Remember Glamour Shots, that 1990s trend of taking an otherwise attractive, dignified woman, making her look like Dolly Parton’s crack-riddled sister and then capturing it on film?
They were awesome. Though maybe not for the reason they were intended.
Have you ever wondered why a self-respecting women would indulge in this kind of celluloid chicanery? Did you assume that they received a concussion in the food court of a mall and wandered into the Glamour Shots studio, dazed and looking for help, only to find themselves topless and wrapped in a feather boa? I did.
This poor woman is still wondering what happened to her Wetzel’s pretzel. (image via dailymail)
But now I know better. And I’m here to tell you a story, a true story, of how I ended up with some Glamour Shots of my own.
It all began innocently enough. I needed a headshot for an upcoming show. I used to have a giant box of them hanging around but they became disturbingly outdated and now all 200 copies of my face are floating around a landfill, covered in dirty diapers and rotting food. I’ve heard that every time a seagull craps on my face, an angel gets its wings.
I needed another headshot but I didn’t want to shell out the cash for professional pictures when I only need one, so first I asked Hubs. He was a camera assistant when I met him, so he knows his way around a camera…box. Close enough. Now he often works surveillance and has taken many flattering photos of people violating parole. I figured he was the man for the job. And I think he would be…if I were stealing TVs from our neighbors and he was taking pictures from the inside of a utility van.
However making your tired wife look attractive in a giant leather recliner is a very different challenge. Hubs made the artsy choice of shooting up from the floor, so that my legs look giant and my head looks teeny tiny. This may be the only time in the history of the world that my head has looked teeny tiny, so he does deserve an award for that feat, but the result was more of a kneeshot than a headshot.
Hire these knees! I also like the treadmill background setting and prop child. True artistry.
So I called a friend of mine for help. She teaches pole dancing and upon request she and her husband will take pictures of their students. I figured if she could make women look good while hanging upside down from a pole in their underwear, then she was up for the challenge. She brought out her black back drop and the fancy umbrella lights. Totally professional. You’d never know that the back drop is in front of camping gear, her dog is humping my leg and our kids are watching Dinosaur Train right behind her.
My eyes are sparkling with the joy of PBS theme songs and an amorous dog.
However, my friend has a twisted sense of humor (I don’t know how we became friends because I am so serious) and when she accidentally captured this image of me saying something obviously profound…
“I think the world needs more hugs and less drugs.”
…she immediately thought of those Glamour Shots. And she was right. I was almost here…
Yeah baby, work that bed sheet with your surgical glove! I’m going to wrap you up in your tinfoil blanket like a baked potato. (image via buzzfeed)
I tried to capture the “come hither” gaze but ended up looking more like a woman in an ADT Security Systems commercial.
“I’m so afraid that I’m going to clutch my imaginary collar.”
My friend was sure that I was simply missing the right props to emphasize my sex appeal. If you don’t have a leather jacket, a feather boa or a bedazzled collar to caress, it simply isn’t a Glamour shot.
Big Bird’s mother in a recumbent bike pose. (image via dailymail)
Luckily my friend had some of the needed items. It seemed like a really good idea to dig them out. And so our semi-professional photo shoot devolved into this.
This would be better if my collar was bedazzled and I was caressing it.
Just like her…
I bow before her mastery. (image via buzzfeed)
Perhaps what I need is a piece of furniture I can step on for no apparent reason.
Nothing is sexier than the Captain Morgan’s rum pose.
I only wish I had brought my crossbow.
He likes to kill a deer while caressing his girlfriend’s thigh. (image via dailymail)
And then we stopped our session because the kids needed to be fed. They have no respect for Glamour.
So that is how this unsuspecting mother ended up with Glamour Shots without so much as a cocktail or a head injury. Take this as a warning. It could happen to you.
And if it does you should remember to bring your crossbow.
Fathead Follies 