grey tee c/o gap canada // khaki green jacket, snakeskin clutch and necklace from plum // coral maxi skirt from modcloth // various bangles // old navy sandals // barefoot contessa sunglasses // striped tote c/o joe fresh
{photos by jen}
knocking “get passport photos” off my to-do list was supposed to be a simple errand. googled where to get them done and found a spot on the way home with a 5 minute guarantee. when i arrived at the photo lab area, the passport photog was trying to get a pic of a newborn baby. this poor little thing is being held up by the back of his jumper by his mother, his little head rolling around, while this photographer tries desperately to capture a portrait. i mean honestly, babies need passport photos? what kind of ridiculous concept is that? anyway, they finish up and it’s my turn. and i would like to think that it’s just because culturally this woman speaks in a yell and not because she just wanted to embarrass me, but she immediately begins barking orders at me in a very robotic tone. in a section of the store full of people, and only a few feet away from me, my lovely photog is all stand square to me…noooo square! snaps a pic and shakes her head yelling over to me “OH goodness, see how shiny your face is? No, no, no, I need you to get a kleenex and wipe your face.” Because her announcing this to the entire store was going to help me sweat less.
onto round two, where she yells at me to get my hair out of my face, no don’t smile, square, chin down. takes another photo, and i swear she yells even louder this time “Yeah, so see how much glare is shining off your face? LOOK at that! I’m going to need you to powder your face with this powder I have here.” Now, this should have been my cue to leave. I should have been assertive and walked out of there, letting her know what a ridiculous concept communal powder is just because their photo lighting was clearly hindered by the fluorescent lights within their store. and yet, there i was standing in front of a small mirror taped to the wall, powdering my face in a shade that my pale english grandmother would have used. picture three and she styles me up this time, moving my hair, tilting my head up and then down and then forwards. we finally have a “winner”.
i wait my five minutes to pay $13.47 for the most hilarious photo of me that i’ve ever seen. a perfectly powdered ghostly white t zone, limp hair, and a look of sheer terror. these photos will be filed away in the photo box for a laugh, but i think i’ll be getting my passport picture re-done today somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like a grease ball. although, sure would be a great topic of convo with those chatty customs officers…
