Phone Cameras Have Turned Everyone Into Paparazzi –

Let me start with an admission: I’m a photo curmudgeon. I admit this fact. While some people LOVE having their picture taken, whether by their own hand or that of another, I do not. Some friends find this trait annoying. I often garner frowns of annoyance when I respond with a frown of annoyance at the demand to pose for a yet another selfie, but I don’t care. It’s who I am… a photo curmudgeon.

I didn’t mind photo-taking back in the days when we didn’t have an entire global population with cameras at their fingertips, hair-trigger ready to be whipped out at even the slightest hint of activity deigned photo-worthy. And planned photos, say, at a studio for that new headshot, in front of the wedding photographer with the family; occasional snaps when a rare group of friends gets together, are all just fine and dandy… I’m there, face tilted correctly, hair fluffed; smile sparkling.

But even when I was younger, prettier; more exhibitionist, and less victim to bad lighting and crappy angles, I found impromptu photo-snapping to largely be a distraction to the moment at hand. There’s just something about suddenly having a lens shoved in front of your face that breaks the spell you’re in, disrupts the conversation, distracts the parties involved, and stirs collective self-consciousness.

And while I am a curmudgeon, I’m not a cultural Luddite. I have all sorts of social media I maintain with, I hope, interesting content. I’m aware of the “live your life out loud” mandate of our times that has every pretty girl “influencing” online, all family vacations chronicled on Facebook; health updates replete with graphic proof, and Jonah Hill’s ex dumping their private conversations on Instagram. It’s the world and times we live in, and one either gets on board with all this privacy eshewel or pisses off everyone with a phone camera demanding, “let’s get one more for posterity!” Posterity didn’t need my damn face documented every moment before the first camera phone arrived in 2002; posterity doesn’t need it now, I promise.

It wouldn’t be so bad if certain standards of decorum were followed, something I wrote about years ago: e.g., get permission to post before dumping pics on social media, and only post those that capture all parties in a positive light. Meaning, we all look good enough for public consumption, not just that hot guy with your friend or, say, you. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found photos of myself online that, while meant in goodwill, were posted without permission and captured me in the most unflattering manner possible. I believe I’m only rationally vain for a woman my age, but frankly, that’s embarrassing. I would not do that to you, I promise, so please take down that shot where my butt takes up half the screen or the shadows on my face make me look 110.

Anyway, whatever. No one really cares what I think about this because they’ll just keep taking and posting pictures regardless. But after too many experiences with regular folks who’ve turned into paparazzi with their phone cameras, I found this (above) picture of me, which made me laugh because it so honestly and accurately depicts my reaction to all this madness.

So snap away… I still won’t say “cheese.”