No cheese in 2024

Check on your friends who can never seem to stick to their New Year’s resolutions.

Not me though. I’m already batting 1.000.

Let’s get into it:

[Don’t Say Cheese]

[pt.1 i’m tired]

Some of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken are the ones where no one was looking.

Not that I’m trying to catch pictures of anyone in secret, or anything. But in my old age[1] I have become, photographically speaking, pose intolerant. The theatrics and performance that come with ‘saying cheese’ is fucking overrated.

But I’m not out of touch, okay? I understand that posing for still shots is a necessary evil. Sometimes you just need to get a group photo to prove to everyone that you turned off Netflix, went to that dinner, got dressed in something other than sweatpants, and became a beautiful social butterfly. I see you! And you looked great!

But I’m tired, grandpa. I’m tired of ‘turning it on for the cameras’ when I’m already turned on[2].

Can we please stop the intrusive act of interrupting an authentically fun moment to prove just how fun it is?

But… I know your counter argument already: Our minds are fragile, Cooter! Our memories won’t always hold on!

And you’re right. Catching fleeting moments while they’re happening is valuable in it’s own right. Peter Overzet recently wrote about his experience with practicing Pre-Nostalgia.

And I get it. It resonates, because sometimes you know you’re going to miss something before it’s gone.

But what you’re going to miss isn’t the watered down, premeditated, standing arm in arm, take-four-pictures-and-let-everyone-check-their-smiles-for-the-good-one version.

You won’t miss the ‘say cheese’. You’re going to miss all of the in-betweens.

[pt.2 dad pictures]

You know, I used to tease my husband for always taking ‘bad photos’ of me, as he silently caught shots of me with a friend or my kid mid-sentence. I used to assume anything unplanned was unflattering.

At the time, I couldn’t see myself through the lens of someone who was practicing their own version of pre-nostalgia on me.

But I’ve since apologized[3], because those dad shots are now some of my most treasured memories.

He captured pieces of our life that I lived through, but never got to see. And I cannot thank him enough for that.

[pt.3 who says no?]

If you’ve read this newsletter before, you’ve likely noticed the not-so-subtle undertones of ‘unplugging’ and ‘living in the moment’ and ‘being present’. Well, in preparation for a dinner with friends over the holiday, I thought it might be fun to practice what I can’t seem to stop preaching.

So I ran to a local Walgreens, grabbed three $11 disposable cameras, and introduced an idea:

Sure, I got teased for the idea at first. “I haven’t seen one of those since I was a kid.”

But then the night began. And a weight, that I hadn’t realized was there, was lifted.

There was no ‘instant review’ to see if we looked cute, which took off the pressure of posing. There was no ‘instant availability’, which took off the pressure of sharing/posting. And because the cameras were a separate device, there was no need for cell phones, which took away the pressures of ‘just checking’ to see what notifications/messages were accumulating on all of the little apps all of the time.

We could practice pre-nostalgia without the pressures of ‘plugging in’.

And we began taking photos like a dad would. Unscripted. Untimed. And yes, probably unflattering. It was fantastic.

But before you run off to lock away your phones, I do have to come clean.

The disposable cameras didn’t make us any better at being friends. They didn’t make our jokes land any harder. They didn’t make our laughs any louder. And they didn’t make dinner taste any better.

But we were all present. In a way that none of us have been, collectively, in a very long time.

[1] jk. I’m the youngest person I know and don’t you forget it!
[2] Stop it. Not like that.
[3] Sorry, babe!

until next time. - cd