PHOTOBOOTH
A few days ago I had reason to remember this episode, which happened about four years ago.
I’d walked to a busy tube station in my lunch-hour to have passport pictures taken. As I stood by the booth waiting for the machine to spew out the pictures, my thoughts were occupied by the activity on the station concourse (it was lunchtime on a hot working day in July so there was plenty going on: many hot / flustered / semi-clad / business-suited / relaxed / rushing people were bustling about the station…). But my mind also wandered periodically to the photos and with some anticipation I wondered whether they’d be flattering or not.
I stood waiting for a few minutes, semi-abstracted (as always), but in truth not really thinking too hard or too deeply about any of it.
Later, when the photos dropped down a chute and I reached to pick them up, all thoughts/awareness of my surroundings receded to the back of my mind. I was thinking solely of what I would look like in the photos. I know this is vain but it seems very typical (especially of women) when looking at photos. I glanced down at the young woman in the photos who resembled me – late 20s, mid-length brown hair, just a hint of a smile – and immediately went into a profound state of shock. My first thought was this: I’ve been deluding myself about my appearance! Quickly followed by: I don’t see myself in the same way that others must see me.
I had thought the image wasn’t me… It was a short-lived identity crisis and for what must have been a second or two (but felt longer), I was deeply confused about such a basic thing as who I am. The photos were delivered four or five minutes after I had sat in front of the flashing bulb and there had been nothing untoward about any of it. Slowly, clarity dawned and I understood that the photograph was of someone else who just happened to bear a passing resemblance to me (all features roughly the same: a white woman of a similar age and with similar hair).
Everything made sense when I figured this out. The next person to sit in the booth would go on to receive my photos. Alas, I was short of time and had to go back to the office (and couldn’t really, in any case, have stood by, allowed someone to be similarly conned, and then have the nerve to ask them for their/my photos).
It might not sound much now but it was a strange experience at the time.
A few days ago I had reason to remember this episode, which happened about four years ago.
I’d walked to a busy tube station in my lunch-hour to have passport pictures taken. As I stood by the booth waiting for the machine to spew out the pictures, my thoughts were occupied by the activity on the station concourse (it was lunchtime on a hot working day in July so there was plenty going on: many hot / flustered / semi-clad / business-suited / relaxed / rushing people were bustling about the station…). But my mind also wandered periodically to the photos and with some anticipation I wondered whether they’d be flattering or not.
I stood waiting for a few minutes, semi-abstracted (as always), but in truth not really thinking too hard or too deeply about any of it.
Later, when the photos dropped down a chute and I reached to pick them up, all thoughts/awareness of my surroundings receded to the back of my mind. I was thinking solely of what I would look like in the photos. I know this is vain but it seems very typical (especially of women) when looking at photos. I glanced down at the young woman in the photos who resembled me – late 20s, mid-length brown hair, just a hint of a smile – and immediately went into a profound state of shock. My first thought was this: I’ve been deluding myself about my appearance! Quickly followed by: I don’t see myself in the same way that others must see me.
I had thought the image wasn’t me… It was a short-lived identity crisis and for what must have been a second or two (but felt longer), I was deeply confused about such a basic thing as who I am. The photos were delivered four or five minutes after I had sat in front of the flashing bulb and there had been nothing untoward about any of it. Slowly, clarity dawned and I understood that the photograph was of someone else who just happened to bear a passing resemblance to me (all features roughly the same: a white woman of a similar age and with similar hair).
Everything made sense when I figured this out. The next person to sit in the booth would go on to receive my photos. Alas, I was short of time and had to go back to the office (and couldn’t really, in any case, have stood by, allowed someone to be similarly conned, and then have the nerve to ask them for their/my photos).
It might not sound much now but it was a strange experience at the time.
