Where’s your favorite mirror? Mine is in London, where I grew up: a nondescript rectangular one that’s hung in the hallway of my parents’ house for as long as I can remember. Checking myself in it moments before opening the door has always been a B12-like injection of confidence; I never fail to look thinner and younger. I call it the “Lie to Me” mirror, a plausible fib in a glance that’s a prescription-free GLP-1.
And we all have—or should have—one of those mirrors in our life that would soothe even the most evil stepmother. But what makes some mirrors so much more flattering than others? After all, my go-to is unremarkable in form but a miracle of function.