Short hair, red jumper, excellent taste in music. Although the cafés of Byron Bay have made me question that last one.
On a recent family holiday in Byron Bay, every café, restaurant and shop seemed to be playing my music. Everywhere we went, my daughter would say, “Mum, they’re playing your music again!”
Initially, I was delighted. Finally, my children had some evidence that I had excellent taste. But by about the fifth café, I began to wonder whether I had excellent taste or had become the target demographic for somewhere selling expensive cushions.
Had I become background music?
There was a time when discovering music was a fairly significant part of my personality. I bought Madonna’s first album on vinyl. I listened to Prince, Portishead, Massive Attack and Everything But The Girl. I washed my parents’ car listening to N.W.A.’s “Straight Outta Wahroonga,” with a sponge. 😆
I also loved Kylie, Sade, and Whitney Houston ballads, especially when I was a teenager who needed to lie on my bed and take my feelings very seriously. My taste was all over the place. I liked what I liked, and I enjoyed finding it.
And we made mixtapes. Actual tapes, with songs chosen and arranged specifically for another person. You had to consider the order, the mood and whether there was enough room left on side B. Sometimes a radio presenter talked over the beginning of your favourite song, and you had to carry that disappointment for the rest of your life.
There was effort involved. You shared something about yourself, including your slightly questionable choices. A friend might introduce you to an artist you would never have found otherwise. You listened because it mattered to them, and sometimes it became something that mattered to you too.
These days, I often press play and let Spotify take over, which is convenient. Life is busy, and I don’t always have the energy to personally curate the soundtrack to unpacking the dishwasher. But somewhere along the way, I seem to have stopped looking quite so actively for things I love.
Hearing my soundtrack follow me around Byron Bay made me notice it. Then, because apparently I can’t enjoy a coffee without developing a theory, I started thinking about everything else.
The clothes. The interiors. The cafés themselves. The feeling of seeing something so often that you can no longer remember whether you liked it before it became familiar.
I’m very much including myself here. I would love to present myself as a fearless creative whose taste has never been influenced by anyone else, but that would be an ambitious work of fiction. I’m perfectly capable of seeing a pair of trousers fourteen times and deciding they express something deeply personal about me.
It made me wonder how often we choose something because we love it, and how often we choose it because someone else has already shown it works.
I think about this in portrait photography, too. Reference images can be incredibly useful. They give us a place to start, especially when someone knows the feeling they want but can’t quite describe it. A photograph can help us talk about colour, light, expression or atmosphere.
But I’m interested in what you respond to within that reference. Is it the confidence? The warmth? The fact that the woman looks comfortable in her clothes? Or do you feel you need to reproduce the whole thing, right down to the coffee cup?
It’s easy to collect images of women who look professional, successful or creative and start building a list of things you think you should do. Wear this. Stand like that. Have a photo of you laughing at something just outside the frame. Ideally, own a beautiful chair.
Some of those choices might suit you perfectly. But I want to leave room for details we couldn’t find by copying someone else’s photograph.
That matters because women in the Confidence Club tell me they want to feel like themselves in photographs. They want to look at the image and recognise the person they know themselves to be.
There is something quite vulnerable about deciding what that looks like. It means paying attention to your own preferences, even when they aren’t particularly fashionable or easy to explain. Perhaps you love a loud colour. Perhaps you prefer a quiet, direct portrait. Perhaps your favourite expression is more thoughtful than smiley. Perhaps the outfit that feels most like you would never appear in a collection of “what to wear for your branding shoot.”
Those choices give us something to work with. I’d like to know about them.
Having worked with musicians and artists, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how a photograph can express a personality. The same question matters when I photograph a business owner or someone updating a headshot: what would help this feel recognisably yours?
Sometimes the answer is quite simple. The way you sit when you’re comfortable. Clothes you already enjoy wearing. An expression that arrives during conversation. We need enough space in the process to notice those things, rather than being so committed to the reference that we miss the person.
I’m trying to pay my own taste a bit more attention, too. With music, that means going back to albums I loved, asking friends what they’re listening to, and making time actually to listen. I still love disco, house and anything that makes me want to get up and dance. I want to find more of it.
I don’t need every choice I make to be wildly original. That sounds exhausting, and sometimes the popular trousers are popular because they’re excellent trousers. But I would like to remain curious about what I enjoy, rather than automatically accepting whatever comes next.
For your next portrait, it might be worth asking yourself the same thing. Before gathering examples of how you think you should look, consider what you would like someone to recognise about you.
And if you’ve found an artist making something interesting, uplifting or wonderfully danceable, please tell me. I’m ready for some recommendations from actual people.
Preferably before my daughter walks into another homewares shop and discovers my entire personality.
Katie x
On a recent family holiday in Byron Bay, every café, restaurant and shop seemed to be playing my music. Everywhere we went, my daughter would say, “Mum, they’re playing your music again!”
Initially, I was delighted. Finally, my children had some evidence that I had excellent taste. But by about the fifth café, I began to wonder whether I had excellent taste or had become the target demographic for somewhere selling expensive cushions.
Had I become background music?
There was a time when discovering music was a fairly significant part of my personality. I bought Madonna’s first album on vinyl. I listened to Prince, Portishead, Massive Attack and Everything But The Girl. I washed my parents’ car listening to N.W.A.’s “Straight Outta Wahroonga,” with a sponge. 😆
I also loved Kylie, Sade, and Whitney Houston ballads, especially as a teenager who needed to lie in bed and take my feelings very seriously. My taste was all over the place. I liked what I liked, and I enjoyed finding it.
And we made mixtapes. Actual tapes, with songs chosen and arranged specifically for another person. You had to consider the order, the mood and whether there was enough room left on side B. Sometimes a radio presenter talked over the beginning of your favourite song, and you had to carry that disappointment for the rest of your life.
There was effort involved. You shared something about yourself, including your slightly questionable choices. A friend might introduce you to an artist you would never have found otherwise. You listened because it mattered to them, and sometimes it came to matter to you, too.
These days, I often press play and let Spotify take over, which is convenient. Life is busy, and I don’t always have the energy to personally curate the soundtrack to unpacking the dishwasher. But somewhere along the way, I seem to have stopped looking quite so actively for things I love.
Hearing my soundtrack follow me around Byron Bay made me notice it. Then, because apparently I can’t enjoy a coffee without developing a theory, I started thinking about everything else.
The clothes. The interiors. The cafés themselves. The feeling of seeing something so often that you can no longer remember whether you liked it before it became familiar.
I’m very much including myself here. I would love to present myself as a fearless creative whose taste has never been influenced by anyone else, but that would be an ambitious work of fiction. I’m perfectly capable of seeing a pair of trousers fourteen times and deciding they express something deeply personal about me.
It made me wonder how often we choose something because we love it, and how often we choose it because someone else has already shown it works.
I think about this in portrait photography, too. Reference images can be incredibly useful. They give us a place to start, especially when someone knows the feeling they want but can’t quite describe it. A photograph can help us talk about colour, light, expression or atmosphere.
But I’m interested in what you respond to within that reference. Is it the confidence? The warmth? The fact that the woman looks comfortable in her clothes? Or do you feel you need to reproduce the whole thing, right down to the coffee cup?
It’s easy to collect images of women who look professional, successful or creative and start building a list of things you think you should do. Wear this. Stand like that. Have a photo of you laughing at something just outside the frame. Ideally, own a beautiful chair.
Some of those choices might suit you perfectly. But I want to leave room for details we couldn’t find by copying someone else’s photograph.
That matters because women in the Confidence Club tell me they want to feel like themselves in photographs. They want to look at the image and recognise the person they know themselves to be.
There is something quite vulnerable about deciding what that looks like. It means paying attention to your own preferences, even when they aren’t particularly fashionable or easy to explain. Perhaps you love a loud colour. Perhaps you prefer a quiet, direct portrait. Perhaps your favourite expression is more thoughtful than smiley. Perhaps the outfit that feels most like you would never appear in a collection of “what to wear for your branding shoot.”
Those choices give us something to work with. I’d like to know about them.
Having worked with musicians and artists, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how a photograph can express a personality. The same question matters when I photograph a business owner or someone updating a headshot: what would help this feel recognisably yours?
Sometimes the answer is quite simple. The way you sit when you’re comfortable. Clothes you already enjoy wearing. An expression that arrives during conversation. We need enough space in the process to notice those things, rather than being so committed to the reference that we miss the person.
I’m trying to pay my own taste a bit more attention, too. With music, that means going back to albums I loved, asking friends what they’re listening to, and making time actually to listen. I still love disco, house and anything that makes me want to get up and dance. I want to find more of it.
I don’t need every choice I make to be wildly original. That sounds exhausting, and sometimes the popular trousers are popular because they’re excellent trousers. But I would like to remain curious about what I enjoy, rather than automatically accepting whatever comes next.
For your next portrait, it might be worth asking yourself the same thing. Before gathering examples of how you think you should look, consider what you would like someone to recognise about you.
And if you’ve found an artist making something interesting, uplifting or wonderfully danceable, please tell me. I’m ready for some recommendations from actual people.
Preferably before my daughter walks into another homewares shop and discovers my entire personality.
Katie x
