Taking an author photo when you hate Being Seen
An account with some tips for the fellow anxious
Before we get into things, a small announcement. I’m changing up my paywall arrangements. From now on, everything I write will be available for everyone, including my series on how I sold the book, which I’ve kept behind a paywall largely because I was concerned about putting all that stuff out there on blast before my book was published. For whatever reason, I’m less concerned about that now, and want everyone who needs the resources to be able to access those posts. They can all be found here. If you want to keep your subscription, you’re helping me carve out the time to write these essays, for which I’m eternally grateful. But I totally understand if you drop the paid subscription, too! I’m also adding a tip jar option if you’d like to make a one time payment. You can access it here, and at the bottom of this post.
I started to type this and realized I have a bit of an ugly habit of beginning these newsletters with a caveat, but it truly doesn’t feel right not to acknowledge what a shitstorm the world is in right now, and that writing about this topic amid the shitstorm is downright bizarre.
With that out of the way, GRWM1 for my photoshoot!
Just kidding. But not really?
I said I’d address the author photo in this series, and this is me fulfilling that promise before my goldfish memory flutters the experience right out of my brain, since at this point, it happened almost a year ago. I got my author photo – a fancy (pretentious?) way of saying headshot, really – done quite early into the process, basically as soon as I had a book deal. I’ve never had a real professional headshot, and the pics I was using for my journalistic online presence were:
A 6-year-old photo taken on a trip by my mom, the one non-professional I’d bother with snapping 1000 pics to make sure I look okay.
A 7-year old photo my husband took on vacation in Iceland, out of which I had to crop out a magnificent ram, and which gives off the false impression that I’m either a National Geographic writer or a war correspondent (black windbreaker, hair mussed up from the wind, sunglasses on top of head).
I’d need a better photo sometime in the near future, so I figured I’d just take care of it asap. To be honest, the motivation was “I need to get this over with” more than anything because I have a near-pathological hatred of being photographed other than by my own phone with my own hand, the control as close to total as possible. Tale as old as time, woman hides from camera. I will not tell you how I reacted when our wedding photographer sent us a preview except for “very poorly.” The reasons, also classic – impossible beauty standards, body dysmorphia, mismatch between self-image and representation, and the general issue of BEING SEEN.
Now these would be my anxieties for having basically any photo taken. And the headshot was another ballgame. This photo would project my author-ness, almost a new identity. If it makes it to the book jacket, it will be the most *perceived* of any of the photos ever taken of me (maybe except a Warhol-esque print of my baby-self as a cherub that my dad got commissioned to make as decor for a Wall Street construction scaffolding in the early 1990s [?!]). What would I come off as? How should I try to come off? Would it influence someone’s decision as to whether they’d read the book?
Here’s what I think is an unfortunate truth, as put in words by author Rachel Krantz, who has written about the fraught experience of taking an author photo as a woman for LitHub and Medium:
“Thanks to social media, how an author looks — sometimes euphemized as their ‘brand’ — has never held more weight.” I think this issue is probably a lot more acute for those writing memoir, like Krantz, but we can’t delude ourselves into thinking it doesn’t apply, in one way or another, to all of us who are putting our work out in the universe.
The inspirations
Needless to say, I was very, very nervous. I’m sure this urge is familiar to many readers of this newsletter, but for me, anxiety translates either into total paralysis or a hyperdrive mode of research and preparation. In this case, it was the latter. It started with looking for inspiration photos, creating a slightly cringeworthy Pinterest board. Lots of moody black and white photos of the greats: Susan Sontag, Joan Didion, Marguerite Duras, Jhumpa Lhahiri, Donna Tart. Plus a couple more contemporary ones: Zadie Smith, Jenny Slate, Kaitlin Tiffany. The overall vibe? Ineffable coolness. Restraint. A dose of mystery.
Almost all of these women were doing something with their hands. Mostly, well, smoking. I wouldn’t be doing that, even if it’s become chic in the last several years to have bowls of cigarettes at cool New York parties (always been a cig narc, sue me). But I did think about possible poses. Here to lighten the nervousness was this incredible taxonomy of author photos from LitHub. First on the list? “Prominent Hands:”
Sometimes it is that the weight of the head (read: massive writer brain) is simply too much to be held by the neck alone, and so the hands must help. Sometimes it is that the hands are merely near the head, just in case. In rare cases, a hand can be used as a hat.
Spoiler alert – this one must’ve stuck with me.
The artist
I was lucky (a recurring theme in this newsletter, I’ve noticed) to be friendly with a professional photographer – not a rote headshot-taker, but an artist with an incredible sensibility for portraits, and an aesthetic I knew I could trust. I could also trust that I’d be comfortable with all my insecurities around her. Her name is Saskia Kahn and you should definitely check out her work. We made a plan to meet at her grandfather’s house upstate – him, no big deal, being Edward Sorel, an artist with 44 New Yorker covers. His studio, she said, would be a perfect setting. I was immediately sold, a big fan of the intimacy of a family house with the added bonus of the juju of an illustrious work history.
The look
Most advice on author photos will tell you to wear something you’re comfortable in, and I’d co-sign that. I think this is especially important for people who are not used to being photographed, and/or, like me, hate it.
I did all sorts of embarrassing-to-admit research on what would be “flattering,” that word that if you’re a self-respecting, progressive woman you’re really supposed to avoid, but I have not reached that point on my journey. That did not yield anything interesting, only advice familiar to anyone who’d even passingly consumed women’s magazines or makeover television 15 to 20 years ago (and I’d absolutely not wear a v-neck). I consulted friends and packed several options – two button-downs, an oversized white one which is a frequent part of my uniform, a new, slightly more tailored navy one, and a ribbed white tank that would be paired with tweed-ish Zara blazer my husband very boldly bought me as his first birthday gift to me 9 years prior. Wide-leg navy Madewell pants, an old brown leather belt that my mom once stole from my dad, after which I stole it from her, and then my husband stole from me, and several uncomfortable but sturdy undergarments. All of it fairly neutral, classic, and menswear influenced, as is a lot of what I wear. And my usual sprinkling of gold jewelry – one or two dainty necklaces, helix and nose hoops, a full ear stack, gold cuff for oomph.
I very briefly entertained getting my makeup done professionally, but since I hadn’t even done that for my wedding, was fairly confident in the basic makeup I’d want anyway, and wasn’t exactly swimming in money, I decided against it. Some online tutorials helped, the main lesson being use more blush than you think you need.
Now hair was a different story. I also would not get it done right beforehand because I’m not a blowout kind of girl, and would look ridiculous in a curl that I’m never able to achieve on my own and thus never do. But because of a lifelong adoration of a sun-kissed beach life, I love a highlight. Off to a hairdresser I went, noting to her that I’d put in some dark brown henna in my hair on my own a couple months prior (I am also a flighty one who changes her mind on hair fairly regularly). “I think it’ll be okay,” she said. Reader, it wasn’t. My highlights turned out bright green, which any more experienced stylist would predict in a heartbeat, knowing the bizarre chemical reaction that occurs when henna meets bleach. This mermaid effect was so intense that multiple layers of gloss didn’t help and I had to come back a few days later, the turquoise hints peeking out from under the brown we had to return to. There would be no sun-kissed highlights. I tried to achieve volume with some velcro rollers, but like anything I try to do with my pin-straight hair, it didn’t do much aside from attracting curious looks at the Dunkin’ drive-in on the morning of the shoot. Oh! I also had a mini rose bottle from a friend’s baby shower that I sipped from to call my nerves (don’t worry, this is not a habit), so I full on looked like the stereotype of a sad housewife.
The process
Saskia couldn’t have made me feel more comfortable, even with both of our husbands serving as lighting assistants. I still felt awkward as hell at first – not knowing what to do with your hands is truly the worst, having a cigarette to rely on made so much more sense to me now – but we got into a groove, ending with me sitting on the floor cross-legged, my natural position. The TikTok ladies who teach you how to pose would’ve been horrified, but me in my default state led to by far the best pictures. All three of the final choices have me in ¾ profile, which is also my preferred selfie angle. Trusty button down in a trusty color, sisterhood of traveling belts belt, practiced makeup. It’s all me. One of the pictures has a bit of a come hither look which makes me a tiny bit nervous, but hey, my book is called U Up? after all. And the winner, of course, features PROMINENT HANDS.
No dose of mystery here, I’ve totally spoiled it all.
TLDR or my author photo recommendations for the anxious
If possible, find someone who you can sense will be an easy, warm presence, even if you can only gauge that through a phone call or just their social media accounts.
Do think about the aesthetic you’re going for. Be prepared. Maybe even practice some poses.
Make sure the location fits your intended vibe.
Get your makeup done or don’t, but go to a trusted hairstylist, not a new one.
If you are doing your own makeup, maybe don’t forget your lipstick, so you don’t have to borrow the teeny tiny bit your photographer has left of hers.
If you’re buying something new for the shoot, just make sure it’s something you’d wear again — it’s probably the best way of deciding what will make you feel like yourself.
Here’s the TIP JAR i mention up top. I feel weird about it, but if you want to support this newsletter, go ahead and click! I’m very grateful.
This is a footnote for my father who reads this newsletter: GRWM stands for “Get Ready With Me,” which is a genre of online video