The Pool of Narcissus …an Allegory

Narcissus fell in love with the wrong person…himself. Bad choices make for unhappy endings. His did.

He tried but couldn’t breathe life into his image. Grief stricken, he plunged a dagger into his heart, ending the torment. He exhaled, “Alas! Ah, youth, beloved in vain, farewell.” So much for an unrequited love affair with himself. Only a flower bearing his name remains. So the myth goes.

The Greeks invented this guy, and sometimes myths take on a life of their own. Narcissus is the avatar of subtle seduction, enslaving those who fall in love with themselves. Self-reflections are delusions to be avoided. Yet we don’t, not in our culture. A friend explained to me the modern equivalent of this fable.

Mike owns a printing company located in an old warehouse. It bears no resemblance to a reflecting pool. He prints my business cards. Recently I showed up in his shop. Strewn on his counter were business cards and publications picturing beautiful women and handsome men. Their self-replicas smiled seductively at the world, photoshopped and airbrushed to perfection.

“Mike, what’s all this?” I asked. “Oh, those,” he said with an indifferent smirk. “The latest crop of over-achievers.”

“Terrific crop,” I said.

“Nothing new. See it all the time,” he said. “Wanna look behind the scenes? Come on.” I followed him to his dark-room.

He grabbed a stack of photos. “See these?” he said? “They’re the same ones you saw up front. Take this one, for example.” He laid the photo next to a finished card. I examined it.

“Mike, no way this is the same person,” I said.

“Wrong,” he said laughing. “Masterful job of wizardry, huh?” he boasted. Pride hid his humility. “Man, you should have been a cosmetic surgeon.” I said. “The pay’s better.”

“They pay me big money to make ‘em look young and alluring,” he replied, smiling. “Learned the trade from my uncle. He’s a mortician. His cosmetic makeovers are legendary. They make lifeless corpses ready for resurrection before they even leave the chapel.”

“Amazing,” I said. “Who are these people?”

“The new hot shots around town,” he said. “Professional types. They gotta look good to get client interviews. It’s all flash. I take their best head shots, do a clean-up and make ‘em irresistible. They put these clean-ups everywhere…Google, Facebook, web sites, Match.com, magazines, you name it. These are today’s Narcissistic pools. Even the President’s all over it. Didn’t he say, ‘We’re the ones we’ve been looking for?’ We’re a ‘me’ culture, in love with ourselves. There’s a new crop of ‘em every year.”

“And it’s not just women,” he said. “Look at this guy.” A magazine cover showcased a young man looking like he’d walked off the cover of GQ. He appeared just a little younger than my used Lexus.

“Wow. Work your magic on me.” His laughter shook the building. “Not even I am that talented, pal. Save your money.”

“Ok, ok. Why are people so vain?” I asked.

“Competition,” he said. “Look, it’s a dog-eat-dog world. People judge on looks, then on credentials. Can’t blame ‘em for doing this. It gets ‘em in the door, that’s all. Then they’re on their own.”

“You know Greek mythology?” he asked. “A little,” I said. “Well, they’re seeing their reflections in the pool of Narcissus. Remember him?” I did, vaguely. “Explain,” I said.

“OK,” he said. “This fellow Narcissus hung out around his pool, contemplating his life. He saw his reflection and fell in love with it. He kept looking at himself, hung up on his reflection. He worshipped his reflection in the pool and went mad trying to possess it. He finally fell on his own sword.”

Mike quoted an obscure Dryden poem. “O, thou strong seducer, opportunity.” He continued, “Our culture is changing. People fall in love with themselves all the time. It’s how they get on in life. They’re riding on a smile and a shoeshine. Looks and smiles will get them in the door, but they need substance to back ‘em up. Doors swing both ways.”

He added, “It’s hard to tell fact from fiction anymore. I feel guilty contributing to the ruse, but looks are often all they have to cling to. I help them grasp their reflection and make something out of it.” He looked sad.

I’d heard enough. I picked up my dull business cards, thanked him for his soliloquy and left. So far I’ve avoided reflecting pools, but just wait till you see my new business cards…

Bud Hearn
Copyrighted 10/13/10