My knees are screaming. Literally. Throbbing.
I’ve been crouching on a cold, hard studio floor for five hours. The air in here is thick. It smells like a mix of cheap vanilla body spray, nervous sweat, and old coffee. I just wrapped up a shoot. Let’s call the client “Jennifer.”
Jennifer is great. Sweet girl. But she showed up with a spray tan she got yesterday. She looked like an Oompa Loompa. A very nervous, orange Oompa Loompa. And she brought her phone. “Can we do this pose?” she asked, shoving a screenshot in my face. It was a photo of a supermodel hanging off a balcony in Italy.
We are in a loft in Ohio, Jennifer.
I’m writing this because I’m exhausted. And because I’m sick of seeing people waste their money on “intimate photo session” or boudoir or whatever trendy name you want to call it, only to hate the results. You want photos that actually look hot? You want to look like a goddess and not a potato?
Then stop listening to Pinterest. Listen to me. The guy with the camera.
The “Pinterest” Trap is Real
I hate Pinterest. I want to fight the person who invented it.
It has ruined your brain. You see a photo of a girl in a messy sweater, holding a mug, looking effortlessly sexy. You think, “I can do that. I’ll just sit there.”
No.
Here is the dirty secret. That “messy” hair? A stylist spent ninety minutes making it look messy. That “natural window light”? It’s a $2,000 strobe light bouncing off a reflector the size of a billboard. That “casual” pose? Her spine is twisted so hard she probably needed a chiropractor the next day.
Photography is a lie. It’s a beautiful lie, but it’s fake. It’s 2D. You are 3D. When you try to replicate a 2D image in 3D space without understanding lighting, you just look like you’re falling over.
Stop bringing me 50 screenshots of other women. Bring yourself. Trust me to light your body. Not the body of some Russian model from 2015.
Your Amazon Lingerie sucks
Yeah, I said it.
I know it was only $15. I know it looked good on the mannequin online. But here in the real world? It looks like plastic.
Cheap lace doesn’t lay flat. It bunches. It itches. It cuts into your hips and creates lumps that aren’t even there. And the tags. My god, the tags. Nothing kills the vibe of a sexy photoshoot faster than me having to stop every three minutes to tuck in a giant white tag that says “MADE IN CHINA / WASH COLD.”
Cut them off. Burn them. I don’t care.
And size. Fit is everything. If it’s too small, you look like a sausage. If it’s too big, you look like you’re wearing a diaper. If you are going to drop $500 on a session, spend $50 on underwear that actually fits your human body.
Or? Don’t wear any.
Seriously. A white bedsheet. It’s free. It’s classic. It reflects light onto your face. It hides the parts you’re insecure about and highlights the curves. Sheets don’t have tags. Sheets don’t fail.
The Myth of “Comfort”
“I just want to be comfortable,” you say.
No. You don’t.
If you are comfortable during a photoshoot, you probably look boring. The best angles—the ones that make your legs look a mile long and your jawline cut glass—feel weird. They feel unnatural.
I’m going to tell you to push your chin out like a turtle. You’re going to feel stupid. You’re going to think, “This must look insane.” But to the camera lens, which flattens everything, it stretches your neck. No double chin. Just smooth lines.
I’m going to yell at you to arch your back. More. Keep going. Until your muscles shake. I’m going to tell you to point your toes until they cramp.
It is physical. It is a workout. You should be sweating. If you leave my studio and you aren’t tired, we didn’t get the shot.
Couples: Stop Being Weird
Couples sessions. Oh boy.
Sometimes it’s electric. Most of the time? It’s two people who have suddenly forgotten how to be human beings.
I lift the camera and—boom. You freeze. You do the “prom pose.” Hands stiff on hips. Fake smiles plastered on. Dead eyes.
Stop it.
I don’t need you to look at the lens. I need connection. I need you to look at her. Look at his mouth. Smell her neck. Actually smell it. Close your eyes.
And boundaries. Let’s talk about them. Talk to your partner before you get here. I had a guy once think the camera was a permission slip to get… aggressive. His girlfriend looked terrified. I shut it down. Kicked him out.
This is art. It’s intimate, sure. But it’s not porn. There is a line. Know it. Respect it. Or get out of my studio.
The Orange Skin Disaster
Back to Jennifer.
Cameras see everything. My lens costs more than my first Honda. It is designed to capture detail. It captures pores. It captures stray eyebrow hairs. And it absolutely captures streak-marks from a spray tan.
If you spray tan, do it three days before. Let it settle. Shower twice.
And exfoliate. My Photoshop skills are good. I can remove a pimple. I can soften a wrinkle. But I am not a magician. I cannot reconstruct your entire skin texture because you decided to experiment with a new bronzer this morning.
Plan ahead. This isn’t a selfie. It’s a production.
Physics Don’t Care About Your Feelings
You can argue with me. You can argue with your husband. But you cannot argue with physics.
Light travels in straight lines. My job is to bend those lines around your curves.
When I tell you to move “an inch to the left,” move an inch. Not a foot. An inch. That tiny movement takes you from “shadowy raccoon eyes” to “mysterious and sultry.”
I use shadows to hide things. I use light to highlight things. It’s geometry. If you keep fidgeting because you’re nervous, you ruin the geometry. You step out of the light and into the dark.
Stand still. Let me paint you.
Just… Breathe
Look, I sound grumpy. I am grumpy. My back hurts.
But
When does it works? When the light hits just right, and the client finally stops overthinking and just exists? It’s magic.
I show them the back of the camera. They gasp. “Is that me?”
Yes. That’s you. That’s the version of you that isn’t worried about the mortgage or the laundry or the cellulite. That’s the raw you.
That moment? That split second? It makes the sore knees worth it.
But seriously. Leave the cheap lingerie at home.
FAQ
Q: Will you Photoshop me to be skinnier? A: I will smooth skin. I will fix the lighting. I will remove a bruise. I will not liquefy your body until you look like a stranger. If you hate your body that much, a jpeg isn’t going to fix it. Love yourself first. Then book me.
Q: Can I drink beforehand? A: A glass of wine? Sure. A bottle of tequila? No. Drunk eyes look dead on camera. One eyelid gets lazy. You get sloppy. You can’t hold the pose. Save the party for after.
Q: I don’t know how to pose. Help? A: That’s literally my job. I will guide you. I will demonstrate it myself if I have to (and yes, I look ridiculous doing it). Just listen. Stop apologizing. Do what I say.
Q: Can I bring my hype-girl friend? A: No. She distracts you. You end up performing for her instead of connecting with the camera. Unless she’s in the photos, tell her to go get coffee.
Q: What should I wear? A: Textures. Velvet, silk, wool. Avoid tiny, busy patterns—they make the camera freak out (it’s called moiré). And bring something oversized. A big men’s shirt. A chunky sweater. It lets us play with “reveal and conceal.” Sexy is what you don’t see.