"Next went the makeup. The eye shadows that highlighted those seductive upturns in the corners of her eyes. The eyelashes like a flutter of butterfly proboscis. The tender rouge on her cheeks. Adventure disappeared from her lipcolour, as did any liner and gloss. Then the hair, previously a raven crown as mercurially fascinating as a lit flame, shape-shifting from bob to perm to wavy, with soft tonalities of colour, now a stranger to any pair of scissors and left long and plain. Slowly I only recognised my mother for herself, no longer for the pop star songbird I saw on the poster walls. I missed that misrecognition, the self that was her in my mistaken sense of her. She was more alive when accompanied by that apparition of someone else than when she was plainly alone." — from My Suit by Jason Wee