest structural similarity. It didn’t bowl me over, but I see it.