By: Jenna Smith
Updated: Feb. 27, 2017
Originally Published: Feb. 27, 2017
As someone born in 1980, I technically fall into the millennial category, yet I often feel disconnected from that label. A candid friend once remarked, “You must be the world’s oldest millennial,” which resonates more with my experience. I didn’t own a cell phone until college, and I joined Facebook only after it had lost its appeal. Nevertheless, I have a treasure trove of selfies featuring my friends, children, and husband on my iPhone.
My inclination to take selfies arises from my long arms and a touch of social anxiety, rather than a desire to perfect my appearance. Frankly, I’m indifferent to how I look in these photos. I don’t delete unflattering images, nor do I request friends to refrain from tagging me in less-than-ideal posts on social media. This may seem contrary to typical millennial behavior, but I believe that a photo captures me as I was in that fleeting moment. Perhaps I looked more appealing just seconds later, but that’s irrelevant; in that snapshot, I was simply being me.
There was a time when I was much more concerned with my appearance in photos. I discarded numerous prints that didn’t meet my standards. Some of this shift in perspective might stem from age; it’s often said that as we mature, we care less about others’ opinions.
Becoming a mother has undoubtedly shifted my focus away from my own looks towards ensuring my children’s well-being. I also credit my husband, who consistently tells me I’m beautiful. I know he may be exaggerating, but his compliments are much appreciated. However, a significant part of my evolving attitude can be traced back to my mother.
Eight years have passed since I lost my mom. Losing a parent is a painful experience that leaves a lasting impact. My mother’s death was both unexpected and traumatic, occurring during a particularly challenging period in our relationship. Although we loved each other deeply, our interactions were often fraught with complexity. I spent a considerable time grappling with feelings of anger—anger at her, at fate, and at the world for taking her away.
As I reflect on her absence, I find myself missing her most around her birthday, rather than the anniversary of her death. Initially, I thought the latter would be the most painful day, but as time has progressed, that day has transformed into a moment of quiet reflection. My mother’s birthday, however, remains bittersweet. She would have turned 62 this month, and I can picture her wanting to gather the family, not for herself but to bring us together for a celebration, filled with laughter and cherished memories. Ironically, she hated having her picture taken.
My mom was not vain; she didn’t invest much in her appearance and often felt unattractive, despite being beautiful to those around her. Unlike the millennial generation, she lacked the ability to take and edit selfies. Her reluctance to be photographed resulted in a wealth of images of her children but very few of herself. I regret that we didn’t encourage her to capture more memories.
Every year on her birthday, I search for old photographs of her, only to be met with disappointment at the scarcity of images. As a child, I would tell her how beautiful she was, examining her features with innocent admiration. Now, those details have faded, becoming more dreamlike than real. I often wonder if she had understood how much we would yearn to see her face and remember our moments together, would she have taken more photos? I believe she would have.
In the future, my children will likely miss me, sharing stories and showing their own children my imperfect selfies—photos where I might look silly, tired, or even unflattering. Yet, I am confident they will cherish those moments, regardless of my appearance, celebrating who I was in those times.
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Summary
This reflective piece explores the author’s evolving relationship with self-image, particularly regarding unflattering photographs. It delves into the complexities of familial relationships, the impact of a parent’s loss, and the importance of capturing memories, regardless of appearance. The narrative underscores that true connections transcend superficial judgments, highlighting the enduring love and remembrance that photographs evoke.
Keyphrase: unflattering photos and self-image
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