I’m sure the title of this entry alone was enough to send your mind spinning with all the ridiculous possibilities for awkwardness that would come from me being in a photo shoot.
Let me start by answering your first question, which I’m sure is, “Who in the world would want you to be in their photo shoot?” Or perhaps another valid first question is, “Why in the world would you want to even be in the photo shoot?” The answer to both of those questions is inherently the same, which is that I had to take these pictures for my work. We are doing a publicity campaign, and everyone needed a semi-professional picture to be taken. You can imagine my dread upon hearing this.
This story really begins hours before the photo shoot, when I was getting ready. But considering I thoroughly catalogued that painful process for you in a previous entry, I will spare you from having to read about it again.
Instead, I will begin with the photo shoot itself. The only thing I know about modeling is what I “learned” from the minor obsession I had with ANTM in middle school. To set the tone, the photographer asked if I wanted to pick a song to play. I panicked, as I frequently do when put on the spot, and just consented to whatever song he thought was appropriate. That song ended up being Barracuda, by Heart. After being told to channel my inner-fierceness, I began to be photographed.
I’m pretty sure the first few photos are of me just making a very confused or perplexed face, as I tried to grasp the concept of channeling my “inner-fierceness,” and contemplating what that would even look like. When I finally realized that I was being photographed, and should probably smile, I pulled out one of those all-teeth, wide-mouthed grins that six-year-old boys, and apparently Spongebob, seem to be really good at. It probably took about 50 frames for my cheek muscles to finally relax, and for me to start smiling like a non-psychotic person. But before I could even get two or three good pictures in, the photographer decided to break out the fan.
Let me interrupt myself here to just say that I HATE wind. It is my absolute least favorite type of weather. I deplore it. And now I know that this applies to artificial wind as well. Part of the reason that I hate the wind so much is because I just don’t have wind-friendly hair. It never all flows in one direction—my bangs stick straight up, and after I end up with hair that looks like it came straight out of an 80s yearbook photo. NOT CUTE.
After seeing the pictures afterward, I can assure you that me and the wind do not mesh well on camera either. In half the pictures pieces of hair are stuck to my mouth, and in the other half of the photos I’m doing some weird thing with my lips where I am trying to dislodge the hair subtly without using my hands. The result is a weird quasi-duck face, with a furrowed brow, and somehow crossed eyes.
I guess I’m just as awkward on-camera as I am off-camera. All I have to say is that I really hope they don’t pick one of the confused, manic-grinning, or mentally constipated ones for my head shot.