Thursday – No Photos, Please
Aug. 13th, 2009 01:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
I'm notorious in my family for not liking to have my picture made. I'm not as bad as some people are about it, mind you. I have a certain cousin who you have to catch by surprise to take her picture, because is she sees the camera before you take the photo, you end up with a picture of her hand blocking the whole lens. She's a big woman, but she's lighting fast when it comes to blocking a camera.
She's a big woman, but not as big as some of her sisters. She's a plain woman, but not ugly. She just has never liked having her picture made.
When I was a kid, I thought this was peculiar. That whole branch of the family is peculiar, though, so I marked it up as a just another quirk of that clan. Now that I'm grown, I am more sympathetic. In fact, I understand it completely. I'm not aggressive enough to put my hand in front of someone's camera and ruin their whole shot of everyone else. Passive as I am, I chose to turn tail and run instead. If I can't get away, my expression in the photo is either a pained smile or a pleading grimace.
To illustrate how much I hate to be photographed, I didn't even have a photographer at my wedding. It was a small, low-key affair, so I didn't see the point.
That Woman Who My Father is married to, who was helping me put the wedding together but with whom my relationship was still strained enough that I did not yet refer to her as my stepmother, was stunned when I said there would be no pictures.
"You're kidding, right?"
"I hate having my picture made. My memories of it will be more beautiful if I don't have any reminders of how I actually look," I tried to explain.
"But you have to have pictures. I mean…"
"Why would I want to pay someone to take pictures that I'll hate and will probably tear up and destroy as soon as I have them?" I asked. Digital cameras were not all the rage yet 9 years ago, and the best way to get rid of film photos is to tear the pictures up and then take scissors to the negatives. I know: I have a lot of experience doing both of these things. Digital cameras make it easier: I just delete every picture of me that I can, before anyone gets a chance to make a print of it.
That Woman's solution was to recruit my stepsister to take pictures for free. She became the official non-official wedding photographer, and she sent me the pictures as part of her wedding gift to me. Since they were a gift, I couldn't destroy them. They are in an album of wedding photos, like they should be. I never look it.
My stepsister is tall and athletic, and her family photographs nicely. Every Christmas, they have an adorable family photo made and sent one to my father and his wife.
"When are we going to get one of these of your family?" That Woman Who I Now Call My Stepmother, asked.
"Never. We're not that cute," I told her. She looked pained. I could tell she wanted a better reason than that.
"I can't stand to look at pictures of myself. They make me sick to my stomach."
"What do you mean 'sick to your stomach?'"
"I mean seeing them makes me throw up and cry at the same time. I'm not paying a photographer to make me cry and want to throw up. It would be masochistic."
My expression seemed to convince her that I wasn't kidding. "Really? You're not making that up? You really feel that way about pictures?" She sounded amazed.
"Really, truly. I hate them."
"I've never met anyone else who felt that way."
I thought about mention my cousin, but I'm not sure that tearful nausea is what she feels when you take her picture. Judging by the look on her face, it's more of a rage thing with her.
So, you must be assuming that I am either ugly, or that I think I am. It's more complicated than that.
I am not beautiful, but my features are not unpleasant, either. I would probably like them fine on someone else's face. Besides, I've met plenty of butt-ugly people who like pictures of themselves just fine. Also, I don't mind my reflection: I've ripped countless photographs to confetti, but I don't smash mirrors. Perhaps it's the slight distortion that a camera makes to a person's features, plus the 10 pounds (which I swear looks more like 15 or 20 on me) that the camera adds to your appearance, that I don't like. Whatever it is, people are stunned when they see me react to a picture. They think I must be exaggerating. I'm well aware that it's over the top. But it's hard to hide the fact that you are trying very hard not to cry and vomit when the impulse to do both is that strong.
Yet as the years pass and the person in the photo no longer looks like me, I soften toward my pictures. I came across one that my husband took of me some 20 years ago. It was back in my platinum suicide-blonde days, and I was curled up on the floor in front of a Christmas tree at his old apartment.
"Oh my God," I said, amazed, "Look how cute I was! No wonder you wanted in my pants so bad."
"You're still cute. I still want in your pants," he said.
"But you've been in them off and on for 20 years now," I reminded him.
"Not often enough."
"But I really was cute," I marveled. "I didn't know it. I had no idea."
"You look the same," he said.
"Ugh. There's more of me now."
"And it's all cute."
"You're nuts," I said, "But I like that about you. Don't ever get sane, okay?"
"If it hasn't happened yet, it probably never will. I wouldn't worry about it."
Ah, but I do.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I'm notorious in my family for not liking to have my picture made. I'm not as bad as some people are about it, mind you. I have a certain cousin who you have to catch by surprise to take her picture, because is she sees the camera before you take the photo, you end up with a picture of her hand blocking the whole lens. She's a big woman, but she's lighting fast when it comes to blocking a camera.
She's a big woman, but not as big as some of her sisters. She's a plain woman, but not ugly. She just has never liked having her picture made.
When I was a kid, I thought this was peculiar. That whole branch of the family is peculiar, though, so I marked it up as a just another quirk of that clan. Now that I'm grown, I am more sympathetic. In fact, I understand it completely. I'm not aggressive enough to put my hand in front of someone's camera and ruin their whole shot of everyone else. Passive as I am, I chose to turn tail and run instead. If I can't get away, my expression in the photo is either a pained smile or a pleading grimace.
To illustrate how much I hate to be photographed, I didn't even have a photographer at my wedding. It was a small, low-key affair, so I didn't see the point.
That Woman Who My Father is married to, who was helping me put the wedding together but with whom my relationship was still strained enough that I did not yet refer to her as my stepmother, was stunned when I said there would be no pictures.
"You're kidding, right?"
"I hate having my picture made. My memories of it will be more beautiful if I don't have any reminders of how I actually look," I tried to explain.
"But you have to have pictures. I mean…"
"Why would I want to pay someone to take pictures that I'll hate and will probably tear up and destroy as soon as I have them?" I asked. Digital cameras were not all the rage yet 9 years ago, and the best way to get rid of film photos is to tear the pictures up and then take scissors to the negatives. I know: I have a lot of experience doing both of these things. Digital cameras make it easier: I just delete every picture of me that I can, before anyone gets a chance to make a print of it.
That Woman's solution was to recruit my stepsister to take pictures for free. She became the official non-official wedding photographer, and she sent me the pictures as part of her wedding gift to me. Since they were a gift, I couldn't destroy them. They are in an album of wedding photos, like they should be. I never look it.
My stepsister is tall and athletic, and her family photographs nicely. Every Christmas, they have an adorable family photo made and sent one to my father and his wife.
"When are we going to get one of these of your family?" That Woman Who I Now Call My Stepmother, asked.
"Never. We're not that cute," I told her. She looked pained. I could tell she wanted a better reason than that.
"I can't stand to look at pictures of myself. They make me sick to my stomach."
"What do you mean 'sick to your stomach?'"
"I mean seeing them makes me throw up and cry at the same time. I'm not paying a photographer to make me cry and want to throw up. It would be masochistic."
My expression seemed to convince her that I wasn't kidding. "Really? You're not making that up? You really feel that way about pictures?" She sounded amazed.
"Really, truly. I hate them."
"I've never met anyone else who felt that way."
I thought about mention my cousin, but I'm not sure that tearful nausea is what she feels when you take her picture. Judging by the look on her face, it's more of a rage thing with her.
So, you must be assuming that I am either ugly, or that I think I am. It's more complicated than that.
I am not beautiful, but my features are not unpleasant, either. I would probably like them fine on someone else's face. Besides, I've met plenty of butt-ugly people who like pictures of themselves just fine. Also, I don't mind my reflection: I've ripped countless photographs to confetti, but I don't smash mirrors. Perhaps it's the slight distortion that a camera makes to a person's features, plus the 10 pounds (which I swear looks more like 15 or 20 on me) that the camera adds to your appearance, that I don't like. Whatever it is, people are stunned when they see me react to a picture. They think I must be exaggerating. I'm well aware that it's over the top. But it's hard to hide the fact that you are trying very hard not to cry and vomit when the impulse to do both is that strong.
Yet as the years pass and the person in the photo no longer looks like me, I soften toward my pictures. I came across one that my husband took of me some 20 years ago. It was back in my platinum suicide-blonde days, and I was curled up on the floor in front of a Christmas tree at his old apartment.
"Oh my God," I said, amazed, "Look how cute I was! No wonder you wanted in my pants so bad."
"You're still cute. I still want in your pants," he said.
"But you've been in them off and on for 20 years now," I reminded him.
"Not often enough."
"But I really was cute," I marveled. "I didn't know it. I had no idea."
"You look the same," he said.
"Ugh. There's more of me now."
"And it's all cute."
"You're nuts," I said, "But I like that about you. Don't ever get sane, okay?"
"If it hasn't happened yet, it probably never will. I wouldn't worry about it."
Ah, but I do.
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heh
Date: 2009-08-13 07:04 pm (UTC)Re: heh
Date: 2009-08-14 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-13 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 02:48 pm (UTC)The answer is "no."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 03:52 am (UTC)My boyfriend says the camera can't capture my glow. He's crazy too.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-15 07:36 pm (UTC)What a fantastic & sweet sentiment! He may be crazy, but he's got a romantic streak in him too. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 03:58 am (UTC)I figure that means it is downhill from here. As much as I hate my photos now, I will probably look worse in 10-20 yrs.
So I want to keep JUST a few so that my kids can remember how I look like now as opposed to what I will become was I get older.
I hope they will want to remember me, yes, even how I looked:( It's a whole package I guess.
But I agree with diaobological. Photos of me...surprise me. I guess in my mind, I look very different. Skinnier, prettier, younger. Why can't others see that? LOL
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 02:53 pm (UTC)For the record, there really is a distortion. A camera lens is curved, meaning the things in the center of the photo are ever so slightly exaggerated, while the things toward the edge of a photo are ever so slightly understated. Some people, the ones who are photogenic, benefit from this distortion. Most of us don't. :P
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 12:42 pm (UTC)*HUGS*
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 02:58 pm (UTC)The kicker is that because of this the second group will be remembered as being beautiful, while the beautiful ones will be remembered as so-so.
*Hugs Dawn back*
no subject
Date: 2009-08-14 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 04:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-15 12:28 am (UTC)Either I always have my nose wrinkled or it happens when I see a camera--I'm not sure.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-15 07:35 pm (UTC)Plus, like you just described, you never really appreciate how cute/young/hot/thin/whatever you are until you see a picture of yourself years later . . . long after that phase of your life has passed.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-17 04:18 pm (UTC)