A revelation. It happens occassionally.

Recently I was asked by a model I've worked with before to shoot her again, this time with a friend. Normally I would be very flattered, but she added the stipulation; "but not like our last pictures. I want these to be really professional looking. you know, photoshopped..."

I was a bit stunned, but took up the challenge anyway! I ran the shoot the same way I always do, but spent 4 times as long in post-production retouching the images. I spent days researching and testing skin retouching techniques.
Well I finally sent her the CD she returned with "not bad, but I won't be using. I just look too fat!"

Fat. Curvy. Busty. Let's be honest, it's all in the eye of the beholder. I couldn't see what she was complaining about, but I've never been a fan of the waif look. So I spent more time touching up the images, smoothing out curves, eliminating any possible bulge. After all that she said they were "ok. don't give up the photoshopping, it looks great"

Now, I'm not naive. My last job was working in the imaging department of a clothing catalogue. I know what goes on before the books go to press. But I always told myself that I wouldn't get caught up in it. I would accept girls for who they are, not what they are. That somehow in my photography I would help them shine without the post-production special effects everyone raves about.

But who am I kidding. Not one of the images you see in my gallery has avoided retouching of some kind or other. And since my episode with that model I've started doing it with almost every model. Even the amazing Bec (check the gallery) who has flawless skin, underwent microscopic removal of moles and blemishes...

How did I get caught up in this? Many years ago my younger sister suffered from bulimia nervosa. Influenced by the media, magazines, and peer pressure, she starved and binged and vomited her way through her teens. I hated every magazine I saw because it featured unrealistic images of women that were far from perfection, but were ridiculously idolised by the media, driving my sister and many like her to torture themselves in pursuit of an impossible dream.

And yet here I am. Years later, getting caught up in the same charade. Have I let my sister down? Have I let myself down? Have I become that which I despised...?