The one part of blogging that I find utterly bizarre is the makeshift photoshoots I find myself on about once a week. When I started this blog I relied on nothing more than words, but over the years I realised if I was ever going to make it in the blogosphere I was going to need to up my game, and fast.
So that’s what I did, and for the most part it’s been okay. About once a week I hang out with my patient friend Evie, bored boyfriend Alex or, more recently, since she got home from her travels (and because she’s a professional photographer) my sister Katya as they capture picture upon picture of me looking totally the same, aside for the outfit of course.
There are pros and cons to this. Yesterday, I experienced a big con.
Self conscious about having my photo taken in public at the best of times, I was not entirely enthused by the prospect of doing it, as we did, at school pick up time. I’d seen a cute coloured wall the day before and dragged Kat there, without realising that the building in question, was in fact a school.
There were people everywhere and I resolutely refused to pose.
Katya, had other ideas.
She pushed me against the wall, picked up her enormous camera and pointed it at me.
I noticed people were beginning to stare.
So Katya, rather than be a sympathetic little sister and listen to my desperate pleas and wait until the crowds of stressed out mother and surly teenagers dissipated, she, for lack of a better expression, totally fucked me over.
“OH EM! What’s wrong with you?” She shouted. “You were B-E-G-G-I-N-G me to take these photos this morning, b–e–g–g–i–n–g!!!”
‘Shut uuppppp….” I pleaded.
“No no, didn’t you tell me on the way here that you thought you’d be the next Kate Moss? YOU DID!! Come on sweetie… it’s your time to S-H-I-N-E.”
I swear to God, I have never, ever, ever wanted to kill a member of my family more.
But I couldn’t deny that it was very funny.
Funny in the same way as when you fall over in public or walk into a window. You’re mortified, you want to cry, but you can’t deny that it’s still the funniest thing in the world.
Her plan (if that’s what it was), worked perfectly.
FUCK IT!!! I thought. Who cares. I will never see these people again. And if I do, will they remember me? Will they heck. Who knows, maybe I look fabulous and they’re buying the Kate Moss line… yeah okay, okay, that one’s unlikely. But still, what does it really matter what people think?
After that, we had a lot of fun. Not caring that we literally had to ask a man (who was actually on a very important business call by the sounds of it) to move out the way so we had full access to the fabulous pinkness of a building, I turned the sass-o-meter up to the highest level available and had a real giggle.
Welcome to an inhibition free life.
We walked home together cackling and sining hymns at the top of our voices.
As a Londoner I can tell you that there is no way I would normally consider doing anything of the sort had I not been filled with a considerable amount of tequila.
What if someone stares at me? What if someone laughs at me? *shudders*.
We’re such a self conscious lot, us humans. Particularly those of the female variety. It’s no secret, and it’s clear to see why. But God, isn’t it just a bit… boring?
I love to laugh, it’s one of my favourite things in the whole wide world, and so often I swallow it, hold it back, worry about it. It’s the weirdest damn thing. I wouldn’t let another shopper in the co-op tell me what I should have for dinner. I wouldn’t let a taxi driver take me somewhere I hadn’t asked to go. So why would I let Joe Bloggs on the street discourage me from having fun and being myself?
You know what it’s like, walking down the street with a skirt that you think is too short, arriving in a pub without any makeup on, showing up to the cinema with greasy hair. ‘They’re all staring at me!’ you think.
Let me let you into a secret: they’re not.
Not even when you’re the only person not wearing a coat in the rain, posing against a pink wall with a crazy person opposite you ridiculing your for labelling yourself as the next Kate Moss.
Even then, people have better things to do with their lives than care in the slightest what the strangers around them are up to. And if, on the off chance, you find someone that does?
Well… fuck ’em.