The first time I realized I had crooked teeth, I was 15. My then-boyfriend zoomed in on a photo of me to highlight the gap between my front teeth and how the disjointedness made my smile lopsided. That weekend, my mouth joined the excruciating list of hyperfixations — along with my arms, my stomach, and the acne on my forehead — sending me into a spiral of internal cringe. At some point in the last decade, my smile grew less toothy and more self consciously tight-lipped. I wear a retainer every night and have come frighteningly close to getting Invisalign.
