Photography by Anne Blog

On Monday, radio personality Howard Stern was discussing celebrity deaths.  Specifically, that when a celebrity dies, all of the ugly, overweight pictorial  evidence of said celebrity disappears and they are forevermore portrayed as young, gorgeous, fit icons.  This discussion came on the heels of Elizabeth Taylor’s death.  Suddenly every less than flattering, sickly, tabloid-worthy image of Ms. Taylor had also passed on.  But the saucy vixen who lit up the silver screen in “A Place in the Sun” and “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” is indeed hot, again.  I tend to be a planner, so, before I go, I think it only appropriate that I find the picture that will best define me postmortem.  The problem is I hate having my picture taken.

I recently had a photo shoot and I literally lost sleep worrying about it. I worried about what clothes to wear. What would look most flattering. What colors  would photograph well. How my hair would hold up after an eight-hour workday preshoot.
Then, post-shoot I sat in the photographer’s studio as she pulled all of the shots up on her big screen TV (I’m cringing as I type this) and we critiqued  them together.  Seven outfits. Two hours. Half a dozen props. One hundred pictures. And I gave tentative approval for a small handful. This is not a slight to the photographer. She is, in fact, brilliant. I love her work. I just don’t love her working on me. (She knows this.)
The reality is, I can’t “look natural” when in fact I am standing in a most unnatural position — with a big light shining on my face, a fan blowing my hair  about, in front of a paper backdrop, holding a rubber chicken, turning my hips to the left, twisting my shoulders to the right, tilting my chin to the sky,  smiling, and keeping my eyes open, while all eyes are on me. Seriously, who knew how hard it would be to keep my eyes open? I never seem to have a  problem keeping my peepers peppy when reading, or typing, or driving. But, bring out a camera and suddenly I am Chief Blinksalot. What’s up with that?

Collectively, I have spent hours un-tagging myself in Facebook photos. Come on people. You know what I look like in person. So, chances are you know what I should look like in a photograph. If the two don’t match (or I have more than one chin), please don’t tag me.
Ah Facebook, where the formula for the perfect profile picture alludes me. Some people though — well, they just don’t care. Is standing in front of your  bathroom mirror and taking a picture of yourself really the best you can do? Where is your creativity? Have you no shame? Do we really want to see your  zit cream, tampons, overflowing waste basket, and messy bedroom in the background? I say no. Post an unflattering picture that someone else took.  Not the one you took pre-pee. A recent trip to the post office to renew my passport had me in a photo-frenzy.
None of my Facebook photos hit the mark. I actually e-mailed the aforementioned photographer and she ever so agreeably sized my best picture down  to the required two by two square. Unfortunately, it was a no-go. While my eyes were open, they weren’t looking directly at the camera.
So Marshall at the Bluffton Post Office was tasked with capturing the moment. On the fourth try, and through muffled laughter, he finally said, “Just open  your eyes really wide.” I obliged. This is why my new passport photo makes me look like a deer caught in the headlights or perhaps a woman with a really bad eye lift. My fear now is that I will have to make that face for every customs official I encounter. Hopefully, they won’t laugh as hard as Marshall  did. I don’t know how I am  going to go out. But I do know I’d like a strong photo finish.

Crossing the Line appears every other Wednesday. You can reach Courtney at courtneyh@hargray.com