No research whatsoever has gone into this post, but it was probably on TV once so it must be true. There is a kind of psychic hokum where you put your hands on charged metal plates while your photo is taken. After some mumbo jumbo bunkum (presumably photoshop based) your picture is printed. You are surrounded by an aura of colour which presumably indicates that you are suggestible.
Let it be known that this is the first report of a phenomenon I shall coin 'photoblimpnogginism', a condition of which I am the only known sufferer. I suppose I'm an ordinary sort of vain: I expect other people to love me, and if they don't the fault's almost certainly with them. My hair is a little fluffy, so I tend to gunk it up. I like nice clothes but don't like ironing, so average out at presentably rumpled. At home there is a tall mirror opposite the stairs, which allows for convenient self-appraisal with built in handy alibi. All in all, I think I look fine. As in 'okay, alright, passable', rather than 'daay-mn, he is FINE!'
But something horrible happens when a camera is pointed my way. In the teensy split second while their finger is depressing the button and electrons are shunting round camera circuitry, my jaw hangs moronically loose, my eyes half close, phlegm dribbles towards where the second and third chins are blooming. Spots sprout, and I gain between three and four stone. If there was ever a good picture of me, I was probably sucking in my cheeks, or standing in some miracle of light and shade. The really sad thing would be if that photo-me is the one other people see.
The moral of the story? If you take a picture of me I will become less attractive but necessarily more modest. I'll leave you to weigh it up.
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