(I’m not doing it on purpose!)

I went to a wedding recently. More accurately, I was in a wedding, part of the bridal party.

And, I just had to explain to the bride that I swear I wasn’t trying to make those faces—the ones captured in photos.

^^^^^Zoom is the Devil’s creation.^^^^^

The photos have started to circulate in the group chat. I had a lot on my mind. My dress lining is long. The ground is wet. I haven’t worn heels in a hot minute. Keep it together, and don’t ugly cry. Try not to do anything awkward. Oh, I know this song! Am I sweating through my dress? Did I remember to put deodorant on? I’m not sure the pasties were the right call; I really wish I had a bra on. Don’t trip. Don’t make a stupid face. Smile. Not a weird smile, a normal one.

The problem is every one of those thoughts can be read on my face. The photographer might see “Oh I know this song” which comes with a pleasant smile, but by the time they click, I’m already trying to sniff without making it look like that’s what I’m doing.

I am very expressive. The face. The hands. I laugh loud and with my mouth so wide open I could trap small birds. 

Everyone else apparently got some “How to Pose for Photos” training that I did not. I always look like I’m angry, or pooping. My eyes aren’t looking the same way as everyone else even though I’m looking at the camera. And, despite all attempts (and copious amounts of shapewear), I can only manage to stand in the most unflattering position. I’m like a human Picasso. Sloth has nothing on me when there is a camera in the room. There is no part of me that doesn’t look uncomfortable, even though I swear I’m posing like the others. There are so many things to concentrate on—how do you people look normal?

I used to think candid photos were my jam—and with a skilled photographer who knows me—that is occasionally the case. If you catch me in an unguarded moment, you stand a better than 1% chance of taking a decent picture of me, even if I’m doing something ridiculous.

Don’t even get me started on selfies. I don’t understand how everyone has figured out their angles and can just quickly snap a pic. There is no angle in existence at the end of my arm that doesn’t make me look like some kind of bridge troll. 

This was try 17. We gave up after this.—>

There’s a strong possibility I’ve pissed off a bridge troll somewhere in my travels and been cursed to take terrible photos for the rest of my life. Honestly, that makes the most sense. 

<—I looked fantastic in that moment. My hair was spot on. The lighting was good.

Now, I want to be clear: this is not a me being down on my looks thing. Most days, I look in the mirror and I’m like “Yeah, girl! All that boxing is paying off.” Or “Makeup is on point. Glitter is your color.” I think I look fantastic and then I see a photo. “Who the F is that, and why is she wearing my outfit?”

Even my shirt thought, “how can we make this worse?”
—>

Most of the time, when someone yells “Smile,” I stick my tongue out to ensure that the photo won’t go anywhere. Ironically, cruelly, hilariously, often times, those are some of the best photos of me. IMHO. 

The camera loves some people. I am not one of them.

No one keeps me around because I pretty up their pictures. But the way I see it, twenty years from now, when people are looking through your albums (assuming they still exist), they’ll point to me and say, “What’s going on with this woman?” And you’ll say, “Oh, that’s Tarrah. She was a trip.” I’m totally okay with that.

^^^^^ Props and Funny Faces ^^^^^

Congratulations, Melissa and Greg! Look at it this way: a picture is worth a thousand words, 900 of them are coming out of my face, and I left all the good ones for you guys! And if you need to Sharpie a mustache on my face, that’s cool too!