This morning while many of you were arriving at work, switching on your computer and taking a few sips of your morning coffee, I was arriving at a photographers studio trying desperately to switch on my “I’m Having Fun“ face, while taking a few gulps of confidence. (Metaphorically speaking only: I WAS NOT drinking any mood altering substances, although I wish I had been).
Now that I have my own… I guess you would call it a column – in a magazine, the editor asked if they could use the image of me above to accompany the article. Unfortunately the photo isn’t high enough resolution – which meant two scary words. Photo. Shoot.
Shoot me is about right. Will you? Because this could not have been scheduled on a worse day. To really explain why, I’d have to tell you about yesterday and that is so not interesting so I won’t bother.
Let’s just say: it’s ideal if before a photo shoot you can get more than 5 hours sleep, locate your concealer, have your re-growth fixed at the hairdressers and maybe schedule in some botox.
If this opportunity had presented itself to me twenty years ago – hell even ten years ago, I would have been dancing about on cloud – like 99. The prospect of a photo shoot would have excited me beyond belief. But that’s just who I was.
Age is funny like that. It changes you into your mother. “Get that camera out of my face.” Because we know we don’t look like we used to. Glory days – be gone, and take gravity with you!
So the editor apparently instructed the photographer to exactly replicate the shot of me above. Here is the whole photo – uncropped. See? I actually do have 2 eyes.
Trying to recreate a photo that was taken at about 2.30am in the morning in the middle of a pumping nightclub on the dance floor is harder than it might sound. The above photo was taken just over 3 years ago. It was at my hen’s night at The Cargo Bar in Sydney. I had been shaking it like a Polaroid picture, and was taking some time out to dry off near one of those big industrial metal fans, when my sister in law said, “Cindy – “ and… SNAP.
When I was trying to find a blog template for Cyclone Cindy – with an image that depicted wind or cyclones, all I found was some floating autumn leaves or a winter landscape with snow. Hardly cyclone worthy. So a few days later when I was sorting my old photos into folders on the hard drive, I came across the above image and thought – wind in my hair, cyclone – cindy!
Back to this morning… I realised I’d need my hair out to recreate the photo, which meant I should probably wash it. And I was told nothing with too much shine for my makeup. Thankfully (although also not thankfully) it was a close up – so attire was irrelevant. Jeans. Thongs.
So while I’m applying my low-shine makeup it occurred to me that a mono-brow might not be the best look. Same with the Maria hair resting faintly over my lip line. (Oh the joys of having wog-blood). Tweezers – fixed. Bleach – can’t find it. Oh well, Maria it is.
Concealer….. Concealer? Where are you?
Crap. Maria with 5 hours sleep it is.
When I arrived, I met the photographer who was playing some Pat Benatar. Just the right amount of retro and cool. We Belong to the Night. Oh yes I do – so what am I doing here so early!
So we moved through to the studio where there were lots of lights and 2 big fans….of course – to get that hair of mine blowing. So you can imagine my surprise when the photographer pulls out a blower (you know those out-door machines that you blow leaves off your driveway with..) and starts telling me to drop my shoulders, look at him and smile!
If you’re not laughing – let me tell you. It was funny ok?
So round 1 of photos, I looked like I was holding in 3 litres of water and about to burst.
Round 2 was better. Less “Where’s the loo?” and more “Pass the dutch.” The extreme wind from the fans was making my eyes water – so I had that glazed look across my eye balls that says, “I’ve been rolling joints all morning, where’s the pancakes at?”
I’m very happy, relieved and a little bit proud to say that round 3 was a success. MAJOR KUDOS to Shane Eecen the photographer. He really is super talented and had his subject been less strung out on arrival, he probably would have had time to do some airbrushing. (Although Shane if you’re reading this you’re probably thinking: Wow, she seemed so fine. I’ve just become a master at keeping sleep deprivation and chaos to myself).
Never mind. It’s me. It’s what I look like NOW. The image above is not what I look like anymore. Apparently. (I’m blaming my 18 month old and her countless sleepless nights). Finally, a special thanks to my husband who called me a silver fox as I walked out the door!