I happened to become a mother just as Instagram was launching. I don't even think that I made a conscious decision to post or not to post, I just posted and have been positing ever since. Today, my kid is slightly curated on Instagram, he has his own hashtag and his photos are a true representation of his vibrant and quirky personality. This wide form of sharing our daily lives on social media has become the norm, not only for my modern family, but for many other snap happy parents across the globe. Instagram was essentially built for wanna be models, foodies, amateur photographers, and above all, parents.
On a recent trip to Ojai with my husband and son, I found myself snapping photos of my child at every turn... bouncing on the bed, swimming in the pool, taking a nap, throwing a bean bag, opening the pool gate, and sitting like a big boy at the dinner table at a fancy restaurant. WTF, seriously? How annoying can I be? Turns out, pretty big time, super annoying -- like, Oscar worthy.
When I was a producer for an entertainment television show, I always felt this corner pocket of compassion surrounding celebrities and paparazzi. I imagined stalker paparazzi camping outside their homes and what it must feel like to have cameras in their faces every moment they were out in public; photographers always waiting to shoot their every move. Sure they're famous, but does that mean people have a right to harass and hound them to catch the "perfect" photo just to make some money? It may not be illegal, but it is downright inhumane forcing it in their face and making anyone do something against their consent.
I was feeling pretty horrified thinking about how paparazzi chase and target children, and simultaneously realized, I am my own child's paparazzi.
Actors Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard, who are married with small children, launched an anti-paparazzi campaign last year, which called for readers to boycott weekly magazines that run photos of celebrity children. I remember not only was I impressed with their ingenious call to action, but I was one hundred percent in agreement and I thought "Thank you Dax and Kristen for manning up for the rest of the kids out there, nice job." Their boycott worked, media outlets like People, Us Weekly, Entertainment Tonight and others no longer feature paparazzi photos of children.
I have a confession to make. About six weeks ago my 4-year old son Milo put his hand up in protest for the first time, signalizing he did not want his photo taken. I tried to distract him so I could get the shot, I mean, I pride myself on being super convincing at most things, but he was not having it, so I gave up. About one week later, we were at an event in Santa Monica, I wanted to take his photo next to this cool vintage scooter, and up popped his hand in front of my phone, he very sternly said "NO!" So, I did what any other determined modern mother would do, I waited until he looked away, and I snapped the photo anyway.
In case you're wondering, yes, I sort of hated myself for ten seconds, but I quickly recovered and proceeded to post the photo on Instagram a few hours later. Since then, I haven't really curbed my manipulative mommy means of getting the shot by any means necessary, #Mamarazzi.
On our last evening in Ojai, it was sunset and we were frolicking in the picturesque backyard pool area at The Ojai Rancho Inn. Milo was lawn bowling with his dad, the lighting was gorgeous, they were both sun kissed and glowing -- I approached to snap what I already pre-produced in my head as an epic Insta-worthy vacation photo and BOOM, hand up, followed by a fierce "No mommy, I don't want pictures." Um, okay, I got it. Although I was slightly disappointed, I did put the phone away and told myself there would be other moments. I asked him if he wanted to collect sticks, he joyfully agreed. I watched as he ran to grab each stick while sneaking looks back at me to be sure I was following suit, and I was. We collected and tossed sticks and giggled when each landed in the grass -- it was a perfect, undocumented moment together.
I started to think about the whole "look at the celebs kid at the park!" photos in weekly mags, and those really do teach us some sort of disengaged voyeurism. I mean, being followed by photographers all day would eventually affect a child right? I was feeling pretty horrified thinking about how paparazzi chase and target children, and simultaneously realized, I am my own child's paparazzi. My poor kid, not only do I stalk him outside with my phone camera, but inside our home too -- while he's drawing, building Legos or laying on the floor reading a book quietly in his room -- in reality, he really can't escape me. I really am a shitty mom.
It's so crazy that we expect our own babies, toddlers, and kids to be completely cool and instantly relaxed with having a camera pointed at them, and we demand them to look happy about it, no matter what kind of day they're having: "Smile! Stop making that silly face... please smile nice." What does smile nice even mean?
I started to question my own motives, what is this inherent need to shoot so many photos of my child? Is it because I want to capture each and every morsel and memory of his life? Am I making certain he will have the ultimate baby book of the century, packed with the most picture-perfect photos, thus guaranteeing him an idyllic childhood? Or, am I solely in search of a flawless, art-directed shot to post on Instagram? Um, all of the above. There, I said it. I don't know if this makes me the worst mom ever or just a standard modern mom who is essentially catapulting my child into a therapist's chair with my stalker-like behavior.
We have become a society that spends so much time capturing every single moment that we are no longer actually living any moments. Technology allows us to film every waking moment -- from birth and birthday parties, to soccer goals, baby's first steps, and wedding vows -- but just because we can, does it mean we should? I fear that if I don't somehow put my "Momarazzi" vibe in check stat, and work on being more wholly present, I am going to miss experiencing my son's life, live and in color.
Sure, he is awesome and magical and special, (really, he is) but, I don't really need 3,220 photos in my phone to remind me of that.
I think back to my own childhood, my parents had a Kodak camera with 24 or 32 exposures, that's it. They maximized each and every shot, there were no instant re-dos and according to my baby book I was adored, loved, and cherished. I lived the baby dream life. Baby books used to sit on bookshelves, now they live primarily online, with the likelihood of never going to print, which feels a bit empty and sad. I would like to think that I could hang with my son without the need to chase and shoot his every move. Sure, he is awesome and magical and special, (really, he is) but, I don't really need 3,220 photos in my phone to remind me of that. I know without a doubt he would rather look over at me in the audience and see me watching and enjoying his school performance, rather than trying to shoot it through a lens, missing the magic of our eye contact and the joy of my expressions.
After our weekend in Ojai, I've decided to put a self-imposed 30-day moratorium on taking photos of my child, starting this week. While I know this won't necessarily cause me to delete my Instagram account, or kick it old school and carry around a throwaway Kodak camera, I do hope by day thirty, I will have lost some of the allure and urgency to constantly capture so many photos and at the very least have some elevated consciousness about what truly merits a snapshot.
Milo recently learned to swim, yesterday we were in the pool and he was diving for toys and wearing goggles for the first time. There was no camera. Just a moment with my little guy, it was special and silly, sweet and emotional. There is a quiet beauty to this sort of everyday moment, unobserved by an audience. Where no "likes" are generated and they are "shared" by only two people: mother and child.
You can follow Stacie on Instagram @pancakesandhula, where you won't find any newly posted photos of her son for thirty days.