I’ve always wondered what it would be like to date a photographer. Would he make me photo albums? Would he feature me in all of his photoshoots? Would I never have to take my own selfie again? The possibilities were endless…here’s my experience in case anyone was curious.
Disclaimer: I don’t hate photography and/or photographers…so don’t h8 me.
If you’re thinking of dating a photographer...
This didn’t happen very recently but it’s still engraved into my brain and will probably be stuck in there until the day I see a therapist specializing in spending time with neurotic photographers.. Which will be probably never happen. I thought that it would be fun to be a photographer’s muse… I could use the photos for my Instagram (JK THO)…we could capture our “beautiful moments” together.. blah blah blah. I was in fact, wrong.
It all began when I decided it would be really cool to maybe get some new head shots while I was living in LA. Please refrain from laughing… I actually still need them and this is a serious matter. Let’s just say I never got the head shots, but I had an experience with someone who was SUPPOSED to give me head shots but ended up taking photographs of our experience together without permission (love story? I would have hoped) …and I still don’t know where those pictures are…check please? I’m still here waiting…
ANYWAYS, through a friend of a friend (aka a dating app…JK); I got in touch with an up and coming photographer based out of LA. A few emails here and there… and then we decided to meet up #BECAREFUL. He was nice, caring, foreign, believed in paying taxes and going to Sunday Mass (important). He thought it was best that we go for drinks at this really artsy place down the street from where we were hanging out…I only had two drinks but for some reason he kept taking shots and telling me about his “artistic struggle”. I was a little confused and awkward because I didn’t know how he would take my picture following this and when his eyes were so glazed over. I began staring off into the distance and visualizing myself as Natalie Portman in the movie Closer, reenacting the scene where she starts crying inside Julia Robert’s photography studio begging her to “just take her picture”…this definitely would start happening in t-minus 30 minutes. After I snapped out of my daze, the photographer, to make matters worse insisted we go to the wax museum Madame Tussand’s immediately.
Fast forward two hours later and I am wandering Madame Tussand’s with a drunken photographer who keeps insisting that I pose with all the wax figures, as he snaps probably 500 photographs. He kept yelling “don’t worry I’ll make these look real!”… Yeah, because EVERYONE will believe that Elvis Presley and I are photographed dancing with one another. When this tragedy finally came to an end, he apologized for his behaviour and suggested I come by his studio where he would happily take some head shots the following day. Ok….
I woke up terrifyingly early on a Saturday and headed to this man’s studio. As I arrived, there was a photo-shoot happening. “Ok, would you like to wear this dress?” some random girl asked me. What the hell?
“I really just want one head shot that’s fine –“
“Just put this on” she yelled.
So I put on this dress that didn’t fit me (mind you, I’m not a size 0…thanks McDonalds). As I suffocated to death, I noticed that the photographer from the previous day was hiding behind walls and clothing racks taking multiple pictures of the situation and everything that was going on around him. Maybe he was making a documentary called Tricking Girls Into Thinking They Are Getting Head Shots… that I will never know.
He then approached me and explained that he didn’t have time to do a professional shoot for my head shots, but insisted that since I just happened to “drop by” the studio (but I didn’t just drop by…?) we should do some fun photos that would go on his Tumblr, studio blog, etc. And I would get credited…and he was super cute so I thought whatever, right? Hours pass and I’m somehow dragged out for another rendezvous. The entire time I am staring off into space once again pretending I am in the movie Closer except this time I am say, Clive Owen because he takes me to an Aquarium. I know what you’re thinking, why didn’t she just leave? Well, he was cute and he was a friend of a friend… so I wasn’t TOO worried.
The most distressing part about this story is I began actually hanging out/seeing him for a week or two after this, solely because I thought eventually I would get my head shots, I needed some entertainment, he was cute, and I had never dated a photographer before [I’m using the word ‘dating’ loosely here]. What happened? Well I did get a little tired of being snapped instead of being taken seriously. I’m pretty sure he got tired of me asking for my head shots and laughing constantly during his shoots.
1) He took photographs of everything. I got up to go to the washroom: snap. He leaned in for a kiss: snap. I asked him why he leaned in for a kiss: snap.
2) He stole my soul. I now understand why many cultures REFUSE to get their photo taken (eyes are the window to the soul blah blah)… Now I get it
3) If you really want constant attention, neurotic photographers are for you
4) Dating a photographer is good practice if you are thinking of starting a career in front of a camera (not saying I was doing this but WUTEVA)
5) I did get some cool Insta pics, thank you