I procrastinated as long as possible, but eventually had to just get on with it.
I’m doing a thing that requires me to submit a photograph of myself – for publication. Not a holiday snap, a proper photo.
I put on some make-up and enlisted my partner’s help. He is a man of many talents. Unfortunately, it transpired that portrait photography isn’t really one of them.
So it was a case of balancing the camera on top of a teetering pile of furniture, propping it up with books and getting to grips with the self-timer, before the light faded.
Once I’d stopped chopping off the top of my head and sitting like I had something wrong with my back, I had to work out how stop my hands from looking enormous. (Easy – edit them out altogether).
Eventually I managed to produce a couple of usable pictures. But boy, was it a struggle.
I know it’s very easy to be self-critical and to dislike one’s own appearance, but… there’s something about seeing myself in photos that always comes as a bit of a shock.
I’m just so much older on camera, and therefore, I guess, in real life, than I am inside my own head. What does that say about me, I wonder? That I haven’t grown up? That I’m vain? That I dislike getting older? Possibly all three.
Perhaps one day my self-image will reconcile itself with my actual appearance. Or perhaps not.
But until it does, I think the search for a selfie will continue to be a bit of a struggle. ♥