Last week I got an email from my agent, asking among other things for a picture of me. Now, I’m elusive as a yeti when it comes to being photographed, even with my family. But me, all alone in front of a camera? It never happens. The whole idea makes me so uncomfortable that I spent the weekend trying to finagle a usable shot on my own (photographer, shoot thyself), with such tragic results that I came at last to a frightening conclusion: I’m going to have to call in the big guns. I’ve booked a session with a professional photographer.
Photograph by Ellen Von Unwerth
Oh the irony. How many times have I pleaded and cajoled and flattered and threatened in order to get a reluctant subject to loosen up in front of the camera. How many times have I inwardly rolled my eyes when she wouldn’t cooperate? How many lies have I told in pursuit of an attractive portrait, how many times have I dismissed the fears of the victim. And now it’s gonna be me grinning at the cyclops, trying to remember not to stiffen my shoulders or squint into the light, silently chanting ‘relax, it’s only a picture’ while someone points that diabolical lens at my face.
Smile, Averil. But not like that.
For confidence, I bought a new sweater and silk scarf. Also, two kinds of powder. Eyeshadow with matching liner. Lipstick with matching gloss! I may even throw down for a hat, and have my author photo reveal one enigmatic and heavily mascaraed eye, peeking out from under the brim.
I’m trying to shop my way through this, what can I tell you.
How are you in front of a camera?
I’m not in front of a camera. Ever. I am lensphobic and reverse-photogenic.
If the publishing industry ever decides to give my stuff a go, I’m hoping it will allow me to skip the author photo completely, use my humble playing card avatar . . . or have one taken of me walking away, wearing this jacket: http://www.unshelved.com/store/Outerwear/LibraryRaid
But if I must, a professional photographer and a makeup artist sounds like a good investment. Maybe I can hire a model?
No hiring of models. We writers should make a pact to show up for our author photos in our natural state of disarray: bathrobed, unwashed, and with a coffee cup clenched in one desperate fist.
Or, in a LIBRARY jacket. That thing is boss.
And Lyra’s new boots.
What about that picture you linked of you on here awhile back? It was a gorgeous shot.
Me, I have the same smile as when I was ten. Big cheesy grin. Nothing subtle or sly or sexy about it. Just me and teeth.
Oh Lyra, At least you smile WITH your teeth. When I was six years old I looked at all my friends’ school photos and realized that none of them had gummy smiles. I learned to smile while showing teeth.
Your photo is adorable, Lyra, teeth and all. I’d be thrilled to look so good.
That photo of me is low-res, it won’t work. Also, I shot it with an iPhone in the bathroom, and you can see the shower door over my shoulder.
Is it someone you know? If it’s a random pick, what about Cheryl Strayed’s friend, Joni…Kabana? I think? She’s local to you and Cheryl’s pics are just radiant. Ask Suzy.
I know, Cheryl looks amazing in her pics. The guy I’m seeing is someone I met at a workshop eons ago, and he’s pretty fucking fabulous himself. We’re doing the shoot at the arboretum, all amongst the pine trees. Fingers crossed that he can make me look like someone you’d want to read. If the portrait ends up like Nick Nolte’s mug shot, I’m totally jumping on your suggestion.
XO
The worst photo of me ever taken was snapped by an acquaintance about three years ago in front of my house, in what I now know is bad light, with my own camera. (I hadn’t learned much about the dials and buttons yet.) I came out darker than I am, an odd grayish, muddy color that had little to do with any reflections of myself I’d ever seen in mirrors or panes of glass. I looked fifteen years of hard life older, and twenty pounds heavier than I was. My upper arms looked immense, sitting out somehow from my body, and all these things, along with a knit dress that was supposed to be right for my body shape, gave me the air of a wrestler needing to retire before being thrown on my face for the thousandth time. I am not lying.
I’m not necessarily happy with the photos from early spring that I put on SIS, but at least they look like me. I had stopped trusting cameras, but those photos taught me a lot about lighting and angle. This summer’s heat wave somehow curtailed my appetitie, so I’m losing weight and developing my capacity for prayer. It’s my way of having hope for my future appearance.
With what you already know and what the professional will know, I’m sure your mascaraed eye peeking out under a brim will be beautiful, delightfully mysterious, and just the thing to promote your book.
Why in god’s name did she give you a copy of that picture? Seriously. Now you’re traumatized and it’s all her fault.
Re: the knit dress. I’m way ahead of you. The sweater I bought is perfect for a photo. One side has a long sleeve, the other is a cape or poncho or whatever, that drapes over the shoulder and fastens at the neck. Makes me feel like Alice Waters. All I need is a bundle of gritty carrots in the crook of my arm.
It was my camera! I handed the thing to her because I wanted a photo of myself all dressed up. Oy vey!
I’m lovin’ your ideas for your photo.
Ugh. Photography, the bane of the vain.
From the time I finished puberty, I was the most photogenic thing ever. My two-dimensional image transcended the three-dimensional one. I remember taking the proofs from my senior year portraits to the photographer to pick the ones I wanted to use for the yearbook. He looked at the photos, looked at me, and said, “This isn’t you.” This went on for about ten years. Then I moved into the ashram. Practically from that moment, any picture of me has been terrible, with few exceptions. I feel like it’s a joke God played on me to show me how spiritual I’m not, because I’m totally self-conscious in front of a camera now. Whatever the case, I have appeared in only a handful of photos in the last twenty years, but have taken tens of thousands (not including video) of other people.
I’m with Lyra; I like that sexy waif photo of you.
Years ago I shot a girl’s senior photos for her graduation. We were all blown away by how beautiful she was in every photo, she couldn’t take a bad one. A couple of years later I saw her again for photos of the whole family, and it was exactly the opposite.
Every face has a prime time. Have you ever met a young guy who looks like he was born to be sixty-five? His face won’t come into its own for decades.
I don’t think twice about taking them and almost always regret them later. When I smile my eyes squint shut. I am tall and skinny and my hair is pixie cut, so my neck looks like a spinal column attached to my front, bulging Adams apple and all.
Tall and skinny? Talk to the hand, sister.
ACK, me too. I’m a giraffe. I hate all photos of me especially the one on my book jacket. Averil, go creative, walking away, big glasses and head scarf like Audrey Hepburn. Your book, your rules.
See, that’s my thought as well. I’m going fine art with this. Uber-creative. What I lack in beauty I will make up for in style.
An old friend and I just went on a road trip together. It was such a fun time I can’t even explain it to my man. At one point, we were in the middle of a river, lying on big slabs of granite, passing the camera back and forth. Not to take pictures of each other but to snap ourselves. I know it sounds like the pinnacle of vanity but it was So Freaking fun! We have known each other since preschool. now mid 40s now and doing alright, in the right light at the right angle, but at that moment we were focused on the good and it was a huge relief. So I think it all depends on who you’re with. http://bluebirdblvd.net/2012/07/20/how-to-take-a-portrait-a-list/ I loved this post, which addresses this same idea. (Btw, I have not looked at the photos we took. Chicken.)
That link was lovely.
You DID make that sound like fun, girlish fun like you can only have with an old friend. (I don’t have any old friends, or any friends, period, but if I did I could totally see us laying on slabs of granite in the middle of a river.)
You should look at the photos.
XO
Next time I come to Portland, we will find some granite and sprawl on it like sea lions. We will also bring Suzy.
GITH, you should totally look at the photos.
Hop a plane, chickadee, we’ll make like marine life.
Big smile. You gotta love somebody with a big smile, even if it’s you.
Meh. I’m partial to non-smiling photos myself.
Ms. Marshmallow nods knowingly at the subtext.
Despite living with a photographer for five years and being portrayed in various stages of dress and undress, I hate the camera eye. Close my eyes, fidget. I know I need to upgrade my author shot and I have a friend in Spain I would trust (could we meet halfway?) but I’ve been pushing it away for months.
I say slap on the eyeliner and turn up post-sex!
Aha! The freshly fucked look, always in style.
Worst thing ever. I say go the way of Cindy Sherman.
I tried. Hard. Believe me when I tell you the results were gruesome.
We should all have your problem!
Actually one of the lit mags that ran a story of mine wanted a photo of me. I sent three, only one of which showed my actual face. That’s the one I used.
I saw give the world an unflinching, confident portrait of yourself. You own this planet, and let everyone know it!!!!
I think you’re very handsome, Paul. Who took that photo, anyway?
My sister took the photo with my point and shoot digital pocket camera. I set up the shot though, and that’s what passes for a smile on my face.
(Thinking of getting rid of the beard/mustache after 20+ years though.)
Just went through it myself. Hate it with a passion. But, listen, I can’t help adding these words of advice: at least you’re not sixty. If at all possible, enjoy your young skin. I wish I’d been more grateful for what I no longer have. I really do.
You’re right. I have never felt all that comfortable in my skin, but when I look back at photos of myself ten or twenty years ago, I think, eh. Not too bad.
Meh, ThreeKings, hindsight. If you make it to 80, you’ll be saying that about your 60s, so I hope you’re taking your own advice.
@Shanna: GOOD ADVICE. I’m going to take my own advice!
I fucking hate having my picture taken. I am also reverse-photogenic. (Can I steal that, Sarah W?)
May I recommend a hat and a tube of mascara?
What if I hate mascara too?
Suck it up. And try not to jab yourself in the eye.
Yes, ma’am.
Went through this last year in preparation for a book project. The icon you see by my posts is the result of hundreds of photos. The photographer just kept taking shots until I forgot the camera was there. It was the only way.
From my days as a photographer, I will tell you that men are generally the most combative photo subjects. Women are at least used to being looked at. Men are not. They tend to crumble under the scrutiny.
photos of me rarely reflect what i think i look like. it’s all so subjective, isn’t it?
this reminds me–i need to get my driver license renewed.
(how lovely that you’re having an informal conversation on here about your author photo and getting cheryl strayed’s photographer’s name as a recommendation–”she’s local to you”—ahhhh, the sweetest four words on here!)
Right? I live in Coolsville now, baby.
I’m with Lyra–I loved that shot of you too. But I think it makes perfect sense to have someone else take your picture–much as it does to have someone else design the cover of your novel. It’s exciting to see how you look through another’s lens. But that said, the process of the author shot is a bit daunting. I am grateful for mine because I think it’s reasonably flattering, so I never know how to react when people tell me (9 times out of 10) when they meet me that I look nothing like my photo.
Can’t wait to see yours, lady–another step in this glorious journey!
That’s a good point. Someone else needs to design the cover, and someone else needs to take a decent photo of the author. Some things are not meant to be DIY.
Your photo is lovely, Erika. I hope I get a good one like that.
@Erika: I agree with Averil. Great photo.
i’m a cat in a cardboard box.
Sources say you’re rockin’ a mighty fine haircut, Tetman.
that i am.
Author photo! What’s it going to be? Chin on fist, gazing soberly at the lens? Reclining on a chaise long, all mysterious and Mata Hari? Passport shot, gritty and urban, or profile, fingers perhaps pressed to cheek, showing how sensitive you are? Man, can’t wait to see what you come up with. Good luck!
{snort}
Wood nymph(o).
First, and this might well be a silly question, but you’re using a pseudonym but a real photo of yourself? This has always mystified me and I don’t quite know how these things work. I guess just having your real name not in use adds a little layer of privacy?
Also, I didn’t know you linked to a photo of yourself on here; I must have missed it. I’ll look forward to seeing your book jacket! (Also because it will be on a PUBLISHED BOOK.)
As far as I’m concerned, I’m super tense in front of the camera. Seriously, it’s bad. My husband is an amazing amateur photographer and I can’t relax even in front of him. He pretty much has to talk to me and get my attention like you would during a child’s photo shoot. He’s one step away from waving a stuffed bear at me. And then he has to act fast because after only a few frames I go totally blank. “That’s enough for now — you’ve gone away,” he’ll say.
I really need an updated photo for my site and author stuff — the current one was taken like 2.5 years ago — but it’s such a trial getting my picture taken that I can’t bear it. We’ve tried several photo sessions over the last year and none of the photos have worked. I wonder if I’d actually do better to be in front of a photographer I don’t know? What do you think?
Yeah, I’m still figuring out the whole pen name thing myself. Mine has been breached in a number of ways and everyone who matters in my life already knows it, so at this point I’m resigned to the loss of anonymity and trying to make the best of it. Averil has become my writing name and feels more personal (weird the way that happened), so I’m going to keep it unless I make a change in genre at some distant point in the future.
I think you are a hundred times more likely to get a good picture from a stranger. You’ll behave better, be more receptive to her ideas, and you’ll be more comfortable around someone who doesn’t know the process is awful for you. (DO NOT tell the photographer you hate to get your picture taken. Pretend you love it.)
I’m sure you’ll look beautiful
.
I’d settle for not looking like a lunatic, actually, but I do like your optimism.
Ah, the author photo. I plan on trying to stay as anonymous as I can as a writer. But the photo session feels like a rite of passage. Perhaps I’d wear a mask to conceal my identity, but be otherwise naked so that the reader knows how well I bare my soul. Bahaha. Oh, but what if someone recognized my tattoo?
Baby. Don’t tease me.
Like you, I am the person behind the camera and I hate getting in front of it. But unlike you, I can take a picture of myself. Cannot imagine letting anyone else do a photo session of me. The pictures on my website are ones that I took of myself (can I hear an amen! for the interval timer feature?).
Show off.
I feel even more foolish gazing into an unmanned lens than one with a person behind it. Every picture I took seemed strangely unanimated, and my smiles appeared to be grimaces of pain.
Your listing of things you bought for the shoot reminds me of yet another one of the great things about being a guy. You wanna take my picture? I doan wear makeup and I’m not gonna buy no new clothes. Juss lemme cone my hair and brush my teeth and make sure I got nothin hangin outta my nose or stuck in my beard, and you can snap away.
Yeah, yeah, fair enough. But though we have a complicated routine, it does at least offer the possibility of improvement. You men look the same all the time. Where’s the fun in that?
We’re rock-solid that way. Isn’t that what a woman wants–a guy who’s rock-solid?
Um . . . yes.
I’m on holiday now and realizing how often I avoid the camera. Look at that fat arm! I look tired! Blah fucking blah. Truth is I’d be more than happy with a camera snapping away if I lost 30 pounds. Ififififififififififififififif…. That’s my painfully boring female story.
I am so loving your ideas of one sultry eye with a cool hat!! The mystery of you.
You’re on holiday! Oh you lucky girl. And you are one good-looking chick, I don’t know WTF you’re talking about.