On Photos
I can never sleep the night before something big.
Tomorrow, I’m flying to New York City. And, now, I can’t sleep.
Maybe there’s something with the anxiety of anticipation keeping me up. I know something is coming, and I can’t let my guard down.
But, here’s the real culprit (in my opinion): In New York, I want to take a picture in the middle of Times Square. I’ve been thinking about this photo since we booked the flights in November. I want to take the perfect nighttime portrait with all the lights of Times Square in the background. I want to be jaw-droppingly gorgeous and esoteric, and I want to post this ethereal photo on Instagram so that everyone can bask in my glory.
It’s not just that I want to share this experience with my friends and family. I want the people I hate to see this photo. I want this photo to be a symbol of my superiority over those who I’ve felt victimized by. I want to be prettier than them, more unique and stylish than them, more worldly and nuanced than them, and I want this all to be evident in this photo which I share to the chagrin of all my #haturz.
The anxiety that is keeping me up tonight is not born from the jitters going on a plane or traversing a new city normally brings people. I’m scared that this photo will not live up to my expectations. I’m scared my hair will lay flat and mousy, or my teeth will be noticeably crooked or stained. I’m scared the stranger elected to take the photo will take it from an unflattering angle, or utilize the incorrect aspect ratio and fuck up the perspective. What if it’s blurry, or what if I forget to wear my earrings?
This kind of thinking is why I’ve been trying to stay off of social media, and especially far away from Instagram. Instagram is the constant reminder of how much better everyone I know is doing than me. Everyone has more friends than I do, and they frequently attend parties and bar crawls and concerts and festivals where they do interesting drugs and take beautiful photos on a digital camera from 2008. Everyone is thinner than me, and everyone has better style than I do. They know how to do their hair and makeup because they all joined sororities freshman year that forced them to learn. And best of all, they know how to take photos.
They know how to manipulate lighting and color palettes to be most agreeable with the camera. They know how to pose and adjust their faces so that they look most flattering online. They know what clothing to wear and how to caption every post in a way that betrays inner uniqueness and depth.
I don’t know how to do any of this. I am the least photogenic person I know.
How am I supposed to compete with the petite influencers of the world, all of which somehow went to my high school or college?
Here’s the source of my real anxiety: What if someone on the other side of the phone is laughing at everything I do online? What if they screenshot and send my photos to group chats that belabor my shortcomings and inadequacy navigating online spaces? Is it better yet to not be perceived at all, to delete my image from all these mega platforms and return to my humanity, my realness?
Why do we place such weight on these illusionary moments of time? Why do they mean so much more on the internet than they do in real life? This real moment in New York City will soon evaporate into the digital sphere, becoming another thing to obsess and worry about in the public eye.
Okay, here’s the real deal: What if I ruin my trip by thinking only of this photo? What happens when I post the photo, and it doesn’t get the response I want? What happens when the anxiety melts away into disappointment, embarrassment?
Should I even take the photo at all?