What makes this headshot so special to me? My granddaughter took it when I was looking at her. And what I see in it is love.
I'm supposed to have a headshot. That's what bloggers need to identify themselves. Facebook wants one too. When I started writing for The Huffington Post, I was asked to submit one for that tiny picture at the top of my posts. I thought I looked decent in the one I sent, but when I see it I'm always grateful it is so small.
For a woman my age, headshots present a problem. No one takes a photo of just me these days. To hire a professional to do this would feel like an indulgence, and I probably would end up hating the picture anyhow. I have tried cropping myself out of numerous photos where I thought I looked good, only to be told they were unprofessional because you could see someone's hand on my shoulder or shirt next to me. I guess that's why I liked these pictures. I was standing with someone special, so I looked happy.
In my quest for a headshot that I thought looked like me (or at least the way I see myself), I tried taking selfies. These were a disaster. My arm is too short to get the proper angle. So I bought myself a seflie stick. Much better. But there was something missing in these efforts as well. It's hard to look natural or happy when you are alone grinning at your iPhone.
The women I worked with were also neurotic about photos of themselves. We were preschool teachers and administrators. As director of the school, I thought it would be nice to have photos of the staff on the website and in a collage on the wall. The kids loved these, but we women agonized over them. And they were only headshots. Just think if I took full body photos. I gave my colleagues the option to submit their own pictures or submit to my taking them. Either way, it took a bit of primitive photo editing to make everyone sort of happy with the result. I could remove blemishes, bags, and wrinkles but not the results of a bad hair day. Pictures from home generally had the same issues as my headshots. I had to crop out children, spouses, dogs, and assorted friends, resulting in some very strangely composed photos.
The running joke about these pictures was that after a few years they grew on us. Or perhaps we grew a few more wrinkles and age spots. Then it was a struggle to get anyone to update the headshot, even if her hair was no longer long and brown. I finally issued a five-year edict so the kids would actually recognize that the woman in the photo was their teacher. Even then, some of those pictures seemed to have a very long shelf life. I understood.
Most women (and maybe men, but the ones I know don't spend hours discussing this) agree that the pictures of themselves they hated back in the day look pretty good now. When we look at our faces in the mirror, we often see what we want to see rather than what is. The camera is not so kind. And unless you are a model, actor, or someone famous, no one will Photoshop your image to remove years and pounds. More often, what you get is what other people see in the harsh light of day.
Coming back to my new headshot, what I really love about it is that it reflects my feelings for my granddaughter and hers for me. I didn't pose or try to look my best. I just smiled and she just snapped.
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Earlier on Huff/Post50:
