The Cobbler’s Children Have No Shoes

That 70s Girl

I was just IMing with Hey, Hot Shot! honorable mention Shane Lavalette about my upcoming seminar at the PRC. (Monday March 19!) I wasn’t actually even sure if it was online, but Shane dug up the link and said “You’re right there, just past Lauren Greenfield.” (And followed by William Christenberry, that’s quite a photographer sandwich!) So, there I am, but with no photo next to the entry so it kind of gets lost. Shane suggested that I send them a headshot, and although I think that an exterior shot of the gallery is more apropros in this instance, the suggestion brings me to the title of my post above: Fact is, I don’t happen to have a decent headshot to send, even if I wanted to! Which is ridiculous considering how many awesome photographers I work with. But not so ridiculous considering how much I hate, hate, hate having my photo taken.

I’ve got a few photos that I use… one is a candid that was taken at an afterparty a couple of years ago. And it’s cute and sort of glam (I’m wearing my mom’s vintage fur stole! And my dress made out of old boyscout uniforms! And I’m at the Chelsea Hotel!) But my haircut is terrible and I don’t think it really looks like me. Sometimes I use a lousy scan of a childhood snapshot where I’m wearing a very fashion forward purple pantsuit. (See above – that’s the one on my bio page too.) And for an IM icon I have a few grainy grey captures from the iSight camera that’s built into my new MacBook. (New laptop, yay!) Those photos are pretty much universally lame, and let’s face it: few people look good in a screen capture that’s angled upwards past the expanse of one’s chin. (And this chin of mine is boasting some Winter insulation at the moment.)

So, what to do? Did I mention that I hate having my photo taken? It’s not like you can’t tell. Check out any of the opening reception photo sets over on Flickr and you’ll see my semi-clenched jaw and general unease as I methodically recall and reject all the bad photo-taking advice administered by my family over the years. (My family albums are littered with my mother, aunt and grandmother, and yes, sometimes even me straining our necks upwards and throwing our shoulders back in the most unnatural ways, our misguided attempts at creating flattering angles.)

I can’t stand the idea of sitting for a formal portrait, all that sitting still is hell on my insecurities and anxieties. Every time someone’s shooting installation shots at the gallery I hide in the back room. Someone like Eliot might be good – he’s got the stealth snapping thing down. Even when he uses a flash (which he uses well and often) he manages to surprise people without creating shots of people who look surprised. But all that flash and my pasty white skin and the Winter insulation. Oy. I’d love to corral Alec, but really who wouldn’t? He’s too busy sipping champagne and snapping Cat Power to be bothered with the likes of me, anyhow.

A while ago someone sent me links to a portrait set on Flickr. It was these two young photographers up in Toronto who manage to make everyone look like themselves but better. I thought it was Photoshop, but my friend insisted it was lighting. If it WAS lighting, I want a portable version of that lightkit to carry around with me – they created such a flattering penumbra!

Anyway, yea: This cobbler has no shoes!