It’s funny how you look in the mirror and see what you want to see. Most of the time I think my hair is not too bad, and that my makeup (the little that I do wear) is fine, and that my clothes are presentable. Then, someone takes a picture. Why is there such disparity?
I remember when my husband I and were newly married, we decided to take advantage of a promotional photo shoot at a new portrait studio. The deal was a free sitting and an 11×17 (11×17, no joke) print of whatever pose we liked best. I thought it would be so cool to have a big, formal portrait of us to hang on the wall (certainly not in our teensy-tiny apartment, but later when we upgraded to a house with a long wall, or a living room mantle).
I shined up in a nice dress, and my husband got into his best suit. Each of us looked the other over, approved of our appearance together, and then made our way to the portrait studio. This was some time before digital proofs, so when the photographer was finished snapping all his shots, he thanked us and we headed home. In the car, I looked at my husband and saw nothing but handsome and smart, and he looked over and appreciated me in all my loveliness. We had no idea what the results of the portrait sitting would be, but there was no reason to believe they wouldn’t be perfect.
A couple of weeks passed, and we eagerly attended our appointment to view the portraits. The studio attendant led us to a velvety room with several elegant, but empty, frames. As we waited for the sales representative to join us, my husband and I chatted and our mood was high. A woman came into the room and greeted us as she began inserting our various portrait poses into the fancy, golden frames. As she did so, my husband and I shot each other confused glances. Was that me?
My face was unusually elongated, and I was kind of yellow. My head was angled in an odd direction, and because of that my smile appeared creepy and eerie. If you have ever followed the comic strip “The Far Side”, you might be able to envision what I saw in the images before me.
We complained to the sales representative that we were not satisfied with the way the pictures turned out and because of that we would not be making a purchase. Obviously not feeling my pain and deciding that we were just another waste-of-time in her day, she looked me straight in the eye and said, “Isn’t that how you always look?”
I’m pretty sure I coughed out loud, and to avoid being more rude than that, requested my freebie (although I can’t imagine why, probably on principle). At this, and looking back I really believe she did it on purpose, the sales rep removed the largest portrait from the center frame and transferred it to an equally-enormous envelope — that brute had to be 24×30 at the very least.
“Here you go.”
We said we thought the deal was for an 11×17, and she replied, turning slightly away, “No, that’s the one you get.”
We returned home strangely defeated, but then had a riotous laugh over our new pest control device. I think it also had the ability to repel vampires and most monsters that had a habit of hiding under the bed at night. At least we never saw any after we shoved the portrait under there, permanently.
So what’s my moral? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder? No. Inner beauty is better than outer beauty? No. Oh, never mind, there isn’t a moral. I just truly hated that picture.
So, my minute is up. Thanks for spending yours with me.
Just a Minute Now