As a blind man, I want to clear up a common misconception right from the start: I have no need or desire to touch people’s faces (or any other body parts) to “see” what they look like. Yes, I’m a man and I love people, but being blind doesn’t mean I go around pawing at every person I meet. This might sound obvious, yet I’ve lost count of how many times someone has awkwardly offered, “You can feel my face if you want to know what I look like.” In this post, I’m debunking the so-called touching myth and explaining how I truly perceive the people around me.

The Touching Myth

There’s a persistent stereotype fueled by movies and pop culture that blind people identify others by feeling their faces. You’ve probably seen that dramatic scene: a blind character gently traces someone’s features to recognize them. It makes for a touching moment on screen (no pun intended), but real life is different. In reality, I have never met a blind person who casually touches faces as a way of saying hello. For one thing, touching a near-stranger’s face is very intimate and socially off-putting. Imagine a random person you just met asking to run their hands over your cheeks and nose – it’s uncomfortable for everyone involved. Frankly, it’s also not very useful. A face under your hands is just skin, bone, and contours; it doesn’t magically transmit a full picture of someone’s appearance or identity.

So why does this myth exist? I suspect it’s because people with sight have a hard time imagining how not seeing works. The idea of “seeing with touch” seems logical if you’ve never experienced blindness. Plus, a few dramatic anecdotes and scenes from films have cemented this image in the public mind. The truth is, blind people get by with far less invasive techniques. We follow normal social conventions. I’m not about to start grabbing faces in a business meeting or on a date – that would be as bizarre for me as it would be for you. Yes, some blind individuals might use touch in very specific contexts (for example, a parent who is blind might gently feel their child’s face or a blind lover might explore their partner’s features with consent). But those cases are deeply personal and rare, not an everyday blind habit. For me at least, the “face-feel” stereotype is just that: a myth.

How I Map People

If I don’t use touch to understand who’s in front of me, how do I form a picture of people? The answer is simple: I map people in my mind using a mix of voice, behavior, emotional depth, and shared experience. When I meet someone new, the first thing I notice is their voice. Tone, accent, laughter, the energy in their words: these audio cues paint a vivid portrait for me. A warm, lilting laugh or a confident way of speaking tells me more about someone’s presence than tracing their jawline ever could. I pay attention to what they says and how they say it. Is the person kind and patient in conversation? Do they have a sense of humor that lights up the room? These qualities register immediately.

Behavior and character come next. I might notice how a person interacts with others around us – are they respectful and attentive, or do they interrupt and brush people off? I pick up on sincerity and empathy in the way they respond to me. For example, if I’m at a coffee shop with a new friend, I learn a lot from small things: do they introduce themselves without awkwardness? Do they naturally mention their name so I know who I’m talking to? Such behavior cues help me map out the person’s character. Over time, as I share experiences with someone – long conversations, working together, or even enjoying a meal – I build an internal sense of who they are. It’s not a visual map; it’s more like an emotional and cognitive one. I remember the sound of her voice when she’s excited or the comfortable silence we share on a long car ride. These memories form a rich mosaic that represents the person to me.

Physical appearance isn’t completely irrelevant, but I often learn those details later, once a rapport is formed. I might ask a close friend to describe a person to me after I’ve already formed my own connection. Or sometimes details slip into conversation (“I dyed my hair red last week” or “I’m actually taller than all my brothers”). Those clues fill in some blanks about looks, but honestly, by then I’ve likely already decided how I feel about the person based on our interactions. I won’t pretend blind people never care about looks – we do have our curiosities and individual preferences. But I’ll say this: a charming voice, a kind heart, and an engaging mind are far more attractive to me than any physical trait I can’t even see. I “see” someone by the content of their character and the feelings they evoke, not by the shape of their eyes or the color of their hair.

When Touch Becomes an Excuse

Unfortunately, misconceptions about blindness can sometimes be used as cover for bad behavior. Let’s address the elephant in the room: there have been instances where a blind person did touch someone inappropriately and tried to excuse it as a part of being blind. I’ve heard of (and winced at) stories of blind people who ask others if they can feel more than just a face – claiming they need to “get a sense” of the person’s figure or appearance. Let me say it loud and clear: being blind is not a free pass to be handsy or to violate someone’s personal space. Ever. If a guy at a bar told a woman, “I need to feel you so I know what you look like,” I’d call that out as nonsense (and so would most blind people I know). It’s one thing if two people are in a relationship or there’s mutual trust and consent – physical exploration in those cases is natural and private. But a random blind stranger absolutely does not need to grope you to learn about you. If they insist, there’s a good chance they’re using blindness as an excuse to cross a line.

I feel angry and disappointed when I hear about these situations, because they reinforce the very myth I’m trying to debunk. One widely-reported case involved a blind man who justified touching a woman by saying it was how he “sees” people. As a blind man myself, I find that explanation harmful. It suggests that we blind folks are somehow inherently more physical or even sexually entitled – which is flat-out false. Blind people are just people, and the vast majority of us respect other people’s boundaries like any other decent people do. My blindness doesn’t make me more prone to inappropriate behavior; if anything, it makes me more appreciative of the trust people place in me. I know that when someone extends a hand for a handshake or a hug, they’re choosing to let me into their personal space. I never take that for granted.

What Truly Matters

In the end, how I perceive people has nothing to do with roaming my hands over their face or body. It has everything to do with the qualities that lie beneath the skin. I navigate the world guided by individuals’ values, character, and the emotional resonance between us. Are you compassionate? Do you listen and laugh with me? Do we connect in a way that leaves me feeling understood? Those are the things that truly imprint on me. A person’s outer appearance is just one tiny facet of who they are – and given my reality, it’s a facet I’m perfectly fine not focusing on.

Living without sight has taught me a beautiful truth: what’s essential is invisible to the eye. I experience people through shared moments, through trust built over time, through the warmth or edge in their voice when we discuss our passions and fears. I won’t pretend that I understand someone completely just by hearing them or that I’m immune to superficial judgments – I form first impressions like everyone does, just based on different inputs. But those inputs revolve around who you are, not what you look like. And if I want to know something visual about you, I’ll respectfully ask or use one of the many tools available to blind people today (from a friend’s description to assistive technology). I’ll never assume I have the right to invade your personal space simply because I can’t see. My respect for your boundaries and my appreciation for your inner self go hand in hand.

So the next time you meet a blind person, you don’t need to offer your face or feel obliged to let them touch you. Chances are, they have their own rich, non-visual ways of getting to know you. I certainly do. My world is woven out of voices, words, feelings, and trust. That’s how I know you – by the heart you share and the character you show, not by the shape of your face under my fingertips. In my experience, those deeper impressions are far more illuminating and enduring. And ultimately, that’s what truly matters to me.