Camera Shy
How many of you have a female friend or relative that has a distorted view of her looks? This woman will shun the camera, always making certain to leave the room when someone says “Smile”. Does your BFF go through the pictures first and destroy what she doesn’t like? Or you find out a day later that all the pix with your mother-daughter-sister-grandma-aunt, etc. have mysteriously disappeared into thin air?
I am a Woman Destroyer when it comes to pictures. If there are six shots of me, I’ll save (on a good day) one image that I tuck into my journal or the memoir I’m currently reading. Why you ask?
#1 photo shows my double chin
#2 highlights my chipmunk cheeks
#3 is focused on my sausage-like upper arms
#4 makes me look five months pregnant
#5 shows the world my bottom has fallen and can’t get up
The only photo I may rescue is the one with People magazine in front of my face, with only my eyes showing. I like my eyes (on a good day.) Could it be that I suffered early trauma when having to pose for a picture? Was it in the 1st grade when I had that terrible Pixie haircut - or 6th grade when I refused to smile due to new braces - or 11th grade where I looked like Cher because of a prominent nose? Could it be comments from friends that viewed my school photos, and called me “Olive Oyl” because I carried 115 pounds on a 5’8” frame.
Talk about poor self image! Nevertheless, all these years later it’s still difficult to have my picture taken. And then I look at my DL card and discover I look like a pumpkin head, and what’s worse, it’s in color!
The last time I had professional pictures taken was November 7, 1970. I was 19 years old and getting married at Chapel in the Canyon wearing white and carrying pink roses. Even then I liked only one of the bridal photos, and our wedding album had thirty 8’ x 10’s.
Back to a recent photo opportunity: I wore a simple blouse, a black choker by Avon (circa 1982), and had pictures taken in a charming basement studio, and outside sitting in a field of poppies. One week later I sat with the photographer to view the results.
There were more than forty shots - which became fourteen - dropped to eight - I settled on two - decided on one. In this prized final photo I was smiling: not phony, not staged, not fake. My eyes had a twinkle in them, and it wasn’t even Christmas morning or my birthday. I had placed a flower in my hair, and the look worked. My goodness, it was Ja’Nee looking happy and feeling grand. No filters, no tricks, smoke or mirrors. Just a simple picture that reflected my true essence as relaxed, thankful, carefree, and joyful. The photographer made magic that day when she captured the heart of me, the good in me, which I frequently forget. That one picture tells a story. It shouts that I’m not old; gray; overweight; stressed; unforgiving all the time. I’m ok on a good day.
There’s a wonderful childlike quality in each of us, and my advice to readers is this: Do not allow any one person to rain on your parade. Know that you are beautiful, and loved, and perfect, in every way. So next time someone asks to take your picture, stand your ground and welcome it. Smile and let your light shine through.
Click.
I am a Woman Destroyer when it comes to pictures. If there are six shots of me, I’ll save (on a good day) one image that I tuck into my journal or the memoir I’m currently reading. Why you ask?
#1 photo shows my double chin
#2 highlights my chipmunk cheeks
#3 is focused on my sausage-like upper arms
#4 makes me look five months pregnant
#5 shows the world my bottom has fallen and can’t get up
The only photo I may rescue is the one with People magazine in front of my face, with only my eyes showing. I like my eyes (on a good day.) Could it be that I suffered early trauma when having to pose for a picture? Was it in the 1st grade when I had that terrible Pixie haircut - or 6th grade when I refused to smile due to new braces - or 11th grade where I looked like Cher because of a prominent nose? Could it be comments from friends that viewed my school photos, and called me “Olive Oyl” because I carried 115 pounds on a 5’8” frame.
Talk about poor self image! Nevertheless, all these years later it’s still difficult to have my picture taken. And then I look at my DL card and discover I look like a pumpkin head, and what’s worse, it’s in color!
The last time I had professional pictures taken was November 7, 1970. I was 19 years old and getting married at Chapel in the Canyon wearing white and carrying pink roses. Even then I liked only one of the bridal photos, and our wedding album had thirty 8’ x 10’s.
Back to a recent photo opportunity: I wore a simple blouse, a black choker by Avon (circa 1982), and had pictures taken in a charming basement studio, and outside sitting in a field of poppies. One week later I sat with the photographer to view the results.
There were more than forty shots - which became fourteen - dropped to eight - I settled on two - decided on one. In this prized final photo I was smiling: not phony, not staged, not fake. My eyes had a twinkle in them, and it wasn’t even Christmas morning or my birthday. I had placed a flower in my hair, and the look worked. My goodness, it was Ja’Nee looking happy and feeling grand. No filters, no tricks, smoke or mirrors. Just a simple picture that reflected my true essence as relaxed, thankful, carefree, and joyful. The photographer made magic that day when she captured the heart of me, the good in me, which I frequently forget. That one picture tells a story. It shouts that I’m not old; gray; overweight; stressed; unforgiving all the time. I’m ok on a good day.
There’s a wonderful childlike quality in each of us, and my advice to readers is this: Do not allow any one person to rain on your parade. Know that you are beautiful, and loved, and perfect, in every way. So next time someone asks to take your picture, stand your ground and welcome it. Smile and let your light shine through.
Click.