Unwanted questions are something many people with visible differences experience in everyday life. This year’s Changing Faces campaign film shines a light on those moments and the long-term impact they can have on those who experience them daily.
New figures suggest that 9 in 10 people with visible differences struggle with confidence and self-esteem, something campaigners say will only change if people start to ‘think before they speak’.
Changing Faces, which has spent over 30 years listening to and documenting the experiences of people with visible differences, says there is still a long way to go. The charity believes harmful comments are too often dismissed as curiosity rather than recognised as something that can be hurtful.
We spoke with Joti Gata-Aura, a 48-year-old teacher from West London who has vitiligo, about her experiences and what she wants people to understand.
Hi Joti, you recently featured in the 2026 Changing Faces campaign. What was the experience like?
Being part of this campaign with Changing Faces felt incredibly empowering and emotional at the same time. I became a campaigner for the charity two years ago, and it has been amazing getting to know so many positive role models who share their voices and stories.
For so long, people with visible differences have often been spoken about rather than given the space to speak for themselves. This campaign, Think Before You Speak, created an opportunity to tell honest stories about confidence, stigma and everyday experiences in a way that felt human and relatable.
It also reminded me that there is real strength in visibility, especially when people come together with different experiences to support and empower one another. Being part of a community offers so much support for people with a visible difference, and Changing Faces provides exactly that.
Knowing that someone else with vitiligo, or another visible difference, might see the campaign and feel less alone made the experience deeply meaningful for me. I felt very proud to take part and am grateful for the opportunity.
How has living with vitiligo influenced your sense of identity as a South Asian woman born and raised in West London?
Vitiligo has definitely shaped how I understand identity and belonging. Growing up in London, I was surrounded by diversity, but there were still strong ideas around appearance, beauty and fitting in, particularly within South Asian culture.
Skin is often spoken about openly in my community, and any visible difference can become something people feel entitled to comment on without considering the impact their words may have.
For a long time, I felt pressure to minimise or explain my vitiligo. Instead, I chose to hide my skin with long sleeves and make-up for two decades because I felt I needed to make other people comfortable in order to feel accepted myself. I also felt ashamed of what was happening to me and did not know how to handle it at the time.
Over the years, however, my experience has helped me develop a much stronger sense of self. I have become more grounded in who I am beyond appearance, particularly since having a family, and more aware of the importance of representation for women who do not always see themselves reflected positively in public spaces.
I explore my culture and these experiences in greater detail in my memoir, Strong in the Skin I’m In.
You’ve spoken about being stared at in public and the assumptions people sometimes make. Can you describe what those moments feel like and how you navigate them emotionally?
Being stared at can feel incredibly exposing. Sometimes it is subtle and sometimes very direct. What is often hardest is not the staring itself, but the assumptions attached to it – that something must be wrong with you, or that you somehow owe people an explanation.
When my skin was at its worst, I had patches all over my body. Once vitiligo started appearing on my face, I was devastated because I knew it would become much harder to cover, especially during warmer seasons and holidays.
Emotionally, it can be exhausting because these moments happen during ordinary parts of life – shopping, commuting or spending time with your children. Some days I brush it off more easily than others. I have learned not to internalise every reaction because much of it comes from a lack of awareness rather than malice, but that does not mean it has no impact.
What helps me now is reminding myself that I deserve to take up space exactly as I am. I try to approach situations with confidence and self-compassion, while also recognising that it is okay to feel hurt or frustrated sometimes.
As my skin has become lighter, I receive more stares, and people often question who I am in relation to my family when we are out together. That can be upsetting, but I no longer allow other people’s assumptions or judgements to control my life in the way they once did.
How do you process these moments with your family?
As a mother, those moments can feel particularly vulnerable because my instinct is always to protect my children and create a sense of normality around them. When strangers stare or make comments, there is an added awareness that my children are witnessing it too.
In the moment, I try to stay calm and grounded. I do not want my children to feel shame or discomfort around difference, whether that is mine or anyone else’s. I focus on modelling confidence and kindness, even when I may feel uncomfortable internally.
My children are now old enough to understand these situations, and we have open conversations about how I feel. Those conversations have helped them develop empathy and a deeper understanding of visible difference.
What once felt like shame and embarrassment in the early years after my diagnosis has shifted. I have used these experiences as opportunities to teach my children empathy, respect and how to approach others with thoughtfulness and compassion.
Later, I may still reflect on those moments with some sadness or frustration, but they reinforce the importance of raising children who understand acceptance and inclusion from an early age.
Working as a teacher means you’re around young people who may be naturally curious. How do you experience the difference between children’s questions and adults’ reactions?
There is usually a huge difference. Children are often curious in a very open and innocent way. They may ask direct questions, but they are generally not judging you – they are simply trying to understand something unfamiliar.
As I teach Spanish and my skin tone has changed over time, students are often curious about where I come from. Like many young people, they are interested in their teachers’ backgrounds.
I have had students ask me directly whether I have vitiligo, and I am always open with them. At my former school, where I was Head of Spanish for several years, I delivered assemblies during Mental Health Awareness Week focused on body positivity and self-confidence. Those sessions created a safe space for students to discuss their worries and insecurities and encouraged important conversations around body image.
Adults, on the other hand, often carry assumptions, discomfort or social conditioning into their reactions. Sometimes that comes out through staring, whispering or avoiding conversation altogether.
As a teacher, I value children’s curiosity because it creates opportunities for honest conversations about difference, respect and inclusion. When handled positively, those moments can teach children not to fear or stigmatise what they do not immediately recognise.
How have you learned to set boundaries in these moments, and what do you wish more people understood about respectful curiosity?
Learning to set boundaries has taken time. Earlier in my journey, I hid behind heavy makeup and long sleeves because I did not want to engage in conversations about my skin. At the time, it felt easier to deal with it alone.
Looking back, I think people probably sensed I was hiding something because I was constantly trying to cover my patches, and I know from old photos that my make-up looked very heavy.
Now that my skin has changed and I have fewer patches, people are often curious about why my skin is lighter. I have even been asked whether I have bleached my skin, particularly while travelling in East Asia.
Those experiences have helped me understand that cultural perspectives differ. In some countries, skin-lightening practices are more common, but my skin changed naturally as my vitiligo evolved.
Today, I feel much more comfortable explaining what has happened to my skin and educating people about vitiligo.
I wish more people understood that it is okay to be curious, but the way curiosity is expressed matters. There is a huge difference between asking a respectful question and making someone feel scrutinised or uncomfortable. A smile, kindness, or simply treating someone normally can go a very long way.
Do you feel your experience of vitiligo intersects with your cultural or community identity?
Yes, definitely. In many South Asian communities, appearance can carry significant cultural and social weight, particularly for women. There can be unspoken pressure around looking a certain way or meeting traditional beauty standards.
Because vitiligo visibly challenges those expectations, it can sometimes feel isolating. At the same time, it has encouraged me to question those standards and think more deeply about how we define beauty, acceptance and worth within our communities.
I experienced loneliness and isolation because I felt people would not understand what I was going through. Twenty-five years ago, vitiligo was not openly discussed or represented in the way it is today.
That is why representation matters so much. Seeing more South Asian women openly living with visible differences helps create greater understanding, acceptance and empathy.
Campaigns like ‘Think Before You Speak’ aim to shift public behaviour. From your perspective, what meaningful change would you most like to see?
The biggest change I would like to see is for visible difference to stop being treated as something unusual or uncomfortable. Too much harm comes from the idea that it is acceptable to stare, comment or speculate about someone’s appearance.
Meaningful change starts with normalising difference and teaching empathy from an early age, both at home and in school. As a teacher, I would love to see more conversations happening in schools, particularly during PSHE lessons and awareness weeks such as Mental Health Awareness Week.
This is something I am passionate about, and I am currently working on projects that I hope can be integrated into schools.
Ultimately, the goal is simple: for people with visible differences to move through the world without feeling hyper-visible or judged. Everyone deserves to feel respected, included and seen for who they are beyond appearance. The impact of people’s actions can often stay with someone far longer than they realise.
