Picture Imperfect

3/22/22 

I am not photogenic. Never have been, most likely never will be. Instead of freaking out about it, I have finally come to accept it. Maybe it's because of social media--you can escape having pictures taken and posted of you. When friends ask me to look at a picture before they post, I now just ask, "Are my eyes open?" If they are indeed are (they often are not), post it. That's the best we can hope for. 

I prefer my imperfect pictures to ultra-filtered pictures that no longer resemble the subject. Not that I'm opposed to the photographer holding the phone up super high to hide my sagging neck, but filters go to far. There's no blur effect strong enough to erase the fact that I am creeping in on 53, and quite frankly, I don't need there to be. I would love to turn back time on my face, but I wouldn't turn back time on my life. And, as I found out after a failed consultation for Kybella, there is no easy, quick fix for the things that bother me. 

Just call me Picture Imperfect. 



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