This past Saturday, I was in front of the camera for two photoshoots as part of a series I’m working on called "In Their Element." In a collaborative effort with a friend, I modeled for them in exchange for an interview about their experiences as an artist. What drove me to commit to these photoshoots, other than committing to the bit that is being a public persona that has to update their portfolio, was an active choice to face my fear of being seen.
I know what you’re thinking, “Miguel, haven’t you been posting on social media for years?”. “Isn’t that your job?” “You record yourself all the time.” Yes— but hear me out— for someone who’s made a living off of being an influencer, I’ve never been exceptionally comfortable having my picture taken. In fact, over the past year, I’ve become increasingly uncomfortable in front of a camera.
Before I came out as Miguel, it was easier to maintain the image of an overly confident, carefree persona. But as I’ve chipped away at the mask of who I used to be, I’ve realized that I’m pretty timid— unless liquid courage is involved. Don’t get me wrong, the discomfort I feel when I’m perceived isn’t rooted in shame about who I am. On the contrary, I’m proud of the person I’ve become. I’ve worked tirelessly to look this way, have this voice, and dress the way I do without constantly worrying about others’ opinions. I’m happy to look the way I do—so why does my stomach turn when I feel your eyes on me?
See, there’s a difference between modeling and filming a video. When I speak, my story is much more important than how I look. At that moment, I’m not concerned about the scars on my body or how my barber missed a couple of stray hairs; what matters is the point I’m getting across and the intention behind it.
A photo allows you to look at and see all of me—the real me. Facing criticism is much more complicated now that my look is mine to own. I’m no longer playing a character. I panic when the lens is pointed directly at me. For the duration of the first photo shoot, I found myself wasting time the minute the lens was in my line of vision. The sound of the camera shutter served as a reminder that maybe, despite what others may tell me, I’m not a natural.
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