Actor Brad Pitt revealed in a recent interview that he suffers from prosopagnosia, a rare neurological disorder also known as “facial blindness.”
Dani Blum describes the disorder’s signs, causes, and remedies in an article for the New York Times.
Borna Bonakdarpour, a behavioral neurologist at Northwestern Medicine, claims that face blindness—not color blindness or general vision impairment—is the main symptom of prosopagnosia.
The National Institute of Neurological Disorders and Stroke states that there is no connection between the illness and memory loss, vision problems, or learning impairments.
Blum continues, “It is not the same as forgetting or occasionally having trouble finding the correct word.
The severity of prosopagnosia will differ from person to person.
For instance, some people might have problems identifying a familiar face, such as that of a close friend or relative, while others might have trouble identifying their own reflection.
Additionally, some people might not be able to distinguish between faces and objects.
Notably, some data indicates that individuals with prosopagnosia may have chronic anxiety or depression due to the loneliness and fear that are frequently associated with the illness.
Blum notes that some people avoid contact with family members and other loved ones out of concern that they won’t be able to properly recognize or acknowledge them.
“Navigating basic social relationships with prosopagnosia can become difficult,” she says.
Pitt admitted that he has trouble recognizing people’s faces for years in a recent interview with GQ, despite never having gotten a formal prosopagnosia diagnosis.
In fact, Pitt claimed in a 2013 interview with Esquire that his difficulty recognizing people’s appearances was so great that it frequently made him want to isolate himself.
He explained, “That’s why I stay at home.
What is the condition’s cause?
People who are diagnosed with prosopagnosia often fall into one of two categories: either they are born with it or they acquire it.
However, estimations reveal that as many as one in every 50 people may struggle with some lifetime form of the disorder, and experts hypothesize that it may run in families.
According to Blum, research “suggests that congenital, or lifelong, prosopagnosia is less prevalent.”
According to Andrey Stojic, director of general neurology at the Cleveland Clinic, children born with the illness “don’t seem to have any visible structural abnormality” in the brain.
Notably, doctors don’t fully understand what causes congenital prosopagnosia because there aren’t any obvious brain lesions in persons who have it.
In contrast, people who develop prosopagnosia later in life may have brain abnormalities brought on by a trauma or head injury.
According to Bonakdarpour, individuals can also develop prosopagnosia while dealing with Alzheimer’s illness or following a stroke.
What therapies are available for prosopagnosia?
Prosopagnosia is now untreatable, according to Bonakdarpour. The problem can be treated, though.
People who have the syndrome frequently attempt to distinguish between people by focusing on physical characteristics like hair color, gait, or voice.
We Adopted a Rescue Dog — The Next Night, My 8-Year-Old Son Was Gone
What began as a simple family outing to adopt a rescue dog quickly turned into a night of panic, hidden secrets, and difficult truths. That night made me question everything I believed about trust and family.
Last weekend, I thought I lost my son.
It all started with a dog. My son, Andy, had been begging for one for months. Every day, he’d ask, “Dad, can we please, please get a dog?” He was relentless, and I was getting close to giving in. But he also had to convince Kelly, my wife.
After a lot of talking, my wife finally agreed. She looked at me seriously and said, “Fine, but only if it’s small and well-behaved. We’re not getting some big, messy mutt.”
Kelly had grown up in a tidy home, where pets were seen as small, clean, and polite. A poodle or a Yorkie, maybe, but definitely not a scruffy dog. Our son, though, wanted a real friend.
The shelter was loud, full of barking and howling. Andy’s eyes lit up as we walked down the rows of kennels, skipping over the fluffy dogs we were supposed to be considering.
Then he stopped. In front of us was a kennel with the scruffiest dog I’d ever seen. She had tangled fur, big brown eyes, and a tail that looked crooked. She didn’t bark, just looked at us, tilting her head as if curious.
I squatted down next to Andy. “She’s not exactly what your mom wanted, buddy.”
“She needs us,” he said, looking at me with a stubborn glint. “Look at her. She’s… sad. We could make her happy.”
“All right,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Let’s bring her home.”
When we walked in, my wife’s face fell. “She’s a little scruffier than I imagined,” she said, glancing between the dog and me.
“Come on, Daisy’s great,” I said, grinning. “Besides, they’re already best friends.”
She forced a small smile, looking unconvinced. “I just hope she doesn’t ruin the carpets.”
That evening, as we got ready for bed, Daisy wouldn’t settle down. She paced around, whining softly.
“Can’t you do something about that?” Kelly sighed, looking irritated.
“She’s probably nervous being in a new place,” I said. “Maybe she just needs some attention.”
Kelly hesitated, then swung her legs over the bed. “Fine. I’ll give her a treat or something,” she muttered and left the room.
Minutes later, she returned, saying, “She just needed a treat.” She climbed into bed, and the whining stopped.
I woke up around 3 a.m. to a strange quiet. Something felt wrong. I got up to check on Andy. His bed was empty, the covers on the floor, and the window slightly open.
A cold panic crept over me.
I rushed down the hall, checking every room, calling his name louder each time. But he was nowhere.
I ran back to the bedroom and shook my wife awake. “He’s not in his room,” I said, my voice shaking. “The window’s open. Daisy’s gone too.”
She sat up, her eyes wide, but there was something else—guilt?
“Maybe she escaped, and he went after her?” I asked, desperate for an answer.
She bit her lip, hesitating. “I don’t… I don’t know,” she stammered.
I picked up my phone and called the police, praying he was somewhere nearby.
Just as I was about to step outside, there was a soft scratching at the door.
When I opened it, Daisy sat there, covered in mud, panting. I dropped to one knee, feeling a mix of relief and confusion.
“Daisy?” I whispered. “Where were you?”
It felt strange to ask a dog, but I was desperate. She just looked up at me with tired eyes.
Hours later, just as dawn broke, my phone buzzed. It was Mrs. Carver, an elderly neighbor who lived nearby.
“I saw a little boy near the woods behind my house,” she said. “He looked… lost.”
I thanked her, grabbed my keys, and headed to the car. Kelly and Daisy followed, looking tense. The woods weren’t far, but it felt like miles.
When we arrived, I ran into the woods, calling his name. And then, finally, I saw him.
He was curled up under a tree, shivering, his face dirty. I knelt beside him, pulling him close.
“Buddy,” I said, my voice breaking. “You scared us half to death.”
He looked up, his face lighting up when he saw Daisy behind me. She’d followed us, sniffing the ground.
“Daisy,” he whispered, hugging her. “I thought you ran away because of me.”
I picked him up, wrapping him in my arms. “Let’s go home, all right?”
He nodded, looking back at Daisy like she was the only thing keeping him safe.
When we got back to the house, relief washed over me. My son was safe, Daisy was with us, but something still felt off.
My wife was tense, her eyes avoiding mine. She seemed distant, almost nervous. After we’d settled Andy on the couch with a blanket, I turned to her.
“I swear I locked the door. How did Daisy get out?”
She looked down, her hands twisting. After a long pause, she took a deep breath. “I… I let her out.”
I stared, not understanding. “You… let her out?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought… maybe if she disappeared, he’d get over it. She wasn’t the dog I wanted. She’s… scruffy, and I didn’t think she fit here.”
I felt anger and hurt boiling inside. “So you just… let her go?”
“I didn’t know he’d… he’d go after her,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I thought he’d be sad, then move on. I didn’t want this mess. I just wanted things to be normal.”
“Normal?” I repeated. “You put him in danger because you couldn’t handle a little mess?”
She sank into a chair, covering her face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d do something so brave or that Daisy would stay with him. I didn’t think.”
I shook my head, struggling to understand. I looked at Andy, snuggled up with Daisy on the couch, her head on his lap. They’d bonded through something none of us had expected.
“I don’t know how we move past this,” I said quietly. “But for now… Daisy stays. She’s part of this family, and you need to accept that.”
She nodded, wiping her eyes, realizing the weight of what had happened.
As I watched Andy stroke Daisy’s fur, a small, hopeful warmth rose in my chest. Family wasn’t about having things perfect. Sometimes, it was about the imperfect moments, the scruffy dogs, and the quiet forgiveness that held us all together.
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