So the man who decides stuff at the place of work has decided the people who do my job should have their picture on the website on certain pages. Rather than just allow some police artist to sketch us – surely what other companies do in this scenario? – this has necessitated a photoshoot today.
Rather than tell us what to wear we have been told what not to wear. Now if a camp asian man is telling me how to look thinner or accentuate my shoulders I don’t mind the guidance being vague. But when it is something like this I’d prefer not to receive some vague instructions about what not to wear.
One of the instructions was not to wear a tie that clashed with the brand colours. Clearly, just clearly fuck off. That whole statement, wrong or otherwise, doesn’t belong in an interaction where both participants are human beings. I wouldn’t mind a algorithm telling me that; I wouldn’t mind telling a robot that. JUST TELL ME WHAT FUCKING COLOURS TO WEAR.
And I’m not even factoring in my colour blindness here. I am sure people who aren’t colour blind do know more than me about colours but maybe people who can see colours don’t know what colours work together. If you’d seen what some of the people I work with etc..
I have been photographed once before but I was a lot younger (not that young and it wasn’t that kind of photoshoot) and life hadn’t crushed me back then. I don’t remember having an issue smiling so much back then. I definitely did though because I occasionally see the pictures at my parents’ house. Or get emailed them by my sister’s partner with just the phrase HAHA as the only text (which is fair enough – my hair looks bad, as do my clothes).
I definitely had some difficulty smiling this time. He kept mithering me to smile. I tried being jokey about it, pointing out that a middle-aged man instructing me to smile was kind of the opposite scenario to a scenario that would make me smile.
I begrudgingly managed a few ‘smiles’ to stop him molesting me. I told him I was quite vain. He looked pretty surprised at that statement. I asked him if I could look at the pictures. He said yes in a way that suggested he was thinking it would cure my vanity, he said yes in a way that suggested I would realise I was a big, fat, red-faced shiny headed bastard.
WHAT HAD I BEEN THINKING? As someone who is continually looking at his own reflection/taking his own picture with his phone how did I not have a look at myself BEFORE I was photographed for some pictures to go on the internet (the one everyone can get on*). My hair wasn’t in shape and I was shining, shining with perspired alcohol shine.
Ah well. I at least can emphasise with those poor supermodels now rather than judging them like all the other monsters in society.
To show it has not affected me I chose to buy myself a new iPad rather than eat at lunch.
*Maybe not everyone – I assume North Koreans can’t access shit.