A blog post came along today that was very timely, as I said in an earlier post we went to Camp Bestival last weekend, it was the first time camping with the kids at a fun event so of course I took lots of photos. When I got home I realised there were hardly any of me and the kids. In fact there were two out of about 100. I have spent the last X number of years being told, by loved ones, that I am not photogenic. I’m guessing (hoping!) they mean it kindly but as you can imagine after being told for years that you are not photogenic getting in front of a camera takes a certain amount of courage. I don’t like my photo being taken and if it is I tend to be wearing a funny hat or sunglasses or pulling a stupid face. Anything to deflect from the fact that apparently I’m not photogenic. However what also struck me is that I might die tomorrow, if I did then my kids would want photos of me and them together for the memories, and they wouldn’t care what I looked like.
Photos tell a story or jog a memory of where you were, who you were with and if you were having fun or not. I never look at old holiday photos of my mum and say she had thick thighs or a bad haircut. Why would I? As I look back over the last few years there are 1000s (thanks to the power of digital!) of photos of the children with Daddy, of the children with grandparents, of the children being children. There probably exists maybe 50 of me and the children, I look back at Christmas and birthdays and it’s as if I wasn’t there. Yes I spend a certain amount of time behind the camera but I should insist that people take photos of me and the children and of me having fun and of me with my husband. Because it doesn’t matter what I look like, it just matters that I was there.
The blog post I read is here Hate your body? Take more pics
Do you like having your photo taken?