A successful photo shoot depends on few things. Actually no, let’s be honest, it depends on a lot of parameters: preparation, punctuality, light, and professionalism. What do we have here? Well, an absolutely failed photoshoot.
It’s mid-January and it’s cold enough to make a Yeti cry. I haven’t really slept in a month, which explains my puffy face. If we have to talk about preparation, I come as I am – and let me tell you that on that day, there is no preparation because I am exhausted and clearly not in the mood to be photographed.
I am supposed to meet my photographer Cedric at 3 p.m. at the corner of La Bourdonnais avenue and Université street, for a photoshoot on the nearby Champ-de-Mars.
Do I have time to admire the three billion influencers taking their selfies with the Eiffel Tower, in this exact spot so overused on Instagram as THE Parisian spot?
Oh yes. I have plenty of time since my photographer is almost an hour late.
Do I find these people totally and hopelessly ridiculous? Absolutely and I feel sorry for the residents who have to deal all day long with these people taking pictures of themselves at the bottom of their buildings.
I have, at one point, a mad desire to run away, telling myself that I do exactly the same, certainly more professional because the lens pointed at me is a real camera and that the person holding the said lens is a real photographer. However, for the past few months, I have been more and more ashamed to participate in this egotistical circus of self-promotion where you have to be photographed at supposedly unmissable places.
One thing influencers won’t have are rats (wait for it).
I’m freezing to death waiting for my dear Cedric, and now my puffy face is also a frozen face when he finally shows up.
We go to the Champ-de-Mars.
We soon discover that the place is infested – not with influencers – but with rats so big that I take them for rabbits at first glance – stupid city girl that I am (imagine Cedric’s face when I say “oh look, there are rabbits in Paris, it’s great”, whereas HE knows that we are not talking about rabbits).
Well well well.
It’s 4 p.m. There is almost no light anymore. I’m freezing but I change my loafers for some low-cut heels that I took in my tote bag (please remember that I never wear socks). The mark left by the loafers on the cou-de-pied may suggest a BDSM session with a foot fetish lover. Nice.
Whatever. We both know that the photoshooting will give a kind of shitty result but we try our best.
Or not. We go nuts.
Especially me, because I’m not a professional model, I am a lawyer. I walk with my knees raised, trying in vain to demonstrate – from the height of my 47 years and 164 centimeters – that top models have a specific gait that is not natural BUT THAT IT IS WORTH THE TRY FOR THE PICTURES.
I laugh so much at my own bullshit that I cry and the mascara runs and it’s not photogenic. I walk in zigzags, I dig my heels into the grass because no one can walk in stilettos in the grass. Except Kate Middleton, but she trained a lot, I’m sure.
Cedric thinks it’s more interesting to photograph the rats. We can’t blame him.
Voilà. It’s a miss, it happens, that’s life. As a result, you will admire (or not) the photos of a tired 47-year-old woman struggling in the grass with rats around.
Well. Why not.
Loro Piana coat – La Perla leggings – Armani jumper and heels – YSL handbag – Vintage mittens – O’Fée earrings – Ratatouilles from Paris
March 8, 2022