About a week ago, a young female photographer walked up to my desk to politely inform me that she needed to take my headshot photo for a staff publication.It was about 5 PM, and I was in the middle of a tough story edit, and I was NOT feelin' the love. I asked if she could wait until tomorrow morning, after a good night's rest and a fresh application of make-up, sans the constant sheen of grime one carries from interacting with Nairobi's often carcinogenic breezes.
Of course she said she needed it right away! I then launched into a 5-minute tirade about how most of their staff photos looked like mug shots of desperate criminals, and I did not want to go out like that in a public forum. Then I flounced off in a huff to the nearest bathroom, did what little touching up possible via my make-up bag, brushed my shoulders off, and made sure there weren't any errant locs standing straight up, a la Alfalfa. Then I flounced back to the conference room, where that young female photographer was waiting, wearing an amused expression that clearly said, "This black mzungu is nuts."
During that minute-long shoot, I tried to remember what my buddy Ron, who's taken all of the best pictures of me ever captured, says about having your photo taken. Always, ALWAYS angle yourself. Lean into the shot. Don't force the smile.
I did all that, but was still pissed that impromptu head shoot couldn't have waited til the next day.
But I just opened an email containing a couple of those shots.
Try as I might, I just can't find a damn thing wrong with them.
I LIKE me! I really LIKE me!
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