Vicki's Guide to Taking Better Selfies

Vicki’s Guide to Taking Better Selfies

            So you wanna take good selfies, eh? Well you’ve come to the right place. Within this post you will find tips and tricks that I regularly follow when taking my own selfies. Some may be new, others may be obvious; regardless, I feel some guidelines need to be thrown down about this. Selfies have exploded as a medium of expression on the Internet without requiring a professional photoshoot or even another human being to snap the picture. Front-facing cameras on our phones and mirrors in our bedrooms make it incredibly easy to take pictures of ourselves. The following six tips are here to guide you on your personal selfie journey (with creepy/goofy photos of my own to assist comprehension). Shall we begin?
            *Note: clicking on the pictures will make them bigger! I don't know why you'd want to do that, but just so you know.

1.    Good Lighting

X  ~  Too much front light = bad. Your face gets washed out and it looks flat. Or you could be like me, and look like you have no mouth.

X  ~  Too much back light = also bad. There’s an excess of shadows and no feature definition. And you just can't see your face.

O  ~  You want just enough side light to highlight and define your features. Find the angle that works for you

2.    Snap Angle is Key

X   ~  No emo MySpace angled photos. Quit.

X   ~  Want followers to play “how many chins do you have?” Stop.

O   ~  You may find another angle that works better for you, but I prefer to hold the camera at eyelevel and tilt and angle my head accordingly. Either that, or slightly elevating the camera also works, but don’t go too crazy (refer to the first bullet point). Angled more from the above tends to create a slimming effect.

3.    Look At Me When I’m Talking to You

X  ~  Don’t look at the screen of your phone where your face is. This close of a picture makes it obvious you're not looking at the camera.

X  ~  Also don't look at yourself in the mirror.

O  ~  Whether taking a picture with the front or back camera on your phone, look directly into the lens. This creates the effect that you’re looking at the person viewing your photo later, and creates more of a connection.*

*If you’re deliberately trying to look away and that’s the aim of the photo, that’s fine – totally acceptable. Just don’t look at your phone screen.

4.    Face Muscles

X  ~  Now that we’ve talked about eyes, let’s cover the rest of the face. The expression you make is up to you, and of course it’s okay to be goofy if that’s your aim. But NO DUCKFACE EVER. Go hangout at the duck pond where you belong if you’re going to do that crap.

O  ~  Whatever you decide to do, be relaxed, and as natural as possible. Obviously different expressions will vary with this one; just don’t force it too much.

5.    Background

X  ~  Before taking a selfie, consider your surroundings. Is your bedroom dirty? Are there toilets reflected in the mirror? Bras and/or underwear hanging off gaping dresser drawers? All of these things are terribly distracting, as well as way too much information.

                                             Don't be that person.

O  ~  If your face/body don’t take up most of the framed shot, either clean up your room first or choose a better background. Something as neutral and uncluttered as possible is ideal, because, after all, we want to see you, not the mound of laundry you have yet to tackle.

6.    Censorship

X  ~  Lastly, be wise about the types of photos you post on the Internet. Suggestive and/or vulgar pics have no place on the world wide web, for it is a vast, highly accessible place.

O  ~  Be classy, guys and gals. When taking a selfie, think of why you’re taking it and all of the people who might see it (whether you know it or not). Please be wise in dividing public and private affairs. There’s no real need to “show off” cleavage, tummies, or muscles to the public like that. Showing more skin may get you more likes on Facebook, but that should not be your primary source of measuring your self-worth. You’re a beautiful human, and as God’s creation you need not rate yourself on likes or comments. You belong to Him – you’ll find no greater source of self-worth than that.

Just a couple last comments: Keep in mind that vanity is not attractive. Keep the selfies posted to the Internet to a minimum.

And, as always, there tend to be exceptions to every rule. Use these tips as guidelines and figure out what works for you. Be creative!

Now go take a great selfie!

Defective

Riordan Bo was ten years old when he finally began to grasp the concept of his Companion Band. Those words had been said a million times since his birth in Colorado Springs and he had only just begun hating them. It felt less like a band and more like a clock embedded in the inside of his wrist, meant to display a countdown in flickering black numbers, accurate down to the second. One of his friends bragged to him at the top of the slide yesterday about how he only had two more years left, and proceeded to whip out his wrist for all to behold. Other boys in their awed semi-circle cried out in words mixed of jealousy and congratulations.

Riordan turned from the group and pulled up his sleeve to stare down at his own numbers, his face darkening. The grim, ever-present digits gawked back at him, five pairs of dead eyes.

00:00:00:00:00

“Marietta Sykes, you’re next, dear,” the school counselor called into the waiting room. Marietta skittered after her through the office door and perched in a plaid chair opposite another, which the counselor came to occupy. A sigh pushed through the woman’s nostrils as she regarded Marietta.

“Mrs. Meyhue tells me you’re being teased again.”

Marietta lowered her head, blinking at her knobby knees.

“Are those girls still saying mean things to you? About your Companion Band?”

Marietta nodded in small rapid jerks, this Michigan mitten keychain she’d clipped to her shoelaces jostling with the motion. Her eyes remained on her knees.

“I didn’t want to have to say this, but you might need to consider wearing gloves, or even a watch – something to cover it up. I wish I could tell you different, Marietta, but you’ll be graduating from elementary school and going to middle school after the summer. If you don’t do something to prevent the teasing, it will only get worse.”

Marietta brought her wrist up to her eyes, skimming her thumb over the digits. They held no pulse.

00:00:00:00:00

Riordan gazed at his reflection in the remnants of breakfast. The bowl quivered in the hum of the dishwasher against the countertop, and his face was distorted in the rippling milk.

“Mom?” he asked, dumping his dish in the sink. “What happened when your numbers ran out?”

“Hmm?” she replied, her gaze flickering over to him for a second. One hand held a mug of steaming tea and the other cradled her newest obsession – an iPad. “Oh, on my Companion Band? You really must call it what it is, darling, or else you’ll get people confused.” She took a liberal sip of the herbal mixture and sighed dreamily. “They stopped when I first met your father, of course. Don’t they teach you about your Bands in school? They must have by now – you're already thirteen, for goodness sake!”

“Yeah, Mom, they have,” he said. “Did you…did you like any other guys before you met dad? Did you date anyone else?”

A horrified expression overcame her delicate features. “Gracious, no! Riordan, where on earth are you getting these ideas? Companion Bands only come in pairs. I didn’t know what your father looked like or who he was, but I knew when I would meet him. No one dates anymore, Riordan, you know that. We just wait for our Companions, and that’s it.”

“Okay,” he said, but his mind drifted elsewhere. Scratching his wrist, he wandered back to his room to don his soccer gear.

00:00:00:00:00

Marietta sat in the dust that called home to the vacant side stairwell of Vicksburg High School, sniffling and shredding her nose with the rough fabric of her favorite Charlotte Russe hoodie. A garment she never left home without, the thick black sleeves hung past her fingers, shielding her Companion Band from searching eyes. Even the heat wave telling of summer’s arrival hadn’t deterred her from donning it that morning. The cuff, flawless in its sole duty, did not prevent the murmurs and stares, and tokens from elementary school pierced the fabric as if it had never existed.

The door shimmied open and Marietta startled, only settling down when she realized it was her friend Jimmie.

“Oh, Mar, what’s happened this time?” she cooed, taking a seat next to the girl and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Marietta leaned into the familiar presence and worried the sleeve’s worn hem.

“I was in that stupid career planning workshop with Mr. Whitt. He asked us to write down our goals in life and told us to start thinking about how we might get there and achieve them, or whatever. So I wrote mine down and Darcy, the fathead, was sitting next to me, and she snorted in my ear! She stole my paper and told me to keep dreaming! Then she called me defective and I didn’t want to hear any more of it, so I left.”

“What did you write?”

Mar wrung her wrist and sucked back more tears ready to fall.

“To love,” she whispered, voice trembling, “and be loved in return.”

00:00:00:00:00

There's a Crack in My Crystal Ball

The entirety of last week, I was deeply unhappy; my soul possessed a supreme discontentment – even the bits of soul down in my pinky toes felt it! And the worst part? I couldn’t even put to words why. Thoughts could not embody this disturbance in my being. It drove me crazy.

For days, I woke up with a frown that barely shifted with each passing hour. A reason to pin this crappiness on would have been marvelous, but it took a while for me to properly interpret it.

As most of you know, I am in college finishing up my junior year with a double major in Psychology and Creative Writing. The double major had been something I was 100% certain of even before I set foot on campus in the fall of 2012, as well as plans to go on and get a Master’s in Psych. Freshly 18 years old, I had the next 6 to 8 years of my life planned out as far as academics, and at least 4 years of that I was undoubtedly sure of.

Now that I am on the cusp of finishing my 3^rd year out of 4 in undergraduate studies, the post-graduation future is looming and the pressure of that unfortunately has pushed me to be the most stressed out I have ever been in my life, and I do not say that lightly. I do not get stressed because I don’t allow myself to, but over that week I had to admit that I was discontent with something and stressed out about it. But what the heck was it? I needed more variables to fill in this equation – thus far it was all question marks.

I had been doing what every decent Christian does – pray. Most of my prayers that week consisted of me asking for clarity about my future, about where I was supposed to go and what to do. A couple weeks before that ultimate-stress-week, I had been telling God to make it obvious when He lets me in on my future plans, because I know I’m not the best at interpreting between my feelings and God’s intentions. I distinctly recall saying during family prayer time for God to sledgehammer the obviousness into my head if need be.

Careful what you pray for, kids.

Stress-week was emotionally and spiritually painful (sledgehammer to the soul?). Wednesday night I finally found a faint glimmer of clarity: I didn’t want to go to grad school in Psychology anymore.

It was a feeling before it was a verbalized concept, one that presented itself in tears before words.

There was an acute internal trigger, and through the sniffles I verbalized to myself why I was so discontent. I had realized I didn’t want to go to grad school in Psychology and I had to tell myself it was okay. It’s okay when plans change – now is much better than later, too; for instance, in the middle of a Master’s program for Psych I sure as heck would not have wanted this realization. And anyway, it didn’t currently change much, although initially I thought it changed everything (more stress).

I wanted to write. As soon as I admitted that to myself, I was rushed with alleviation. I wanted to get an MFA, go to a graduate school program that would better my skills. Writing is my passion and has been solidly since 2010, but the seed was planted years before that. Writing is something I cannot live without, while psychology can remain dormant without much fuss – there are so many indicators of this that I feel a fool for not seeing them. Last semester I didn’t have any creative writing classes whatsoever and didn’t have any time to write creatively, so academic papers took over. By the end of the semester, I was crazy with the need to write something, anything creative.

Over spring break (February 28^th to March 8^th) I was home with my parents, and the very first day I was there, my dad and I had a lengthy conversation about the future. At that point I had still been sure about my Master’s-in-Psych decision, and I told this to him. He squinted his eyes a little and gave a small smile, saying he thought years ago that my idea was that creative writing is the capstone and psychology was going to be a helper in that realm. Writing was the Pacific Ocean and psychology was just one of the many rivers that eventually leads into it. Instead, psychology had taken over, in retrospect I think because I had career-minded thinking and had already written off using a creative writing major as a potential future career.

Funny how people on the outside have more insight into my own mind.

Later in the realization week I got Chinese take out for dinner. I happened to walk out with two fortune cookies and for some reason only cracked open one. The fortunes was unsurprisingly inconsequential and irrelevant.

On Sunday I got the urge to crack open the other one, just because. I hadn’t even planned to eat it. The message inside made me roll my eyes and smile.

God finds himself hilarious.

And I blessedly find myself in the arms of pure contentment.