If someone had told me how much you have to have your photo taken as a journalist, I genuinely might have considered another career. It’s not that I don’t like having my photo taken, I don’t care really, it’s just that you have no control over what photo gets used – and what photo is put on the internet to be looked at by absolutely anyone who Googles you, in perpetuity.
Anyway I Google-imaged myself the other night because both children freakishly were asleep by 7.30pm so the evening stretched on rather and I found myself doing it. And I was a bit traumatised by what I found and like all things I find traumatising, I need to share them.
I was pregnant with Sam in this photo (above) but they didn’t want to show that, because it would confuse the piece, which was a about something else. So had to hold something in front of my stomach and pretend I wasn’t pregnant, just fat. And I hate my make-up here, and my hair. I just hate everything about this picture.
This was taken in the green room at the Ham & High literary festival and then posted online. Thanks guys! I’d just had Sam. Or maybe Sam was a year old, who knows? But I look like shit. Probably because I’d been up since 5am.
Also pregnant with Sam, here. And suffering from some weird facial redness thing around my nose. And dirty hair? Who knows. Grim.
I do love this photographer, Juliette, but why didn’t I put any make-up on for this shoot? Also: I must never get this haircut again.
This is what I really look like!!! No make-up selfie!! Which explains chin-to-fist… (zit).