What It’s Like to Be in Front of My Camera (From Someone Who Hates Being in Front of the Camera)

Being camera shy doesn’t mean you don’t want your life documented. It just means you want it done with care. With empathy. Without pressure. I wanted to know what that really feels like. So I set out – solo, in the cold, armed with sequins and a tripod—to find out what it’s like to be photographed by me… from the other side of the lens. If you’re someone who usually dreads being in front of the camera, this is for you.

Listen, can I tell you something? I loathe being in front of the camera. The second I find myself in front of a lens, I freeze. What am I supposed to do with my hands? Forget that - what do I do with my arms? 

What even are arms? 

I’m that person who, if there are ten photos taken of me, nine of them will catch my eyes half open and my mouth doing something weird that doesn’t translate into anything remotely graceful. 

Oh and also, I’m usually straight up not having a good time, or feeling present. It’s like an out of body experience that I really just don’t like. And when the camera goes away, relief follows.

You know what I’m talking about? (If you’re still reading… you probably do). 

So if you freeze in front of the camera too - yeah. I get it. 

“Okay Kyle,” they say, “just stay away from cameras then.”

(about that…)

But in all seriousness, the problem with that is: 

I want my life documented. Truthfully. Honestly. And in a way that captures what my life actually feels like. 

And honestly? I think we all deserve that. To be seen. Known. To have a record of our lives. And to have the essence of what it was like to be here, now, with these people, immortalized. 

And if you’re here, reading this, you probably want that, too. 

So what are we to do about this? 

Well, I decided to f around and find out. One arctic spring evening, I got myself in front of the camera in, naturally, the most casual evening outfit I could locate.

By which I mean: head-to-toe sequins. (As one does).

This outing accomplished a few things. First: it put me in your shoes.

I packed up my fancy accoutrement and went OUTside outside. Like… dirt road, 45 degrees, wind howling, doing-my-makeup-in-the-rearview-mirror kind of outside. I got dressed in the front seat and got myself out in front of the lens.

And even though it was technically a solo work night, something about it felt… exposed. Not in the practical sense. In the emotional sense. Like standing in the middle of the question: Can I let myself be seen, like, really seen, and not run from it? (I mean sheesh, I was asking that, and I’m literally the only person around within a dozen-mile radius.)

Also, y’know, to experience the bare bones of it.

Now, I’m not planning to have you out eloping in 45 degrees with sideways drizzle—but let’s be honest: mountain weather has a mind of its own. And when it hits, I’ll be there. Your ride-or-die, the-show-must-go-on, we-out-here-in-these-streets kinda gal.

It was a …Scandanavian experience. But it gave me the chance to test out the little creature comforts I always pack for sessions when the weather turns.

If we end up with weather like this on your elopement day—because yep, mountain conditions can turn on a dime—I know exactly what to bring, thanks to not only a background of recreating in all kinds of conditions, but now also my own sequin-bedazzled field test.

Folks who’ve done sessions with me on chilly mornings and nights know I always come prepared:

• Hot hands for frozen fingers

• A thermos with something warm

• Heat patches for backs, bellies… (also butts? These could probably work for butt cheeks. Ngl my butt cheeks get cold)

• A big ol’ puffy coat

• A solid rotation of silly ski-trip dances for maximum circulation

I also know from experience that this kind of weather tends to create the most unforgettable moments—and some of the dreamiest photos.

The wind is your fourth wheel. (I’m obviously the third.)

I just want to say, I get it now even more than I did before. It took a lot to hype myself up enough to get out there.

Granted, this was technically a workday (wut?) and not a grand adventure with a lover (a gal can dream). But there’s something about being in front of the camera that lays a person bare.

And even out there alone, BY MYSELF, I felt that. Total exposure. No pun intended.

It got me thinking. Why is it that so many of us, especially women, feel so uncomfortable in front of a camera?

For one, I think it’s because we’re taught to be looked at, not known. We’re asked to be photogenic, but not fully seen. We grow up learning to perform beauty or likability for others, but not how to feel at home in our own image. We’re trained to see flaws first, and trained to apologize for taking up space, for asking to be seen.

So when the camera shows up, it can feel more like judgment than reflection.

And then we’re overcorrected, expected to offer a curated version of femininity (filters! poses! flattering angles! anti-aging! face-wrapping at night??? am I in the bad place???) and then often mocked and belittled for showing any amount of effort towards those ends (cringe! tryhard! conceited! sell out!). 

We’re often already self-editing and self-surveilling before the camera even gets raised - primping, smoothing flyaways, tilting to catch the best angle. I know I do this. It’s because I’m afraid the images aren’t going to match how I feel from the inside. It’s because being captured as anything other than contained and put together feels… exposing.

As I was editing the session, I noticed that I was partially hiding my face in many of the early images from this session. It wasn’t until I spent some time grounding myself in the present moment that I started to open up to the camera more.

Before this experience, I don’t think I’d ever really felt what it was like to just… be in front of a camera, without self-surveillance, without scrutiny.

To have my presence and value simply exist, not be evaluated, by myself or anyone else.

To have my inner narrator not running at 100mph, spiraling about how I’m being perceived.

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And then too, unexpectedly, almost oddly, there was grief. 

Grief for all the versions of myself who weren’t documented with love and care. Grief for the parts of me that were erased, silenced, distorted, hidden. And some of that grief, I think, comes from a history of being looked at in ways that never felt safe, or kind. 

The camera, I realize, can stir that. 

Being photographed can feel like trying to take a test we didn’t study for.  But I’m learning that it actually doesn’t have to be like that. 

The camera can be something else entirely: A place of return. A place to practice, and actually revel in, being seen as you are, not as you’re expected to perform. A place to hold what moves us. Another way to see the things we love, and what makes us who we are. 

Maybe you’re thinking okay, Kyle, it’s not that deep. 

But idk dawg, I actually kinda think it is that deep. 

Anyway - all of that was percolating in the background as I started the shoot. And instead of packing it up and heading home, I decided to push through. To see what it might actually take to feel comfortable in front of the camera.

After all, I was alone.

What did I have to lose?

Turns out- only dignity. Just kidding. (sort of.)

Card carrying member of the chronic mid-blink clerb, and in the clerb, we all fam.

If there was a wrong way to do this, I found it…And then kept going. 

Among the list of things I did that resulted in images I genuinely love:

Found a cool stick and used it as a prop (for unknown but important reasons) and because why not. I like cool sticks and I’m not sorry. 

Talked to my dog. Smooched my dog on the nose.

(Please bring your dog to your session.)

Danced, like full send.

(this was very fun, very good for neat photos, and very nervous system regulating).

And somewhere along the way… I realized I was in it. Present. Embodied. And having fun. 

dad hat, because balance (and bisexuality)

That, I think, is what makes the best photographs—the ones that move us, that time-travel us straight back into the moment they were taken. Those images only happen when we’re relaxed, present, having fun—connected to something deeper than poses or angles.

That feeling is what I’m after when I photograph you.

Yeah, we’ll take some cool photos. But what I’m really crafting here is the kind of magic that only shows up when you’re fully in it.

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Eventually, it did get so cold I couldn’t even do the “live long and prosper” without using my other hand to pry my properly frozen fingers into place.

That made me laugh—and gave me one of my favorite images from the night.

And I did, somewhere along the way, get a portrait that felt open, honest, true.

If any part of this eased your fear about being in front of the camera… tell me. I’d love to hear.

And when you’re ready, let’s go make something together. Something real. Something that feels like you.