Nobody's taking my goddamn picture

My husband and I are visiting my in-laws in New York. It’s frigid here… the kind of iciness that people love to bitch about. But I’m all in on it. Gimme another soft layer! Pour me another mug! I’ve lived through enough uninvited heat waves in a poorly air-conditioned SoCal apartment not to appreciate fleeting crisp weather.

Our fingers icicles and searching for warmth, Jon and I gripped each other, sinking into his family’s checkered sofa as we watched Ben Stiller’s new documentary about his dad and mom— Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara.

Wow, I noted. Ben Stiller has so many beautiful candid portraits of his parents.

Jon and I have some beautiful wedding photos but… other than that… all our photos are pretty posed. Our faces are reflections of whoever just said, “Let me get a picture!” Or worse, we pose after I’ve said, “Will someone take a picture of us?” And the shame of asking leaves a subtle hue on my contrived face. My relationship with Jon brings me so much joy and pride. But I rarely see us in photos.

I took a break from instagram recently because I started noticing that I was getting frustrated every time a cute outfit of mine wasn’t properly documented on that horrifically addictive app. I would get home from an otherwise lovely outing and feel like I’d gotten all dolled up for nothing. Fuck the great day I had in my cute dress. If my followers never saw it, then who cares?

The image of the thing was becoming more important than the thing. And I could feel it making me sick.

Last month, Jon and I went to a nearby lounge to celebrate my birthday. I washed my hair and wore my new vintage suede jacket for the occasion. Jon ordered a custom chocolate cake that read “We love AL!” on it. Despite a heavy rainstorm, loved ones from across town made the trek to see us. Even precious Zoom classmates I’d never met in person showed up. It was a full, joyous event. I bounced around the party, taking in hugs and hard laughs with little time to pause. This is one of the gifts of life, I thought. I’m living a special night.

Cut to: way past my bedtime. Some people had left. Some people lingered. But I needed to head home. As Jon and I slunk out, the maître d’ called to us. “What about your cake?”

Oh!

We’d completely forgotten the cake. Actually Jon had pitched bringing it out earlier in the night and I was too consumed by the natural flow of the celebration to permit it, barking, “Not yet!”

But now was certainly too late. I was spent. People had already left. “I guess let’s just bring it home and we’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow.”

I felt the weight of that cake in my lap on our car ride home and suddenly realized that not one photo had been taken of the night.

No outfit pic. No photo of me blowing out candles or vertical videos of my chic friends singing me happy birthday. No group photo to corroborate all the friends who showed up for me. No documentation of my washed hair or tasteful vintage jacket. My celebration and glee weren’t captured by a lens. I could not photographically prove that this rare occasion happened. And for a moment, that made me profoundly sad. As if it had all been for nothing.

Why? I mean seriously. Why???

It’s not even like I have some arch nemesis or ex I’m trying to provoke with my beautiful life; I genuinely only have interest in impressing the people who are actively in my orbit— people who already know what my washed hair looks like. My need for photographic evidence was deeper than that, and it was getting too close to home. If I can’t enjoy a perfect night without a digital representation of it, then what am I doing here on planet Earth?? What the hell do I think humanity is? What do I value??? Fuck!

I thought about moments where I’ve scored the perfect picture of a special experience. I thought about the feelings that arise when I post said perfect picture, whether or not I receive likes or replies. And I noticed that controlling my image feels a little bit like controlling my life.

Key words: feels like.

I resent the endless ways we’re trained to value outsides more than insides. Do I need the world to see that I was celebrated by close friends? Or can it be enough that I saw that I was celebrated by close friends? Why is my experience of my own life not valuable enough? (Capitalism. The answer is capitalism. And the beauty industry). But the good news is: my own experience of my own life is beginning to feel more worthy— the more I step the fuck away from what I know isn’t good for me.

I love snapping pics. Directing a shot. I always have, honestly. And I can admit that I’m good at it. Capturing a laugh or a vibe. Framing it. Gifting it. Turning genuine moments into cherished art. But that love of photography comes from a different urge in me. A creative one. A grateful one. An urge rooted in self worth.

(And make no mistake, I love seeing your posts and selfies; I am in no way hating on the act of sharing sick fits and fun nights! I’ll cheer you on!).

But my craving to be depicted, for me, does not always come from a warm loving place. And I’m admitting this out loud to remind myself how true it is. I can offer myself grace, remembering how female child actors were— and still are— taught to prioritize their images over their souls. It’s okay that I spent five heartbroken minutes yearning for a birthday photo. It’s even better that I’m working towards a healthier relationship with the lens— a lens I’ve been conditioned to literally keep in my pocket everywhere I fucking go.

I want to appreciate my visuals. Instead of forcing images.

Mere weeks later. After an indulgent brunch visiting my adored college roommate in Brooklyn. Her talented husband, unprompted, snapped a candid photo of Jon and me. My will visibly uninvited. And oh my god, I saw us.

♥

*** each episode of Leather and Silk comes with an easy way to be of service in a critical time. today’s is:

learning more about Siempre Unidos LA - a community powered non profit working tirelessly to support immigrant families impacted by ICE raids in Los Angeles. Check out the many easy, easy ways you can support their mission by visiting their website linked above. And share their info with your community! ***