Separating the Real from the Fake – Fashion Photography

I had cultivated an interest in photography in college. I wasn’t anything exceptional, but I was getting better with each passing day and spent considerable time on it. Until my beloved camera with its lenses was stolen.
A year later, I did buy another camera and one lens, but it hasn’t been the same – I still haven’t had the chance or drive to spend time on photography again.

At work, as fate would have it, my closest co-worker happens to be a now-part-time photographer. He offered to have me work with him so I could pick it up, but this was another instance where I had to let go of this opportunity with a heavy heart because of the nature of his work – he did fashion and beauty photography. I couldn’t get myself to be present at one of his photoshoots nearby. His portfolio was supposed to be impressive. He worked along with make-up artists for magazines, big fashion houses a couple of times, and even married a make-up artist who he still works with, and to me, as much as I would have learned and grown as a photographer from this opportunity, I couldn’t have been happy with it because it was against my conscience. Reason? It was not just because most of his models were practically naked and thus going against my sense of moral code – but more because  the entire industry of fashion photography seemed fake to the core.

He spent about three hours on a single picture of a scantily clad or covered naked woman trying to make her look perfect. In reality, there was no single person with a skin, shape, body and physical appearance as perfect as the images he would create out of a real picture. But that is how things work. Why? Because that is how people want to see themselves, and that is how people want to see others – perfection, all of it. It is a reflection on the kind of society we live in. I was once complaining to my sister about projection of fake success, happiness and beauty in the media, and she said that most people live with, and live around a boring, unhappy imperfection, so they crave to see perfection, happiness for respite. It was a getaway.

I have a problem with falseness. Fake smiles, fake kindness, fake friendliness, fake complements, fake beauty. Fake love. If you like something, say it and act upon it, and if you dislike something, be civil about it. Try to ignore it.

Boona Mohammad once received flak from many Muslim women when he said something to the effect of, you use so much makeup to cover blemishes on your face and skin…if only there was some kind of makeup to cover blemishes in your character.

Given how pervasive fake beauty is everywhere around us, or taking a step backwards, given how beauty has been defined thanks to the cosmetic industry, it is painful to see how so many suffer from low self-esteem about their appearance when they find themselves less, in comparison to the images they see. Girls and guys exposed to such kind of photography have involuntarily ingrained false notions of what beauty is, and it has an effect on their own self-esteem – on girls more than guys, and on what they’re attracted to, in the opposite gender, damaging or ruining the way they go about the process of finding their significant other, or worse, damaging or ruining a marriage itself.

 

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Reflections on Valentine’s Day

I enjoyed reading what I wrote a whole year ago on the same topic. While my views may not have changed much since then, and I may still oscillate between being a clear-eyed pragmatist to a die-hard romantic, I know that I understand myself better now. I understand people better. I definitely understand the opposite gender better.

I now understand that among my weaknesses is that I care too much. I invest myself – my time, energy and emotions in the people in my life. I pay attention to minute details.  I hold on to memories and people tightly. It may sound funny or it may sound sweet depending on who you are, but all of this comes with a consequent problem – I haven’t been able to swallow the natural crests and troughs of relationships with people gracefully. I have been close to people in the past, and I am close to people now. But people have gone cold on me. I found out that this wasn’t because of anything that I did. Or it wasn’t because I wronged them. They just didn’t need me anymore for their happiness. They moved on. Slowly but surely, and without any formal notice.

This is still a fear stashed at the back of my mind. Would the people I love move on to happy new lives without me? Would they stop needing me? Would I get replaced in their lives? Would they tell me or just move away without explanation?

It’s more than likely of course, that this will happen. Even though this makes me vulnerable to get hurt again, I wouldn’t change myself. Because those people who move away or will move away wanted something shallow with me, which wasn’t, and still isn’t what I set myself up for. Only those people who need me in their lives would have me in theirs, as long as they need me.

Loving someone –  anyone, is challenging. The more the relationship deepens,  the veneer of perfection wears away, and we discover more of the flaws – both in others and in ourselves. This makes it risky. It scares people. It makes people vulnerable to being hurt. And deserted. And wronged.  They may be taken for granted. People treat those closest to them shabbily in sharp contrast to their politeness and niceness with rank outsiders who don’t mean anything to them. As such, people chronically trade such challenging, deep relations for these easy shallow ones’. I on the other hand, would sacrifice many of these shallow relationships for a chance to establish such deep ones’, even if much fewer in number.

A Sleepless Night of Reflection

My eyes stuttered open yet again. It was dark.

I struggled to check my phone that doubles as an alarm. I  was angry this time, it was not yet time for my early morning prayers; my alarm still had some time to go off. It was the third time I had woken up from sleep that night in a matter of three hours. I felt helpless enough to decide to go for a walk outside.

I was clearly disturbed.

It was a friend’s birthday party earlier that night.  I loved being with this special group of friends that was there,with whom I was most comfortable being myself. I could speak without fear of negative judgement, and I could speak without fear of sounding stupid. I spoke a lot, and barely ever held back what I would want to say. Given that I was somewhat younger than the rest, I was pampered, and I felt treated like a baby. I enjoyed their company.

But on the downside, I would also get to meet people that had seen much more in life, that were more sure of what to expect in life, and more unfortunately, that were less optimistic about it for the same reasons.

For someone who is nearly done with school with a promise of a good life is laid out ahead, the more I heard from them that night, the more I was getting depressed.  I felt a strong urge to  leave but I did not want to be rude. Some part of me wanted to hear it all – for if it was the truth, I would have to hear it. Only exposing myself to positive thoughts and positive people would be deceiving myself, I reasoned, anxiously.

I stayed back after everyone left, with two trusted friends that were like my elder siblings. I had always been very needy; a female friend had remarked more than once that it was a twist of fate for a person as needy as I was to have had to live away from the closest loved ones’ forever. She was close enough to my extended family to be treated as one among my many cousins.

I opened up about my career, family, companionship and relationships, I opened up to them about the things that troubled me from the conversation we had earlier with everyone. I spoke about the transformation that I had seen in myself.

The expectations that I had from people, and how easy it was for me to get hurt and break, because for too long, my happiness was in the hands of other mortal human beings – skin and bones – who by their very definition could not be perfect, just like I wasn’t.  They may not return a phone call, they may be friends with me only when they would need me, they may be friends with me for their own benefit,  and they would consequently cut it off when I would be boring or not useful to them anymore.

That if I could break out of that cycle, take control of my happiness away from people and give it to God, to have Him as the source of my happiness, that would be a life of bliss on earth. Because God was perfect, and was a never-ending source of strength and happiness, who would never fail me, unlike His creation that was created to falter.

All of this was true, and I went back home with a lighter load after I shared it all.  But not light enough to get a good night’s sleep.