For he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth what manner of man he was.

– James 1:24, Authorised Version

As I've said in the Edited Guide, I have face blindness. One consequence of this is that I tend to avoid mirrors. What's looking back at me alarms me. It's the face of a stranger, no matter how many times I look.

Now, I'm not saying I privately think I look better than that. I'm pretty sure I'm homely. That's not the point. It's just that I probably couldn't pick myself out of a lineup unless everybody else in it was tall. What I'm saying is that my face blindness gives me an odd advantage in realising that what we look like has nothing at all to do with who we are.

There are lots of 'lookist' people in the world who judge others by their appearance. A friend demonstrated this one day when I showed him a short video. A young woman whom I didn't know from Eve was standing in a field near a wood, playing her harp. She played very well. At the end of the video, she was startled by a deer running out of the wood. I enjoyed her video and it made me laugh, so I shared it. What he said next made me mad at him.

'That girl's legs are too skinny,' he said. 'I don't fancy her at all.'

'Who asked you to fancy her, you eeijit?' I retorted. 'She's young enough to be your granddaughter! Her legs are none of your business. She plays like an angel, and the deer's cute, too. Go away and don't talk to me.'

That's lookism. Nobody has to have fashionable looks to be taken seriously on this planet.

Then there are the people who read dress, grooming, demeanour, and facial expression to see how well someone fits in with their idea of social belonging. A lady didn't trust Hubert Humphrey, a senator who ran for president in the late 1960s.

'Why not?' I asked, expecting to hear something about policy or past actions.

'He has shifty eyes,' she replied. I guess she voted for Nixon.

I'm not talking about the eyes being the 'windows of the soul.' I'm also not talking about the fact that 'looks can be deceiving.' What I'm talking about is that what you look like isn't you. Any more than your age is: that's a temporary state. Or your nationality: that's an accident of birth. Or your gender, for heaven's sake: what people think of as defining gender characteristics are nothing more than a social construct, as any anthropologist worth their salt will tell you. Ditto 'race', which isn't even a thing, but which people in some places and times have turned into a social construct. None of those things is you, as somebody pointed out in the Bible.

That's why I like h2g2. We get to talk to each other without seeing each other. We don't even have to give our legal names. This is good. Nobody's judging us on anything but what we say to each other. Whether we're funny or serious, gregarious or quiet. Whether we're kind. What subjects we're knowledgeable on. If we're curious. Whether we know how to approach one another with respect, and whether we know enough to avoid troll behaviour. That's a good way to be, in my opinion. We actually have a fighting chance of getting to know each other for real this way.

Have you ever been talking to a new acquaintance and suddenly realised that they weren't taking you seriously? Did you wonder whether it was the differences in your ages? Your accent? What you were wearing? Something about the way the other person perceived you prevented real communication.

Don't even try to tell me you don't do that, too. We all do, unconsciously, at least before we get to know someone. We think, 'That old lady with the coiffed hair must be really full of herself. Bet she's a snob.' You know her for a while and you find out that going to the beauty parlour is her one indulgence. Now that she's a widow, she's too often alone. The beautician and other customers provide her with social contact.

'That man over there? He's seven foot if he's an inch. I've never seen him in a decent suit – or even long trousers! He must be really stupid.' Bah! How would you like to buy clothes in his size? He's saving his money to buy things for his family. Sit down with him for a while and you'll be astonished at his personal insights, too.

'Well, okay. But I can laugh at the teenager with the misspelled tattoo, right?'

If you must, Binky. But think about it: the poor kid's going to have years to regret the night he got drunk in a funny neighbourhood. Don't rub it in. You never did anything stupid?

One thing I know: nothing about the outside of me hints even remotely at the person I am inside. Like the Yorkshire terrier who secretly thinks he's an Alsatian, I have worlds in me you're not going to see on a passport photo. And I know a secret: the same thing is true about you.

Let us dedicate ourselves to getting to know each other. Not the accidentals. The real us.

Dmitri Gheorgheni

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