Picture perfect: Are we missing out on life's candid moments?
On our desire to get the perfect shot, every time
Welcome to Delightfully Difficult! My name is Allison and I write about motherhood, midlife, and everything in between. You can learn more about me and what to expect here, as well as connect with me on Instagram. Thanks for stopping by!
My son and I recently went to a sunflower festival. It was an hour away, so we skipped out on work and school an hour early to drive north and pay an admission fee to be carted out to a giant field of sunflowers of every variety, clippers in hand to bring home our favorites.
We were there for golden hour, not by design but simply because that's the time that worked for us, and were underdressed compared to the families wearing matching white outfits and influencery types in indistinguishable boho-chic sundresses, cowboy boots, and giant bows in their hair. The number of influencery types far outweighed the number of matching families as they hunkered down at the more popular spots to do extended photoshoots that prevented anyone else from being able to access or enjoy them, some not hiding their disdain at the children, both mine and others, that “ruined the shot” by crossing a walkway at this public and family-friendly event.
There was, however, one young woman that we came across who happened to also be near a Waldo cutout, a character my son is currently very into. Unlike the huffy eye rolls experienced elsewhere, she allowed my four-year-old to lead her down the path of sunflowers to show her Waldo while explaining who he is and what adventures he has gone on. And then she waited patiently while he went back to make sure that her photographer did not miss out, both of them absolutely lovely, going above and beyond, likely unaware that they were balancing out the behavior of others.
But the two very different reactions from those wandering around casually versus striding with purpose to stake out a spot got me thinking about how much of our lives are spent crafting the image we want others to see, our desperate attempts to document everything removing us from the very experience we’re trying to preserve. Or maybe the goal isn’t to preserve a memory, but to project a false one, one that looks happy and carefree but was, in fact, strategic and calculated. I talked a little about this in terms of marriage, but it goes far beyond just that one part of life.
I've often felt this way about concerts. I understand wanting to snap a picture or take a video or two, but I never understood watching a concert through a phone screen when the musician is right in front of you. Not to mention, does the musician even want to be looking out into a sea of phone screens, where the facial expressions are hidden, where the human connection between performer and listener is disrupted? (If you’re a musician, I would love your thoughts on this!) And then there’s the question of whether we really watch those videos back and if we do, do we really need 87 of them?
Because even when we do watch them back, the tiny screen does not capture the vibrations you can feel in your body in the moment, the excited mood of everyone around you. And if we're experiencing it through the lens of needing to get the good shot, the right angle, will watching it later even bring back those sensations if those sensations were secondary to our brain's focus on keeping the camera steady and getting a clear view?
I am obviously not a brain scientist so I don't know the answer to this, but research so far seems to indicate that media usage during an event can lead to poorer recall and a distorted self-identity, although it’s a mixed bag in terms of its impact on engagement and enjoyment, both increasing and decreasing them depending on the situation.
So while I know that looking at old photos and videos can evoke a strong sense of emotion and familiarity that can bring comfort and joy, I wonder if the shift to documenting everything will dull these emotions in the future, important moments forgotten because it all bleeds together, forgotten because the moment was never fully experienced in real-time. The memory invoked by a photo taken repeatedly to ensure eyes were open and smiles were bright less vivid than one from a quick grab of the camera to capture something candid and exciting.
I wonder, of course, because I've been there. Maybe not with concerts, but I have fallen into the trap of needing to document the mundane so that my footage wasn't just the highlight reels, but then also needing to capture the highlight reels to show how much fun we had. Taking photos just to prove that I had been there or done that, to prove that I was a good mom who took my son places and gave him new experiences.
At some point, though, something clicked and I decided I didn't want to do that anymore. I didn't want to remove myself from the immersive experience that mothering can be just so that I could document the immersive experience. And I worry that if my son always has a camera in his face, even though I don't post his face online, he will begin to self-censor how he acts, the lack of spontaneity something the research also appears to bear out. And in a broader sense, I also worry that he will grow up thinking that documenting his every move is normal, something I want him to be skeptical about as companies and governments increasingly impose surveillance upon us.
This is not to say I don’t take photos. I do, and as a single mom who doesn’t have someone else to take our candids, sometimes that means setting up the camera to take a video, allowing for both great screen grabs and the real moments. But these days, I’m more interested in capturing the beautiful and messy moments for us and our memory books than I am in proving to others that we were there, in seeking to strike a balance that will surely shift and settle in the coming years.
So yes, we did take some photos at the sunflower festival. It was, after all, a beautiful place and I wanted to document it. Plus, we saw a rainbow and who doesn't want a photo with both sunflowers and a rainbow? But for the better part of two hours, we wandered around talking about flowers and pollinators and bees and rainbows and, of course, Waldo.
And those photos we took? One showed us having a great time, while the other showed me dropping an expletive when my son decided to randomly bite me.
I’m keeping both for the memory book.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this post, please consider subscribing, as it’s very much appreciated.
Hi Allison, Thanks for the article. I enjoyed it and can relate to the constant snapping and clicking. I try to immerse in the experience and keep my clicking to a minimum.
Also, I don't know about it in big shows, but in stage plays and theaters back home, it was difficult to see the audience back. A lot of light was on you, with none on audience. 😅