Amanda Sosastone hugged me, called me her girl and "golden child" and told me my look was really cute. I managed not to drool on her and clap like a spastic drama kid. Amanda is, of course, a great photography consultant who I am enamored with. She's an alumnus from my school (Southeast Center for Photographic Studies) and adorable. She said even said I just seemed "so cool" at one point. It all melted together as I grinned like an idiot. I don't know how I pulled that conversation off without her taking it all back.
She's taught me in a very short time that in my business it's IMAGE IMAGE IMAGE BRANDING BRANDING BRANDING. Of course you have to have the work first, you have to have technical skill, talent, the almighty eye, and interpersonal skills. But a photographer is a walking talking business and how we present ourselves can get us the gig or lose it. It seems like such a simple concept, but since attending her workshop for the first time I've put just as much thought into my image as I have my work.
The first time she met me (last year) I gave a bad impression. It was after a car crash and a lot of cuts on my arms were getting infected so I was covering them with a billion little band-aids (Hello Kitty and Spiderman. Cause I'm such a grown up.) Plus I was in my work uniform, which did not fit because at the time I was a tech for the NASCAR Speedway, and since I am a tiny female and usually these techs are giant men that eat babies and drink mighty ale- the uniform looks ridiculous on me. But instead of correcting her observations about me I kept my mouth shut and listened to what people saw when they looked at me. Amanda saw kind of gothy, rough, streetwise, cool, raw. And my photographs didn't disagree with this image. I spent a lot of time thinking, "Is that who I want to be? Is that how I see myself? Is this the style I want to shoot in?"
I have the name of a Viking and I want to live up to that. That doesn't mean I have to dress and act in a way that makes peoplewonder if I have a penis. I love being a woman. My cat actually matches my decor and I have proof (later). Which brings us to the point to this entry (and blog). I want to discover what being a woman means to me- dissect it, make fun of it, and finally decide (at 27 years old tomorrow) what I want to be when I grow up.