Promotional art from the Junji Ito x Identity V collaboration featuring characters from both series!
- Link to full res -
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Promotional art from the Junji Ito x Identity V collaboration featuring characters from both series!
- Link to full res -
Lies I've probably told you
You say: "I'm putting him into modeling. He's got that face, don't you think?"
My lie: "He sure does!"
What I'm actually thinking: Him and every other "model" I've met so far.
Why: The children are, of course, absolutely adorable, but every parent thinks their child is model material. I've met millions of soon-to-be models in the very short time I've been doing this. It's not that your child lacks the look or talent (necessarily), but they're just a dime a dozen. Why do I lie? Because it's just easier for me to agree with you, especially if I do honestly think your kid is cute. Plus, if you're deciding whether or not to buy an expensive package from me, I'm not about to insult your child's looks.
You say: "We've got one more child coming, but he's running a little late. You can wait for him, right?"
My lie: "I'd love to, but I'm unable. All of our cameras automatically shut off after an extended period of non-use to preserve the battery life, and I only get one authorized use a day. If it shuts off, I'd need to phone in to the home office to get specific approval and an access code to turn it on again, and it could get me into trouble for overuse."
What I'm actually thinking: It'll be a cold day in Hell before I'd wait for one kid.
Why: Of course there's no access code to my camera to turn it on, and there's no battery, either. For people who don't know much about my equipment, though, it's a totally believable lie. Why do I lie? Because I honestly don't want to wait 45 minutes for a single child who should've been on time, and telling a less-than-understanding director that little fact could cause issues (it is all about pleasing the customer, after all). It's easier for me to blame an equipment issue, gently remind the director that the shoot date and time was posted well in advance, and offer a sympathetic, "Maybe next year."
You say: "I know you've just finished packing everything up, but my child just arrived. Will you please photograph her really quickly?"
My lie: "I'm sorry, I've already removed the memory card from the camera. Once I reinsert it, it automatically reformats, and if that happens I'll lose everyone else's images."
What I'm thinking: You really can't be serious.
Why: There's no such thing as photographing a child "really quickly" after I've just deconstructed a tiny studio and packed it into my car. Do you really think it's fair to have me pull everything back out of my car, spend 30-40 minutes rebuilding, spend 5 minutes (max) photographing your child, and then spend another 30-40 minutes breaking down again? Just because I'm physically present at the center doesn't mean I can whip out a camera and start snapping away. It's rude to try to force me to do that. Almost all of the time, directors understand that and will flat out tell a parent, "Sorry, she's done for the day. You should've come on time." Once in a blue moon, though, you'll get that one director who insists you do it, and that's when I explain my "problem" with the memory card.
You say: Nothing. You're just standing right over my shoulder as I shoot.
My lie: "I'm sorry, would you mind backing up? Company policy prohibits me from allowing spectators within a certain distance of my lights and camera. Liability reasons and all, I'm sorry."
What I'm actually thinking: Back the f#*% up, Count Claustrophobia!
Why: I just don't want you behind me, alright? It distracts me, it makes me feel cramped, it makes me feel pressured. I feel like you're judging every shot. I just hate having people watch me over my shoulder. Plus, your kid can see you watching her, and she's going to get nervous or look at you the whole time. Your presence is almost NEVER helpful to me. So go away! Shoo!
While we're on the subject, keep your children away from that area as well. I can't even count how many kids I've elbowed in the face because you let them wander over to me while my arms flail about. My space is mine. Anything that wanders into that space wanders at its own peril. And I won't be very thrilled if (when) your child starts touching my camera. Especially the lens. OH, the lens. You wanna see Picture Lady drop happy character, let your child put his grubby fingers on the lens of my $5,000 camera. I never yell, but I do briefly halt the shoot, take the child firmly by the hand as I sternly tell him, "We do not touch that!", and lead him away to the nearest adult (who also gets a stern look for failing to control the little one). Then I clean the lens.
You say: "Can I see the pictures you just took?"
My lie: "I'm sorry, it has already disappeared from the display screen."
What I'm actually thinking: I can bring each image back up on the display screen, but I don't want to.
Why: Because I don't want to take the time to show you. Occasionally I'll do it, but the majority of the time I'll tell the parent I'm unable to bring up the images because...well there's just no point to it. The image is small, the parent doesn't know what they're looking at, and many times when I've let them look, they've asked to do the shots again "just in case" when I know perfectly well that the shots are fine once you see them blown up. When I've got 40 children to get through, there's no way I'm taking the time to let parents scroll through every single raw image. It simply doesn't make any sense, and it's not considerate of everyone else's time. Do it for one parent, the next parent wants to do it as well. I'd rather not.
You say (as I'm packing up my car at the end of the shoot): "Did my son do a good job today with his pictures?"
My lie: "Sure did!"
What I'm actually thinking: Who the hell is your son?
Why: I'm horrible with remembering children. Unless you ask me immediately after your child is finished, I'll likely not remember who did what. Hell, even immediately afterward I might forget. Children eventually all look the same to me. They blur together. It's rare that I will remember a child's name once they leave me (I always forget even in the middle of their shoot). If I do remember, it's because your kid did something to make me remember - usually it's something good, but sometimes it's because they were difficult in some way. When I visit the same school every few months, the children begin to remember me, but I'm new enough that I don't always remember them. Some of our photographers are great with remembering names for some of the children. I haven't been visiting any of my schools long enough to do that; I will remember faces, though. I still get asked all the time by the kids, "Do you remember me?"
I always say yes.
Many of the kids ask me, "What's my name?"
So I say, "What's my name?"
They'll say, "Picture Lady!"
Can't deny them credit for that one.
A child comes to my shoot, hair in 2-week-old braids and dirty clothes.