I’ve been bewitched by the woman on the TV.

The past few posts have been heavy, so this week let’s try a lighter-hearted topic.

Every couple of months or so I head into Tokyo for a weekend. I pop into the theatre to watch a film or two, and visit one of the many incredible museums scattered throughout the megacity. At the end of the day, I retire to a hotel room—always from the same hotel chain.

I’m a creature of habit. I like predictability because it is safe and reassuring, so if I can find reliable lodging it goes a long way toward providing stability for me. I use this particular hotel chain whenever I travel for a couple of reasons: it accepts reservations that can be paid in cash upon arrival, and its services are consistent across its many, many locations.¹

In each room, is the same 50-or-so inch TV running the same proprietary smart-TV software. Whenever one enters the room, the TV automatically switches on to the home menu, which displays various information: one’s scheduled check-out time, the status of the in-hotel onsen, and a video stream of advertisements and announcements. Inevitably, an advertisement plays for a konbini’s new seasonal lineup.²

The advertisement begins with a shot of a woman in frame-center. A voice from behind the camera explains they have someone they want the woman to meet. She listens with visible enthusiasm and offers false intrigue; after, she walks through a nearby door and is greeted by a man in a dark suit wearing sunglasses indoors.³ He has a very serious, mysterious aura about him, and he invites her to sit down with him. She exclaims a loud, “Eeeeeeeeeh?” while jiggling her head in surprise, then sits down as instructed. The sunglassed man proceeds to offer the woman items from the konbini’s new lineup, which are all neatly arranged on the table between the two. He describes each item, and as she tries each snack she reacts with wide eyes, nods, smiles, and a plethora of compliments, proclaiming the lineup to be something truly incredible.⁴

The ads change with the season, but they are always presented by the same woman each time. 

And I’m absolutely enamored with her.

Not because she’s attractive—she is gorgeous, in the way that seemingly every woman is required to be in order to appear on Japanese TV—but because there’s something about the way her face moves that is wildly fascinating to me. The way her face contorts to express excitement at the konbini’s latest mediocre creations, the way she displays enthusiasm in this very corporate setting, the way she happily bobs around in her seat—it’s enthralling.

The TV’s stream only has a few videos it scrolls through—presumably, one isn’t expected to leave it on for longer than five minutes, at most—but every time one of the konbini ads starts, I’m on the edge of my seat…er, bed. There isn’t really anywhere to sit other than one’s bed—such is the nature of Japanese business hotels. 

I’ve started to force myself to turn off the TV as soon as I enter the room, to prevent myself from being entranced by the allure of the woman’s face. She’s like my personal Medusa: Once I catch a glimpse, I can’t look away.

I’ve always been intrigued by people’s facial expressions, though. I can recall so many times in school (especially in university lecture halls) when I realized I was staring at someone because I found their face interesting. I realize this could be interpreted as creepy, so when I catch myself staring at someone I force myself to stop. But it really has nothing to do with attraction! Those with especially expressive faces are simply intriguing to my brain.

I’ve tried for many years to keep a somewhat consistent journal, but the habit never forms. When I write, my writer brain takes over and I obsess about grammar, wording, sentence flow, and so on; none of which is productive when one is quickly trying to jot their thoughts down. Journal entries ended up taking hours, which was a pretty big barrier to overcome.

So, I gave audio recordings a shot, which eliminated my perfectionist tendencies. However, I will often talk for twenty to thirty minutes, which makes it difficult to find my thoughts on a topic in old entries.

Now, I’ve started making video diaries, and it seems to be a good fit. Video offers a lot of context absent from audio logs and written entries: my own appearance can hint at how I might be feeling at that time, I can use gestures to better explain concepts, and my surroundings are recorded, as well. It’s also fun because I can pretend I’m Mark Watney from The Martian. I’m in spaaaaaaaaaace!

Sometimes I watch back old entries to observe how my thoughts have changed over time, but I often find myself not really listening to my own words at all. Instead, I’m zeroed-in on my facial expressions. I always note how unnatural my face looks in comparison to those I study. I frequently look angry, confused, or in pain; even when I feel the opposite.

Autistics are often said to study people’s words and facial expressions to try to seem more “normal.” I suppose what I’ve just spent 1,000 words explaining—brevity is not a goal for catloaf & coffee—is that very behavior, but it has never felt like “study” to me. I’m not quite sure what it felt like—some weird habit, I suppose—but I think this is something that really tripped me up early on when trying to determine whether I am Autistic or not. Many Autistic traits—often those centering around masking—describe a certain sense of purpose behind behaviors that I have never (consciously) felt. I’ve always been strangely drawn to certain people’s faces, but I never really knew why, only that I was.

Post-diagnosis, I can look at a lot of my behaviors and understand why I exhibit them. Like staring, I can now see that my repeating of other’s words and phrases (often from TV, movies, and so on) is not a random quirk, but a behavior with a specific purpose and a specific name: in this case, echolalia. The brain is a perplexing and chaotic organism.

Anyway, this is all a long-winded way to say: If you catch me staring at you, sorry. You probably just have a very interesting face.