It all started out innocently: I wanted a photo of me to put on my ‘about’ page. That, and to have a good one at the ready for the news networks (at least one photo without the trifecta of double chins, adult acne and sweat patches) should anything happen to me. And ladies, you know exactly where this is heading…
HOLYFUCKINGPSYCHOMELTDOWN. I saw photographs of me.
I don’t fear bad photos. I just don’t like them. Some people are blessed with photogenicity — yes, that’s a word. They are able to ‘find the light’, ‘smile with their eyes’, and end up with great photos. I, however, am not one of those people. And having gone through every single photo that I could possibly draw from in the last four years, I am left dissatisfied. With nothing that I can even crop to make it look better. Le sigh!
But in the spirit of being open and honest about things, the big fear is not that I don’t have a pretentiously arty photo of myself on my blog. It’s more that I won’t exist in history. I don’t mean some big, world-changing, deeply effectual history of any means or consequence, but just that there simply won’t be any documentation that I did, in fact, exist. I’m always behind the camera, and rarely out front. I document my life and the lives of others from the outside. But what about the inside?
The problem with being comfortable behind the camera is that when you do finally get a shot to be immortalized as you exist in this moment of time, your 15-year-old awkward and goofy self appears, resulting in the type of photos in Exhibit 1. A LOT.
So where is the mature, self-confident woman I am supposed to be now I’ve been welcomed into the 30s club? She appears seldomly, mostly at work and professional functions (when I can keep my mouth shut so as not to give the game away), but that side of me that I “should” have perfected by now simply doesn’t exist. It’s just daggy old me playing dress ups in suits. On occasion, I feel powerful, confident, ready to tackle the world in a suit. But mostly, I just feel like a fraud when I wear them. What about you?
As I was sorting through all my photos and cringing, I came across one when the Canadian and I were on one of our gourmet eat-fests at the Ferry Building. And it dawned on me: my jeans/t-shirt/sneakers combination with a baseball cap makes me look just like Squints from the Sandlot Kids (and on a side note, did you know that here in the US, the movie was only called the Sandlot? Weird how movies end up with a different title in Australia…).
Jeans, sneakers and t-shirts are so… me. But it gets a little repetitive — I can’t remember the last time I dressed up. Sometimes, a girl just wants to rock it. Rock it like Wendy Peffercorn, not Squints!
HELP! This writer need as makeover! With minimal monetary outlay, and instant body improvement.
Can you help?
This is the sixtieth post of the Great Writing Challenge of 2012.
Three times a week for an entire year, I will be writing about life and travel and random subjects . The stipulation: it must be 250 words (or more), and positive in tone. If you would like to suggest topics for me to write about, please email me at TheRebeccaProject [at] gmail [dot] com.