The peephole was a glass eye in the door. You put your eye to the hole and the hallway stretched out in a circle like a fishbowl and the person on the other side was warped and fat and standing in a world that curved at the edges. The peephole made everybody look suspicious. Even your mother looked suspicious through the peephole. The optics of paranoia.

You heard the knock. You walked to the door. You put your eye to the glass. The ritual. Nobody skipped the ritual. Even if you knew who it was. Even if you were expecting them. You checked. The peephole was not about information. The peephole was about the pause between the knock and the door. The pause was the point. The pause said this is my home and I decide who enters.

The peephole worked one way. You could see out but they could not see in. The asymmetry was the whole design. The person outside did not know if you were home. Did not know if you were looking. Did not know if you were standing six inches away watching them stand there. The peephole gave you the power of invisibility at your own front door.

My building had peepholes installed by the landlord after the burglaries on the third floor. Before that we had nothing. You opened the door or you did not. The peephole was the retrofit of caution. After the peephole you could be cautious without being rude. Before the peephole saying who is it through the door was the only technology. Your voice was the scanner. Your judgment was the lock.

The peephole is still there. Every apartment door in the city has one. But nobody uses it anymore. The intercom buzzes and you buzz back and the person walks up and you open the door. Or the camera shows you a live feed. The peephole requires you to walk to the door and press your face against it and look. The peephole requires proximity. The peephole requires you to be present at your own door. We found ways to open the door without being there. That was the goal. That was also the loss.

See also: Door Chain, Door Knocker