| Prosopagnosia |
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Several years ago an Internet search using the key words "face recognition" and "disorder" brought up the first information I had ever found about a condition that has troubled me all my life. At least now I can attach the label "prosopagnosia" to it. And although this inability to recognize faces is considered uncommon, it is certainly common enough to me, as I cannot imagine life without it. While growing up, except for a few notable incidents, I was unaware of being significantly different from anyone else. I had found various ways to compensate for the problem and assumed that others must employ similar strategies, although somewhat more successfully than I. It wasn't until I went to college that the sheer magnitude of the problem became apparent. In college I encountered large groups of people who were all about the same age and who all affected the same hairstyles, clothing, speech patterns, and other mannerisms. They interacted easily with each other, but I could not tell them apart. Clearly something was very wrong, and that prompted my Internet search to see if there might be others out there similarly afflicted. Prior to my Internet search, I encountered no one, professional or otherwise, who was willing to believe that my condition was real or that such a condition could even exist. And I too had my doubts. Perhaps it really was just part of the common tendency of many people to forget a name shortly after being introduced. Perhaps it really was the result of some sort of character flaw. Perhaps I really was simply too self-absorbed. Perhaps I really did need to pay less attention to how I might be coming across in a social situation and more attention to the other person. It seemed reasonable that if I could simply summon the concentration necessary to memorize another's features for later recall, I too could experience the instantaneous identification that others seemed to take for granted. But somehow I was never able to master the process. For me the process of identifying faces seemed like the process of identifying fingerprints. Each may be unique, but I could never memorize and recall enough detail to make reliable identification possible. While I have developed various less-reliable ways to identify people, I have never come close to that mysterious face-recognition ability that others seem born with. My Internet search revealed that there are indeed other people out there who have difficulty recognizing faces. And while they are sometimes said to be "face blind," I have never felt comfortable applying that label to myself. I believe that I do see faces clearly and seem to be able to identify and describe the various features and read the emotions without difficulty. But faces don't make the indelible impression on me that they seem to make on other people. I notice sex, age, race, eye color, the shape of a nose, etc., but I find faces no more memorable than any other part of a person's anatomy. I see faces clearly, but I don't remember them. In attempting to differentiate people, I rely heavily on the context in which I find them. The smaller the context, the more likely I am to make a successful identification. I can readily identify my own face in the bathroom mirror, because, although I am often surprised by something that I have not noticed before, a process of elimination assures me that mine is the only face I should encounter in that context. Similarly, I can identify my wife at home (I once missed her at the airport, though, because she had done something with her hair while she was away!). And as a student, I found that I could, over the course of a semester, memorize enough combinations of features to differentiate perhaps a dozen people within a given classroom setting. And if I were careful each day to note what each of these people was wearing and any other distinguishing characteristics, I would have a fair chance of being able to identify some of them later that day, were I to encounter them in the broader context of the college campus. But before class each day these people would be only vaguely familiar strangers. (I must add here that I find it far easier to identify couples than individuals, because people who habitually associate with each other form their own contexts.) In a broader context I must rely on clues other than faces. Here is an example: One day I see a figure walking toward me on campus. I note a middle-aged woman with long, straight, black hair, wearing a flowing skirt. This, along with her stature and form, suggest a possibility: could it be my supervisor, Jane? I would identify her instantly within the context of her office or even, perhaps, within the larger context of her building, but here in the middle of the campus I cannot be sure. The gait seems familiar, suggestive of Jane. And as the woman approaches, I notice she is wearing glasses, which is a characteristic of Jane. Also the long, dangly earrings and long, decorated finger nails (which have always struck me as a bit incongruous) are characteristic of Jane. But I notice that she is wearing flip-flop sandals. This is not characteristic of Jane, as Jane's choice of footwear has always been more formal here on campus. But the woman is quite close now, and many precious seconds have already gone by. It is imperative that I decide if I know her or not. I recognize an unusual bone necklace like the one Jane had been wearing a couple of weeks before at a convention (where I initially failed to recognize her!) and decide to take a chance. Looking her in the eye, I greet her, and as I read the recognition on her face, I know that I have correctly deduced her identity. Once again I have successfully bluffed my way through a potentially disastrous social situation. Jane undoubtedly has no idea what mental gymnastics I must perform in order to get along in society. I was still reeling from the embarrassment of not recognizing her at the convention and not recognizing her some weeks earlier at a local mall. When my wife is with me, she can help me identify mutual acquaintances, but frequently it is only after a long conversation with someone who seems vaguely familiar that I am able to discreetly ask my wife the identity of the person with whom we have been speaking. After a lifetime of such experiences, I tend to avoid places where I risk a chance encounter with someone whom I should know. I don't like to hurt people, and I cannot blame them for sometimes finding me aloof and arrogant. People don't like to be made to feel that they are too insignificant to be noticed, too small to register above another person's threshold of recognition. People naturally take offense, when ignored by someone whom they thought they knew. When I do find myself in a public place where I might encounter people whom I should know, I smile slightly and nod ever so slightly at strangers who seem familiar, trying not to appear too forward as I scan their faces for a flicker of recognition. I am usually wrong, of course, and as people quickly avert their eyes, I curse my own inability to know that I don't know them. I have read some speculation that prosopagnosia might be part of a larger suite of perceptual problems, but in my case, apart from an inability to recognize faces, I'm aware of no other such problems. Possibly I have learned to compensate for other problems to the point that I am unaware of them. I seem to be able to identify vehicles, buildings, and places about as well as the next person. I also suspect my ability to visualize spatial relationships is pretty good. Many years ago I would fly small aircraft in situations where I could see nothing at all outside the cockpit. In those situations I was forced to visualize my position and path through three-dimensional space with only the abstract indications of a few instrument dials for reference. I never seemed to have much trouble with it. But now that I think about it, flying an aircraft on instruments without normal visual cues might involve mental processes not unlike those some of us have had to develop in order to identify people without normal visual cues.
Tim Munro |