if you look on my instagram, or indeed any of my social media, you’ll see i’m not shy of a selfie. and i’ll be honest, recently, i’ve felt like posting them most days. i’ve felt good. in what i was wearing. in my hair (finally), in my makeup. i don’t know, y’know when you’re just feeling pretty alright??
BUT this is not to say that i think i’m photogenic in anyway. the truth is – if i’m not in control of the photograph – i panic. i panic about the way my fringe falls, about the bump on the right side of my nose from when my teacher threw a netball at my face in primary school (thanks sir), about my ever-so-slightly lazy eye, about the hole my old lip piercing has left me with. “I KNOW MY ‘ANGLES’!!”, the myspace kid inside me protests.
alone in my bedroom. taking 100 selfies and posting 1.
nights out are a nightmare. i’ve never felt comfortable with having my photo taken by someone else. the poor club photographer approaches our group, camera in hand and a smile. and before now, i’ve been known to shout NO a bit too aggressively and/or run to the bar. the morning after the night before tagging notifications fill me with dread. even with a few drinks inside me – there’s a certain uneasiness to my expression. but maybe i’m the only one that can see that?
give me a weird filter or let me to pull a stupid face or mess about.
i know a lot of bloggers and photographers and tbh i can’t think of anything worse than being in front of the camera as someone else clicks away. like i actually cringe at the thought. and i don’t know how they do it.
in a world of instagram, filters and photoshop – there’s a temptation to present yourself how you wish to look. either a carefully posed selfie in which i’ve made sure you can’t see this or that.. or tongue out and two fingers up. but capturing me candid, and vulnerable..? i guess i’m not ready to be that girl, not just yet.
cattface.com 