Glamour Kat

Glamour Shots and Head Shot photography studios were all the rage in the early 1990’s and there was a studio of this type cropping up in nearly every mall. 

I felt the need to improve my self image as I was going through a nasty divorce and thought a professional head shot might help pick up my spirits.  It would be cheaper than a spa treatment and I’d have something to show for it when all was said and done.

I decided to go on a Saturday when my teenagers had plans away from the house.  I got up early, dolled myself up “right purdy-like” and put on my snazziest outfit to wear for my photo shoot. 

Upon my arrival for the walk-in appointment, I was seated in the reception area where I was privy to watching the patrons leave.  It seemed as if every one of them had remnants of heavy makeup on their faces, almost orange in color. No one’s hair was nicely styled for a picture.   Something wasn’t adding up.  These women all looked awful.  

Well, maybe the photographer can perform miracles, or so I hoped.

The bombshell receptionist that seated me in the area where I was to have my photo shoot qualified to be a Playmate of the Year. I dismissed the thought of not measuring up, especially since she wasn’t going to be in the picture. 

I’m okay, I kept telling myself…I’m okay.

A moment later, to my relief, an ordinary looking woman came in with a tackle box full of colorful shades of makeup and colors for all ethnicities and skin tones.  I stopped her short as she sat down, advising that I already had makeup on. She laughed and said her makeup would easily glide right over it, no problem.

“No problem? I spent a half hour getting myself to look this perfect and you plan to cover it all up?” I groaned.

“It’s necessary for the photos.  Otherwise you’ll look all washed out,” she explained, “and not very glamorous, I might add.”

Fast forward by fifteen minutes and it is amazing what two inches of theatrical make up will do for you.  No imperfections! I’m drop dead gorgeous, according to my reflection in the mirror.  I cannot wait for this photo shoot.  I am SO in the mood!

In walked the hairdresser.  She took my beautifully coifed hair, backcombed it tightly, then grabbed all the hair from the back of my head, pushed it forward and pinned it to make my hair look fuller. 

I must look like an old hag now…down went my mood.

As if on cue, the colorist walked in and said I would need reds and purples for the pictures.  She grabbed a few items off the rack. 

At this point, I protested.  “I won’t fit these clothes.  I am really hard to fit! 

She rolled her eyes and said it wouldn’t matter; the clothes were only the fronts; they would be draped over my shoulders. 

Just wait till I see the proofs, I fumed.  If I don’t like them, I’m not paying!

My spirits began to rise when the photographer came in.  He was nice looking and kept calling me gorgeous and I believed it.  I was beginning to feel more like a model as he kept asking me to turn and pose in various positions while he took shots in quick succession to capture the moment of my playful moods.   This is easy, I could do this for a living!

“Okay, put this red leather jacket on. Great, ahhh, just the right amount of cleavage showing!  Now bend your head down, pout your lips, look up and show me sexy, sultry, seductive.” 

I’m a mom to four and yeah, I ’spose that alone could qualify me as somewhat seductive but how do I pull off sexy, sultry for a picture in front of a photographer I don’t even know?

“How about this…?” I quipped as I smiled coyly, trying to flirt just a little.

CLICK.  He didn’t even try to ease me in to being sexy or sulty.   I was disappointed and he had only one shot left. 

Will this next one be a retake on sexy, sultry or will he try to get me into a different mood?

He did.  His next shot captured my mood much more precisely and was a more realisic photo.

Which photo do you like best? Glamour or Unretouched?

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