Glam studio had a photobooth at Toronto Alternative Fashion Week. I saw it but had been studiously avoiding the thing. It was named Glam. Glam makes me think of glamour. Glamour is an illusion. I am not an illusion. I am standing right in front of you. What you think about me; that’s the illusion.
But, on the last night of my attendance, just as I was ready to leave, I was shanghaied. Too polite to say no and bored of waiting for Amie to finish in the washroom, I decided to cooperate. It should be a couple minutes of fun, I thought. You’d think I’d know better than to listen to that thought.
The photographer, Zaiden, took me into a little tinfoil room and then started telling me what to do. It always amuses me that people with cameras think they’re in a position to give me orders. People with guns would have a hard time giving me orders. And really — a photographer needs something to take a picture of and I don’t need to have my picture taken, so who has the power?
But Zaiden seemed spunky and his impertinence was amusing. I played along, even making a face when he asked and jumping on command like a well trained dog. I did not, however, give him a big smile. Some things are just beyond the pale.
Anyway, this is the result.
