For the longest time, I’ve been the person who avoids being in front of the camera. I really hate having my picture taken. It’s a bit like those Amazon tribes who believe that cameras steal your soul. In my case, the camera doesn’t only steal your soul, it makes you look like a ghoul. I’ve lost count of the number of photos where I’m pulling a face or have my eyes closed. Why, oh why couldn’t I just have supermodel genes from the neck up!
I think it stems from a pretty traumatic family photo shoot when I was about 13 – you know, that totally awkward age, when being self-conscious is as much a part of the scene as ill-fitting training bras and bad skin. All I remember is having an almighty row with my mom, because I really, really, really didn’t like being in front of the camera. Tears & tantrums ensued. Cue blotchy cheeks and swollen eyes. Thanks parents – I will never live that look down!
So…as you can imagine, I have been mystified by the rise of the selfie. Apart from the fact that it seems to be perpetuated by vapid celebrities or over-earnest self-promoters on Twitter, I for the life of me couldn’t bear the thought of taking my own photo. Cameras are bad enough – camera phones…well, people there is a lifetime of therapy there! Still, I had to applaud friends who bravely took selfies of themselves – without makeup – to support the recent Cancer Research fundraising campaign.
Since this is the year of living dangerously – and – because readers of this blog deserve to know that I’m a real person and not a bot…here goes. My selfie and I.
Pier Point 