so I spent a good part of this weekend struggling to take author photos. Yes, that may sound ridiculous, and I guess maybe it is but it is also the reality of who I am. I do not like to be looked at. I do not like the way I look. I am most comfortable, when I am invisible physically, and can be just me.
The very act of taking an author photo defies all of the emotions I just attempted to explain. And because I am female there is an inherent suggestion that I should be beautiful. And I am not. And I am aware of that constantly. In fact when anyone tries to suggest I am attractive in any way, there is this huge rift in my time space continuum because my brain refuses the suggestion. It’s like those mystery spots where things roll up hill and you know it can’t really be defying the laws of physics so your brain struggles and you get dizzy? That’s kind of what happens to me when someone says I have beautiful eyes or whatever.
This whole thing has actually been a three step process. First pictures with me doing my own make up. Picture hearty laughter from the photographer. Then after she and her assistant had hit me with half the contents of Mac and again with something in the middle. Each time paring down the poses. Paring down the clothes that photograph well.
Each time forcing me to smile or not smile, suck it in, let it out, show some cleavage, cover it up, toes pointed, toes relaxed, shows on, shoes off, pretend, pretend, pretend…
I am exhausted.