My path to boudoir photography is nuanced. I don’t think there is a specific moment or event that happened, and I’m like, I want to shoot boudoir. But one of those moments was in the preschool pickup line several years ago. One of Camila Cabello’s songs came on the radio, and the album cover popped up on the display in my van. You know the photo—where she is wearing a floral split dress, sitting on a table, messy hair, and just cool badass babe vibes to the max. I stared at it for a few minutes, and then I showed it to my husband, Kyle. “Why don’t you ever take photos of me?”
Each year, we hired a professional photographer to take family photos, but the number of photos I had of just myself, were extremely limited, and 99% were just phone selfies. I spent the next few years waiting for my husband to take my photo. Spoiler alert, it never happened. 🤣
Instead of being okay with the fact that my entire life would go by without a single photo of myself, I decided to take things into my own hands. I put the camera on a tripod, and googled how to set it on continuous shooting mode. The photos were shit, but I felt like a badass. Fast forward a couple years, and my work has grown a bit. When I take self portraits, I am studying the light in the room at different times of day, I’m experimenting with poses, outfits, angles, emotions, and editing. It’s more a study of how to photograph other people than just narcissistic self-fulfillment.
But I do enjoy having the photos. I enjoy documenting the moment I am in right now. When I see an old photo, it brings me right back to that moment. I enjoy sharing the photos. Sharing these images is an act of rebellion against the guy in 9th grade Econ who liked to remind me that I had “no tits and no ass” and that I wasn’t worth much to him because of that. The girl on my bus who loudly pointed out the fact that my facial hair was darker than hers. My aunt buying me expensive cream for my acne. My dad poking fun that I was too short to reach something that he could without any effort. And I’ve had it easy compared to what most women experience. Sharing intimate photos is a shedding of the shame pants that every women seems to have in the back of her closet. Return that shit. They are not yours to keep.
PS: Stop waiting for your hubby to take photos of you, book with me! 😉