I (Don't) Feel Pretty

I'm thinking about prettiness.

I wonder sometimes about what it feels like to be pretty. I'm considering it in a purely theoretical sense, like wondering what it would be like to live in a colony on Mars. I have no real experience in this area.

Now: STOP IT. Every time I say something like that, people leap at the opportunity to tell me how tragically low my self esteem is. They say, "You're just beautiful!" They're sure that I'm sad, or angry, or depressed. I'M NOT. I have no experience in being European, or redheaded, or speaking Portuguese, either, and none of that affects my self esteem. I've already covered this ground ( in "I'm OK, You're Mistaken"). I am fabulous. I am bright, talented, capable and many other wonderful things. I value all of those things much more than I value "pretty." In the right culture and/or time frame, I would be considered very pretty. I know this. PLEASE, for heaven's sake, let's ALL move past this idea that a woman cannot be whole unless she feels pretty. I am happy with myself.

Ironically, that attitude - that women NEED to be/feel pretty - is what leads me to contemplate it.

Of course, I've wondered what it would be like. I've concluded that it would probably be nice, at least most of the time. I've also wondered what it would be like to have nearly unlimited money - I'm talking the "burn my crumpled bills" kind of obscene wealth. I've concluded that it would probably be nice, at least most of the time. Yet, I have never factored it in to my day to day living, never figured that my life would be empty and unfulfilled without it. I do not feel that I have "settled" or given up or any other such drivel. It's an unnecessary outcome.

Talking to other women can be alienating. One of my dearest friends confided in me, long about the time we hit our 40s, "Every head doesn't turn when I walk into a room any more." She was in actual pain, I could tell. She was hurt. I should have been sympathetic, should have assured her that she remains beautiful (because she always has been). I should have helped her feel valued. Instead, I was entirely unsympathetic.

"Welcome to the real world! The rest of us have been living here for years."

Another friend once said, "Remember how it was in your 20s, when guys constantly hit on you, no matter where you were or who you were with?" No. I never experienced such a thing. Guys hit on my friends, sure. But aside from the fact that I've been married practically since childhood, most of the times that anybody hit on me, it tended to be the "you have girl parts; therefore, you'll suffice" kind of attention. It had nothing to do with me, personally.

You know how, in a lot of movies, TV or even books, a guy will have a female friend who's funny, loyal, great to be around and clearly adores him, but he never considers her female until he sees her dressed up for some fancy occasion; then, he'll suddenly realize that he loves her, because he realizes that she's pretty? I hate that convention. I hate those scenes. SO shallow. You can tell me all you like about how men are hardwired to respond to visual stimuli, how it's natural selection at work, how you can't fight biology, blah, blah, blah, and I'll still find it shallow.

The only time I watched one of those scenes and really applauded, it was on "Dawson's Creek." Joey (who is female, by the way, in case you never saw the show) has had a crush on her best friend Dawson for years. She's been trying and trying to get his attention. Then, she enters a pageant; she needs scholarship money for college. Dawson, after blowing off her advances, sometimes very rudely, sees her in her evening gown, with her hair and makeup done, and he swoons. He compliments her. He makes a pass at her, finally. Joey's response? "This is just a dress. This is makeup. It washes off." She wants nothing to do with his newfound intentions. She blows him off - not to make a point or teach him a lesson, but because she's not interested if all he's attracted to are the trappings.

Only once in my life did I ever have something even remotely similar happen. I was 17 or 18; the "Dawson's Creek" kids wouldn't be born for years. I had a lot of friends in the theater departments of other high schools, because theater kids tended to know one another and stick together.

I was visiting my sister at her apartment. I went out to the pool by myself; she was doing something, and was supposed to come join me as soon as she finished whatever it was. The pool was empty, which was great. I like to be alone.

Then, a kid that I knew appeared out of one of the apartments facing the pool. He seemed delighted to find me there. I'd known him for about a year and a half. He'd never spent time with me alone, never given me his number or asked for mine, never invited me over, even in a group, never treated me any differently than you'd treat a distant relative that you saw every few months (definitely friendly, but not seeking you out), but suddenly he was acting like he was my best buddy, and he'd missed me so much since the last time we saw each other. "Do you live here?" he wanted to know; then, "Which apartment is your sister's?" ("Um - I forget the number. (That was a lie.) It's over there" - wave of my hand in a westerly direction.) He asked me to a party at his apartment that night - asked repeatedly and rather forcefully, when I responded with a vague, "I dunno. Maybe."

I did not feel pretty. I did not feel desirable. I did not feel noticed or wanted. Maybe I was too hard on the guy, but the only way that I could interpret this behavior, this change in established behavior, was, "I, myself, am a fan of breasts, and I couldn't help but notice that you possess some."

I did not attend his party. I did not take him up on the "call me sometime" invitation. I fled the pool.

If you would have asked people who knew me what my best physical feature was, the answer would be divided along gender lines. Most girls would have said it was my hair, long, thick and wavy. (It started to fall out - or at least, I started to notice - when I was 16. It's been less impressive ever since.) Guys, I think, would have said my breasts. They were larger than most other girls' breasts, and kind of obvious. Plus, teenagers are hormonal. I knew that people noticed, but that's a far cry from feeling pretty. I was the girl with the "great personality."

This is my favorite photo of myself from high school. It's not exactly "me," though, even though those are my clothes, on my body. This is Gwendolyn, a character I played as a high school junior.

I'd been acting for five years at the time, and it was the first time I'd ever been given a role that had a smidgen of sex appeal. I was always cast as the spinster aunt, grandmother, or mother. That's kind of ironic, when you think about it; how do women become mothers if they're lifelong celibates? Still, mothers were not sexy or attractive in any way. Gwendolyn may not have been outright sexy, but she was somebody's date, and that was new for me. Having a director decide that I was capable of portraying that was new and unexpected and wholly delightful. (Thanks, Andy.)

I was grateful for the role, and I worked hard at it. I felt capable of projecting the idea that someone would find me desirable. In one scene, I walked into a poker game, and the poker players were supposed to gape at me. They were all my friends, we were all in character, so it was fine. I got comfortable with the scene. When we started working in costume, though, one of the guys continued to look at me as though I was a steak dinner and it was two hours past his dinnertime, even after the director called "cut" and stopped the scene to iron out problems. That was deeply unnerving. Not because I didn't like him - I did; we were very close. I just didn't know what to do, how to react, how to be someone's steak dinner. Gwendolyn could, but I couldn't. I was glad when I got to put my regular clothes back on and be myself.

When this photo was taken, I liked it, but all I could see were "flaws." My stomach is rounded, and I have round "saddlebags" at the top of my thighs, even in control top pantyhose. My eyelids droop. My chin recedes. It took years to be able to say, "Flaws are OK. A person can have flaws and be pretty." Still, I did not personally feel pretty.

I did not date in high school. I was actually asked out only once, when I was too young to date. Nobody else bothered. I was not gorgeous, I was not promiscuous, and I was therefore off the radar.

Very occasionally, I would recognize flirtation. A bisexual girlfriend once said, "Look, if you're ever curious or bored and you just want to know how the other half lives, call me." I actually found the straightforwardness of that to be very sweet; no code words to decipher, no pity, no game playing, just a sincere offer. If, indeed, I wanted to date women, she would have made a lovely and considerate partner. I just wasn't interested.

Knowing that she meant it was nice, though. It was, and is, important to me to feel attractive and desirable. I just never thought that "pretty" was a prerequisite. Plenty of people are deeply attractive and very desirable without being lovely to look at. It's a whole "different ball of wax," as the saying goes.

I was about to list certain actors to illustrate my point, but that would be rude. "Look at (Name Censored). He's hideous physically, but he's still incredibly attractive." Instead I'll try to explain what I find "attractive." To me, it means, "This person possesses qualities that make me want to spend time around them." "Desirable" is close, but more specifically romantically oriented - "This person would be a great partner."

What's attractive? Talent. Oh, good heavens, talent. If you're good at anything - performing, writing, building, programming, gardening, I don't care what - it's swoonworthy and deeply attractive. There are a few plain to ugly men that I would have no trouble at all casting or watching as Prince Charming, because I would totally buy it. I would be convinced that they were both royal and The Perfect Man for the princess. Talent also tends to increase my estimate of your physical features. I may have once thought you were plain, but then I saw what you're capable of, and now you look lovely indeed.

If I was ever to be a groupie of any kind, or if I was ever to decide to be promiscuous, fame, status and money would not interest me at all. Talent would.

Any quality that you'd list if asked, "What makes a good friend?" is attractive. Sense of humor, fun to be around, honest, supportive, spiritual, trustworthy, brave, hard working - all attractive.

Loyalty tops the list of what makes you desirable. I have no interest in, or time for, people who can't handle monogamy. Don't waste my time. All the above qualities help, too. "Desirable" speaks to the long term.

Occasionally, it would seem that someone found me to be either attractive or desirable, even though I was not pretty. I think that's as it should be.

One of my best friends said to me, when I was roughly 18, "If no one else ever marries you, I will." We were in a group at the time, and I gave him major grief for the awkward wording of that compliment.

"Oh, gee, every girl wants to hear that. I feel warm and fuzzy all over now."

"No! No! I meant it! I just mean, well, you'd make a good wife."

I ribbed him pretty hard, which wasn't very nice of me. Chalk it up to teenage angst. At the time, though, and more and more as I got older, I knew that his actual sentiment looked something like, "I've noticed that you're good wife material. I'd be happy living with you." I'll take that compliment. I'd much rather have that than be pretty.

There was one time when I was growing up that I felt not only attractive and desirable, but cherished. I was comfortable being affectionate with my friends, but there are levels of physical affection. Some are fine no matter your age, gender, marital status or familial ties. Some are a little more exclusive. Some are romantically motivated - those can get iffy. Some just say, "I like you," some say, "I love you," and some carry other messages.

Most romantically motivated affection, at least when you're young, is geared around what you, personally, want. You want to behave in a certain way because you enjoy it, or because you think that it will lead to things that you enjoy. It's rarer to do something just because you know that the other person would enjoy it. (Are you rubbing her feet because you have a foot fetish, or because you know that she enjoys it? Are you happy with just her gratitude, or do you hope that she'll express that gratitude by doing something for you that you enjoy?)

Someone expressed physical affection toward me in a way that probably carried no reward for him. It doesn't come with bragging rights or rank anywhere on the "bases" list. Yet he did it not only unprompted, but willingly. It also carried the message, "I am so lucky to be here, with you." It was - delightful. Sometimes, when I need a pleasant memory, I call that one up. If I'd known how rare those moments are, I would have enjoyed it even more.

It took a long time for me to learn how and when to express any interest in someone. People asked me, when I was a teen and long afterward, "Why didn't you take the initiative and ask someone out?" My usual answer was, "If they wanted to go out with me, they would have asked." I was not about to put some guy on the spot, and risk either a pity date or rejection.

The first time I chose to make a pass at someone, it was someone who'd already kissed me in a non-platonic fashion. That made it safe, I hoped - I had no wish to have him be horrified.

I don't think he was horrified, but he said, "I think we should stop." Ouch. It wasn't any behavior that was morally objectionable. Neither of us was cheating on someone or touching forbidden places or undressing. Man, rejection stings. It was very painful. Everyone has to learn how to deal with it, but it doesn't make that first time any easier. Or, any subsequent time.

I never want to date again. I am not just the marrying type, I am the married type.

Which is good. I've spent more time married than I spent single. I intend to stay that way.

Sometimes, though, I still wonder about being pretty.

One friend told me that it's tedious and predictable. Another told me that it's a great tool for getting what you want. Another said that it means constant fear that you'll lose it.

I don't know. So, I wonder. Not that it matters.

And there's life in that Martian colony to consider.

You Look Marvelous

 

Today I read a blog post about vanity over 40. I am well over 40, and not a fan of vanity, in any form. I should have skipped the post; I know that. Still, I didn't. Instead I read, yet again, how women my age are supposedly obsessed with drooping bottoms and crows feet. I would love to dismiss these thoughts, but I know that, by and large, they're right. This post, probably because the writer lives in LA, dealt mostly with cosmetic surgery.

Then I read this: "On the other hand, there is the opposite problem: an over 40 lack of vanity. You know what I mean, those women wandering around in sweats with graying hair and zero makeup, and kind of reveling in it, as if it's a virtue. One friend proudly mentioned to me that she was out in a group of women, and 'none of us had a stitch of makeup on.' Ok. Why is this an accomplishment any more than saying all the women in the group had tons of work done? It's sort of like reverse vanity: 'I'm so evolved and less vain than you.' " She, like most bloggers, had space to leave a comment. I thought about it, but what I have to say is far too wordy and involved. I can't dash off two or three pithy sentences.

I do not feel that I am more evolved than anybody. I am quite probably less vain than some.

Full disclosure here: I wear makeup. I have since I was a teenager. As a kid, I wore blush, eyeshadow and mascara. Since I was in my early 30s, though, I've worn concealer, foundation, blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara. Why? Because it's hard enough to get people to take me seriously without flouting convention daily.

I also shave my legs and armpits, pluck my eyebrows and yank my ridiculous, black whiskers out of my chin. I don't mean "dark" or "darker," I mean "black." I'm sure these are a hereditary gift from my Eastern European ancestors.

I hairspray my hair, every day. I fought for years to avoid daily "styling," but at a certain point the intelligent concede defeat. I also Rogaine it, since I started losing it almost 30 years ago and without the minoxidil, I and the very few straggly hairs left on my shiny pink pate would be totally socially unacceptable. Still, I don't curl it, straighten it, dye it or pull out my gray hairs. I wash it, comb it and spray it.

I resent every second of the "beauty" routine. Take the shaving and plucking: I think we should all get a handle on the fact that we're MAMMALS. I find something so deeply wrong with the idea of laser hair removal, waxing, men shaving their backs. It's ridiculous. We look back at the long ago era in Europe when eyelashes were considered unattractive, when women especially had pots of gold powder to rub onto their lashes to make them disappear, and we jeer. We laugh at portrait painters who left lashes off their subjects. And while we're at it, we howl in derision at high, white powdered wigs. Then we go back to using our Latisse, mascara, Botox, facial peels, highlights, hair extensions and Brazilian bikini waxes.

I was out a Girl Scout leaders' meeting this week, and I realized two things; 1. I was quite possibly the oldest woman in the room and 2. I was the only one wearing any makeup. Any. These are women with expensive haircuts, professional highlights, gym memberships, manicures – all of these things are foreign to me. They are very attractive women. And I'm the only one in makeup. It seemed very odd and silly.

I would love to wander around unshaven and without makeup. Most people, I've discovered, assume that I don't wear any makeup. In one way, that's a big compliment, because it means that I apply it very well. When my middle daughter's coworker was trying (in vain) to talk her into a makeover, she said, "Is it because your mom doesn't wear makeup?" "My mom wears more than I do!" said my daughter, whose routine consists of eyeliner and mascara.

When people see me actually without any, though, they've been known to actually gasp or recoil. I spent a week as a tent mom at our church girls camp, and the last day was visitor's day, with parents and leaders coming up to join in the closing activities. Several of the visitors who knew me were visibly astonished by my appearance. You'd be amazed at the many and varied ways to say, "Wow, the woods have not been good to you" without being offensive.

I don't believe that wearing, or not wearing, makeup indicates anything about a person's self esteem or values.

I have a niece who sells makeup and skin care products. She's very good at what she does, just earned another promotion, and makes a pretty good living. She's also lovely. She's an amazing woman, and I applaud her.

Another niece not only doesn't wear makeup, she doesn't shave, at all. She's a brunette, too. She wears skirts, and at the beach, she wears a bikini. She's also lovely. She's an amazing woman, and I applaud her.

Each of these women has excellent hygiene, interpersonal skills and values. Each is living an "authentic" life, her daily actions in tune with her beliefs.

Me? I espouse one thing and do another. I have reasons, valid ones, I think, but I'm hoping age is a factor. I'm waiting for enough time to pass that I can give up the routines that I find unnecessary. My mother is 82, intelligent and lovely, but I'd think that dementia was setting in if she asked me if I thought coral lipstick worked with her outfit or if I recommended waterproof mascara. I wonder what the magic age is at which I can dispense with cosmetics and shaving and still be considered socially acceptable.

I am deeply annoyed by superficiality. I am an artist, a photographer, actor and set dresser. I understand aesthetics, beauty and their effect on humans. I just can't see unduly elevating appearance, and I think our definition of beauty is far too narrow. (Don't even get me started on what's considered "fashionable.")

I am still annoyed by 27 year old criticism of Walter Mondale's brown suit. In case you've forgotten, or never knew, Walter Mondale was a mainstream party candidate for president of the United States. What took the most criticism: his foreign policy, his tax plan, his views on education or his brown suit? Yes! The suit! Can you imagine? A man is one election away from being leader of millions, the "Leader of the Free World," and we're worried because his suit was brown? Apparently, black, gray and blue are acceptable, but brown is not. Are you kidding? And, says who?

In high school, I worked for a law firm. One of the attorneys was intelligent, well educated, well informed, dedicated, informed and hard working. His favorite suit was a bright green and yellow plaid. (He also had extensive facial scarring from a childhood burn.) It did not keep him from being an effective litigator.

See, here's the thing: he could do his job in pajamas, or in the tub, or wearing worn out denim coveralls. His brain is unaffected by his wardrobe. Everyone's is.

Since being frugal is becoming fashionable, I keep waiting for being superficial to become unfashionable. I keep thinking that since we have record unemployment, record foreclosures, failing businesses, failing schools and millions of children in poverty, it will become supremely unacceptable to worry about laugh lines. I am still waiting. TV commercials are bad enough. Billboards are worse, and radio commercials are enough to make me violent. WHY are we telling people to use their tax return money for liposuction? How is it that ordinary, middle class people are feeling pressured to look like airbrushed and Photoshopped magazine covers? How is that OK?

Does anyone remember another time in history when ordinary people have felt compelled to surgically alter themselves? We think foot binding is barbaric, we sneer at groups that put plates in their bottom lips, we are aghast at women who put metal rings around their necks, so heavy that their shoulders finally collapse. We think ritual scarring is primitive.

Tattooing and piercing, on the other hand, we find ordinary and acceptable. Cosmetic surgery is so common that it's offered at "spas," and I hear commercials for it routinely on my country music radio station. (Country music!)

Can we PLEASE stop worrying about what people look like?

So, Ms. Over 40 Blogger, that's why it's more acceptable to say that you're wearing no makeup than it is to say that you've had extensive cosmetic surgery. Whether you believe that God or nature is the highest authority, the natural state of humans is good enough. Believing otherwise is a bad idea, indicative of feelings of low self worth, and the cause of a good many behavioral disorders.

Ordinary IS attractive.

Through My Lens

There are reasons I don't generally join professional organizations. Even though my best friend laughs when I say I do not play well with others, there's something to that.

I occasionally read wedding magazines because I work in the industry. I need to see what's going on, what's popular, and what brides are being told. Otherwise, I would be caught off guard when a bride said something like, "In one word, how would you describe your style?"

We, my husband and I, try to shoot a mix of what's trendy now, and what will not look dated in 20 years.The classic stuff will always work, but working in what's popular right now will make people happy right now.

Some of the "Big Day Photo Checklists" and other info are quite useful. Some are not. I always find it amusing when there's an article about "What To Look For in a Photographer" or "What to Ask Your Photographer" written by photographers, not newlyweds. Often, those are filled with things like, "Ask what professional organizations they belong to. I belong to XYZ. Ask what their training is. I trained at ABC." I want to say, hey, ask couples what they liked or didn't like about their photos and their experience! This is not a commercial for you.

One of the most aggravating interviews I ever read was a photographer who said, "When people ask me how much I charge, I say, 'I'm the most expensive photographer in the tri-state area. Would you like to continue this conversation?' I'm worth it." Wow. I think I do amazing work, but I would never tie the quality of what I do to a price, and I like to think that I'm not an egotistical jerk.

Tonight, I opened a wedding magazine and flipped through. Although I've never had a bride ask for one, I'm aware that day after (or after reception) shoots with the bride and groom up to their knees (or higher) in surf are popular. They can look lovely. Ditto for freeze frames of the couple or wedding party jumping into a pool. I could not imagine someone asking for the shots one photographer put on their full page ad. In one, a soaking wet bride floated, arms spread and eyes closed, in an indeterminate body of water, with a few random branches poking out. They'd tweaked the color, so everything, including the bride's skin and white dress, were a gray-blue. It looked like a crime scene photo. It was ghastly.

Another shot showed a bride with a billowing train and hair, Photoshopped so it looked as if she was on fire. Yes, engulfed in leaping flames. As a standard portrait, it might be just what the client wanted, but as a wedding image? What does this photographer think about marriage? Who asked for these shots? It was ... there are no words.

I thought of this essay I wrote a few years ago. Although what got me writing was my frustration with society's eroding idea of what is and isn't beautiful, I think it also says something about why I take photos, and why I'm mentally framing them even when I'm not shooting - and why none of my bridal portraits look like they belong on CSI.

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It seems to me that a lot of people become photographers so they can take photos of beautiful people. This seems to be especially true of men, who hope to spend their days gazing at gorgeous women. If they're scantily clad women, all the better.

Some of the work of mine that I am proudest of is photos of people not generally considered to be gorgeous. Naturally, my husband and I also have beautiful photos of beautiful people. Some of our best work is of our nieces, and our nieces are stunning. It's easy to take photos of them that make people go, "Ooooh!" In fact, someone once asked my husband if I minded him doing the photo shoot of the sultry blonde by the waterfall, and he barked in answer, "Hey! That's my niece!"

I'm a very minimalist, naturalistic photographer. I want to use the least amount of equipment and time possible. I am not the kind of photographer who needs two assistants, a huge battery pack and lots of reflectors to do a shoot in the park. Occasionally I find myself wishing I had a reflector or a big, filtering drape, because it's possible to get gorgeous, soft light and minimal shadows that way. Without that kind of setup, I have to forgo particular locations because the sun isn't right. I'm sometimes annoyed by shadows under people's chins, but that's OK. I want to travel light, and I don't want to take all day setting up a simple head shot.

I also do not want to spend too much time after the photos are taken cropping, editing, Photoshopping. If I've done my job right, the photos don't need much. So, I tend to use Photoshop only for special effects – one of the most popular is colorized black and white. My husband is a wiz with the computer, and so is my daughter, so I usually just turn them loose.

It takes a lot more thought to pose your subject so they look their best, instead of just trimming their thighs in the computer. I'm not perfect, but I work hard at showcasing strengths. Sometimes, it's hard work. Some of it's simple stuff, like being higher than the subject's eye level in order to mitigate a double or receding chin. Sometimes it's as easy as simply believing that they're attractive.

I miss the days gone by when it was taken for granted that people were attractive. If you were entering a room full of people, it was assumed that all but a tiny percent were attractive. That was especially true of women – a room full of women was assumed to be a room full of beauty. Now, it's assumed that if you walk into a room full of women, a tiny percentage will be beautiful. Look at pinup photos from the 1950s or earlier. By today's standards, the women are overweight, flabby and plain. I happen to believe we have it wrong now, and we had it right then. All women are lovely, all men are handsome, with very few exceptions. Why have we come to believe that beauty is rare?

I hate it when I wear something and I receive compliments because "it's slenderizing." Can't I look good and be round? And don't even get me started on the current viciousness of criticizing photos of celebrities. "She's only 23 and has cellulite!" "She has no business wearing a bikini!" "Look at her without makeup!" I even hate it when it's supposed to be complimentary. I once saw a photo in a magazine of a movie star leaving the gym. "She doesn't use her workout as an excuse not to look good!" the caption said, going on to compliment her outfit. So people are supposed to feel bad if they work out in sweats and no makeup and get sweaty? Oh, my goodness! This is what happens to a society that has too much time and prosperity on its hands!

But I digress.

I once shot family photos for a young family celebrating the arrival of their second child. We shot outdoors in one of my favorite parks, and did several configurations, including shots of just the kids and just mom and dad. I was happy with most of the photos, and especially happy with one of the couple. They both looked happy and radiant. You would not have looked at this young mother and thought about the fatigue of delivery, about the fact that it had been less than a month since the birth and while her body was recovering she was enduring sleepless nights. You thought of love and happiness.

I saw this young mom a few weeks later at a Scout event. She made a point of telling me that she loved the photos. It turned out that my favorite shot of the couple was also her favorite. "My husband tells me all the time that I'm beautiful, but I never saw it until I looked at that photo. Then I thought, 'Oh, my gosh, I'm pretty,'" she said. That's a good day for me.

I very much enjoy shooting high school senior portraits. They're some of the most important photos taken of teenagers, and I want very much for them to be happy with the photos and the experience. Every one of them, and their parents, has a different idea of what that might be. I have some locations and poses that I use frequently, but every subject has to be approached as an individual. A lot of the portraits I shoot are of fresh scrubbed, well coifed girls surrounded by meadows and flowers, but I'm also good at grittier images, with pierced kids in black, against backdrops of concrete, chain link and grafitti. I try to make some images that will make parents and grandparents happy, some that make the teen happy, and hopefully some that will still be treasured years from now.

Everybody wants great photos, but not everybody looks like a model. Therefore, you can't proceed on the idea that you can only take great portraits of people who look like models.

A few years ago one of my senior portrait clients was a very large girl – she was not chubby or pudgy, she was much larger than my 250 lb. husband. She was also pleasant, had a lovely smile, was well dressed and impeccably groomed. Instead of deciding that the photos were going to be about a fat girl, I decided that they would be about a girl with a delightful smile and impeccable grooming. I placed her hands so that you could see her elaborate manicure in many of the photos. She was happy with them, no mean feat when society tells you that you're unacceptable, and I liked them so much that I included one in our first senior portrait brochure.

I've gotten much better over the years at wedding photos, and much more confident in my ability to do good work. Plus, the fact that I'm no longer processing film means that I can shoot more photos for less cost, which is a great thing. Still, one of the weddings I'm proudest of was shot almost two decades ago, and I wasn't paid for it – it was a favor for a friend.

The bride was very, very pregnant. She was due just a few weeks after the wedding. It was very obvious; there was no hiding it. It would never be possible to pretend that she wasn't pregnant at her wedding, even if it was advisable (and I don't think it was. With a few exceptions, revisionist history is a bad idea.) When the bride first emerged from the dressing room in her traditional floor length white gown and veil, her mother said, "Oh, Heather," in a tone of extreme disappointment and disapproval, as though she'd sold advertising space for a pig farm on her train.

OK, a very pregnant bride looks more like a bad punchline than a little girl's (or mother's) dream. But it was her wedding day, her first and, God willing, only wedding. She deserved to feel like a princess, and she needed beautiful portraits to hang on her wall, the same as any other bride. Clearly, so did her mom.

I can't guarantee feeling like a princess (though I can help), but I can do something about beautiful portraits.

For her bridal portraits, I shot them two ways, two ways that I shoot every bride. I shot close ups of her from the chest up. Then I had her face away from me. I spread her train out behind her and had her look back over her shoulder at me, with her bouquet perched on one hip. It's a great shot that highlights the dress, the veil, the hairdo, the flowers – everything that makes this day different. As I usually do, I also added her husband to that pose, with him standing in front of her just slightly off center with his hands on her waist, looking straight over her shoulder and into the camera.

Then, I shot the rest of the couple portraits as close ups, with the frame stopping just below her chest. Again, those are usually any couple's favorite poses anyway, and so this unconventional bride had lovely portraits that looked just like everyone else's. For the family photos, too, I tried to keep them waist up. In a lot of the photos, certainly the group and distance photos, you can see her tummy, but her mother would never be embarrassed with the portraits of her daughter or the couple hanging on her wall for all her friends to see.

I once saw photos of a casual wedding that had me squirming, wishing desperately that I had been the photographer. The bride and groom were both in blue jeans and tennis shoes, and the photo was full length. I immediately saw how I would have shot it. The bride, despite being in a casual shirt and jeans, had a traditional, flowing veil. It was obviously important to her and made her feel like a bride. She carried a bouquet. They were also standing on a riverbank, with all that lovely water behind them.

Quite often, one of a couple's favorite wedding portraits is the close up I usually take with their faces cheek to cheek. I frame it so that you rarely even see even the collar of the tuxedo; it's just two glowingly happy faces. Or I have the bride tuck her bouquet up just under their chins, so it's two faces over the flowers. That's how I would have shot that couple – close up, cheek to cheek, with her bouquet just under their faces and the river shining behind them. They would have had a lovely portrait that said, "Wedding!" loudly. I would have shot a portrait of just the bride the same way. I often take photos for brides who have spent a great deal of money on their dream gown (that they shopped for for months,) and their favorite bridal portrait is the close up with their flowers tucked right under their chins. You don't even see the gown, but it's a flattering portrait that immediately says, "Bride!", especially if she's wearing a veil. I wished I'd been able to give the bride on the riverbank those photos of her day.

Recently I photographed a bride who had none of the traditional trappings. She and her husband were planning a wedding almost a year in the future when circumstances intervened. Due to unexpected changes in their lives, the bride and groom had two days to plan a wedding. She wore a floor length gown, but it was one she already owned, navy blue with a short black jacket. Her hair was up, but it was the same style she wore daily. The groom wore a coat and tie he already owned. They had a sheet cake and no flowers. Still, they had all the feelings every couple has, and wanted a day just as special. They were surrounded by family and friends, they were happy, and they were getting married. They needed lovely photos.

For her close up, I had no flowers to highlight, no fancy hairdo, no tiara or veil. All I had was a bride with a wide, happy smile and her wedding ring. I had her lean on her left hand, with her elbow on a podium, with her fingers tucked under her chin. What you saw was her face and her ring. Hung on her wall, it would look like any other bridal portrait. After my husband filtered it, it looked even more romantic and, well, bridal.

Another of my favorite photos from their wedding was a close up of the couple's hands, rings prominent. I also very much liked the close ups of the hands signing the marriage certificate. They all said, "Wedding! Happy day!" Most importantly, the couple liked their photos. Their handmade thank you to us still hangs in our house.

A girlfriend of mine works for the state, working with families dealing with "special needs" children – those with physical or mental challenges, or both. She asked me to write an article for the organization's newsletter, with tips for photographing children. Some of it is pretty universal – fill the frame, eliminate distractions from the background, use a flash outdoors – but some was tailored to the audience. I didn't write about making the children look "normal," but how to get a flattering angle if your child couldn't sit up, or was in a wheelchair or brace, or drooled. I assumed that, just like all parents, they wanted photos that looked just like their child, but the best of their child. I never heard from the families, but my friend was delighted with the article, and that made me happy.

I became a photographer, not a painter, for a reason. I want a realistic image, not an idealized one. Even so, it would be a crime not to acknowledge the beauty inherent in God's creations. We need to see ourselves, and others, in our best light, in the middle of ordinary circumstances. That's what I try to do every time I push the shutter button.