Marnie Chesterton can remember scientific facts, odd historical tidbits and every meal she ate on a gastronomic adventure in Italy. But she can’t remember faces. Even if she’s met you a few times, chances are she won’t recognize you.

She's diagnosed herself with prosopagnosia - or face recognition disorder. Marnie now faces up to a lifetime of embarrassing situations.

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So I’m at this monthly movie and cocktail night run by some friends of mine. Seeing a bunch of new faces, I approach a non-threatening-looking girl, stick out my hand and attempt an introduction. “Hi, I’m Marnie.”
Her face registers some emotion that falls short of pleased. “Yes,” she says, “I know, we’ve already met.”
I’m embarrassed now, and do a cringey mixture of apology and explanation. “I really sorry, I’m not good with faces.” “Yes,” she says, “You said that last time too.”

I realize that I’ve likely introduced myself to this girl, probably 3 months in a row, each time bounding up to her like the new kid at school, who’s eager to make friends, but not eager enough to remember who she actually is. I slink off and hide in the dark by the chip-and-dip table until the film starts.

I am officially bad with faces. Not exactly the worst disability you could have. And I’m certainly not the worst affected – I’ve heard of people who don’t recognize their own children, the idiots. But I can recognize close friends, immediate family and colleagues I see on a daily basis. It’s just the less-than-monthly people I can’t recall.

Muppets coat = Susan
I never even noticed that this was a problem until I went to University - the first opportunity in my life to make hundreds of potential new friends. Just think how many would now be actual friends if only my brain could remember who they all were. I spent the first couple of months hanging around with this one girl;  we didn’t have enough in common to be buddies, but she always wore this distinctive coat. Blue and purple - it looked like the pelt of a Muppets character. And all I needed to do was remember that the person inside the coat was called Susan.

Being a bit of a nerd, I tried to find a pattern, to see if it was a particular type of person I forgot. My ‘experiment’ led to a brief bout of paranoia about being misogynist, because I seemed to have a particular mental block about blonde females. So it came as a blessed relief when I failed to recognize most of my new and mainly male colleagues. Result! I may be bad with faces, but I do it with equality. Men, women, all colours and creeds, I offend all equally by forgetting who they are.

The stupid thing is, I think I’ve got quite a good memory. I can recall entire lyrics to songs I don’t even like. I have a mental slideshow of every dish I ate on my first trip to Italy. I can bore my friends with science facts they didn’t ask for. But faces? Why would that possibly be important, says my brain.

Workplace strategy
So that’s what I do. The workplace strategy involves smiling blandly at everyone. Affect a jovial manner, and say a cheery-but-swallowed ‘Good Day’ to everyone you meet in the corridors, and you’ve covered all the bases. Either they know you and you’ve done the right thing, or they don’t and you’re that cheery girl who always says hello. It can get quite tiring, especially on days when I’m not feeling social, but I can always fall back on Plan B - staring at the floor.

Actually I’ve got a pathetically large array of Plans C through to Z and beyond, for hiding the fact that I’ve got no idea whom I’m talk to: stick to vague statements. Avoid the conversation in the first place (I have hidden in toilets, behind friends, taken massive detours, boarded buses going in the wrong direction, just to avoid the potential chat).

At parties, I make a beeline for the children. They may be stickier and have less knowledge about New Wave cinema, but they seem to enjoy repeatedly tellingly you their name. It’s like you are doing them a favour by asking.

Prosopagnosia
I consulted my one-stop Oracle, the internet, which not only gave a fancy title – prosopagnosia - to facial forgetfulness… it also offered a test, which I took. My virtual diagnosis was that I’m not properly face-blind, just sub-normal. What it didn’t do was offer any tricks to stop me from talking myself into corners.

But the funny thing is, my problem has likely made me a better person. You certainly can’t go around picking fights with people if you’re not going to remember them the next time you meet. The best policy is to treat everyone as friends, whether you know them or not.

It certainly worked for my grandfather, who also had face-blindness. On his 92nd birthday party, he sat in a throne-like armchair and greeted each of his guests on their way into his party. I watched as people melted under the heat of his charm. He hit them with a volley of “Hello you”s, “Wonderful to see you”s. Compliments filled the air.

As one old lady practically skipped off towards the canapés, buoyed up by how special my grandfather had made her feel, he turned to me and winked conspiratorially. “I have no idea who that woman is.”

Marnie Chesterton is the host of Earth Beat.