A Frantic photo.

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I watch a very attractive twenty-something girl, (youth is beauty after all) she poses outside a well-known emporium in London. I sip my tea as I catch a glimpse of the figure through the steamy window, across the street. Her task became clear as pedestrians moved on, leaving her in view.

She shot five, ten maybe twenty or more snaps, all with different sections of shopfront. The window dressing backdrops, all varieties of poses. There was lipstick on and off, a chin down and up, head to the right then left. One which surely was one side only with a book covering one eye. Hair combed, twisted, tucked and pulled.

My tea finished I walked across the street curious to see her closeup. I couldn’t help it, I smiled and said ‘the first one, you were far more beautiful in the first one.’ She came after me; touched my arm. ‘Sorry. but how do you know?’ She was agitated not quite cross but rattled. I pointed across the road ‘I was in the tea house and saw you clicking, taking shots with your phone … you were perfect in the first one.’

She scrolled fast through her gallery as she tip-tapped alongside. Until she shoved her i phone under my nose. ‘This one … why would it be the best, my nose looks long at that angle and my lips look dry, it isn’t the best at all.’ She was quite frantic, rushing her words, pushing her chest forward. ‘But your nose is the way it is, besides in the first one you were twenty-five minutes younger than the last, so it must be the best.’ I left her baffled as I went about my day. We are what we are regardless of the persona we show the virtual world. Our looks constantly change so each picture depicts a flash of what was; not a perfect shot of what is. The worry on the face of the young woman bothers me. Why the image was so important, it appeared imperative so stressful that I swear I heard palpitations and saw a fear in her eyes. I suppose the term ‘selfie syndrome’ will soon be another condition that parents have to watch for. It seems appearance is all, and ageing humans such as myself, women and men that have lives and deaths etched on our faces will be invisible. At least to the people

We are what we are regardless of the persona we show the virtual world. Our looks constantly change so each picture depicts a flash of what was, not a perfect shot of what is. The worry on the face of the young woman bothers me. Why the image was so important, it appeared imperative, so stressful that I swear I heard palpitations and saw a fear in her eyes. I suppose the term ‘selfie syndrome’ will soon be another condition that parents have to watch for. It seems appearance is all, and ageing humans such as myself, women and men that have lives and deaths etched on our faces will be invisible. At least to the people whose faces, they believe are the measure of them.

thank you unsplash for the use of the picture.

I would love your answer to the question … why was the perfect shot so important?

For The Love Of An Anti Selfie

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Just the other day it hit me, I can not compete let alone compute with the “selfie” brigade. Each time I look, a new one is posted, a pout, a bat of an eye, a sideways, forward leaning, hide the wrinkles, suck in the chin type of one *Gasp*.
So today, I changed my gravitar to what my husband calls the bag lady selfie, strictly speaking he took it so it probably doesn’t qualify as a Kim Kardashian style Selfie at all. But no one in their right mind would want a photograph of themselves looking (as my Dad god rest him would have said) ‘like a bugger’… would they?

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A freezing wind was blowing across the small town of Dinard on this day in March. The rain had been shooting sideways and found it’s way under my eyelids; it was cold.  Just before the photo shoot… We were in an open topped car looking for a super march`e. I was being facetious about driving around in the cold and possibly dying in the attempt to purchase the gubbins required to make an impromptu picnic lunch; so added layer upon layer of clothing while we went along, still maintaining my temperature to be around the nose dropping off frostbite levels. Eventually we spotted a small store with a flickering light on the sqeaking sign. I lept from the car in haste, forgetting or not caring how I looked and entered. Our shed at home would be bigger than the store, but I managed to find ham, pat`e, bread, wine and grapes, as you would in France. After packing my bag I stood by a lamppost waiting  to be picked up. Around and around the fountain he drove taking photo’s, while he grinned and waved, but the crosser I got the more he drove around.
“Click” job done, the cross patch baglady was born. Now I pop it on my gravitar to say,” Hey” so what, it’s me in my ordinariness; if anyone thinks the word “ordinary” is the correct terminology for a loon.
Have you an anti selfie? Is your other half holding it hostage dangling it as a threat? If so why care, just put it up, we can call it “Anti Selfie Day”.

Incase you’re wondering… The only place the photo described is left, is on my gravitar here, a virus wiped out a huge amount of pictures on John’s computer and as yet I haven’t found a way to retrieve it.

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