Spanning the Gamut from Dumb to Dumber

Until today, I had never met a photographer that actually got in to the profession to meet girls (and I've worked for people who've shot for Playboy). Photo shoots, even sexytime photo shoots, become progressively banal when they are someone's daily bread and butter. This said, no one I know honestly uses the occupation "photographer" to pick up chicks.

The key is that one has to shoot models EVERY DAY or otherwise the hot-girl-oggling sensibility never gets worn down to the point of being able to distinguish a classy photo shoot from the cheesiest crap ever shat into existence. Models, for their part, should not assume that the photographer is going to "further" her career. The photographer isn't much more than a monkey trained in art of photographic composition, and if they had been modeling for awhile, then they should know it's only going to be fruitful to cozy up with the magazine editor.

Today I had to cope with a forty-year-old man who still very much thinks with his second head when it comes to photographing women. This was a person that, had I not seen his face, would've guessed he was a first year student trying to get some extra-curricular shots for his school portfolio. Like a true studmuffin, he waltzed into the studio today (he was renting it just for the afternoon) and popped a mixed CD into the stereo. "Can we listen to my girl's favorite music?" he asked moments before the pop music intro sonically raped my eardrums.

While his model did her own makeup in the bathroom, the fellow tried to chat me up for a few minutes. "Do you like Lady Gaga? This music is the bomb! It's so fresh!" I stared at this fashion victim. Old boy was dressed like it was 1992: Frosted, shoulder-length body wave- gelled, of course, a billowy red silk dress shirt and a pair of Z Cavarrici's cinched with a tri-color braided leather belt. I almost fell out of my chair.

I tried to be nice and make small talk. "What agency is she with?", referring to the overly tan, bleached blond in the bathroom.

He said "Um, Tom's. Tom's Models."

"Oh, Tom's! I heard they broke from Elite last year", biting my tongue so as to not loose it.

He looked at me blankly.

"Do you mostly shoot CP?", I ventured?

He again looked at me quizzically.

"Do you shoot things for commercial print or editorial purposes?

He mumbled, "Um, well this will be...printed...on paper.

Mentally smacking my forehead, I simplified "Are you shooting for your own portfolio?"

"Yes!", he said confidently "These are going in my portfolio!"

"Ah, so you're testing today," I said.

His features lost confidence so I explained: "You're not shooting for a client, you're just shooting for you." He answered with a shit-eating grin. "Go get her, Tiger! I said as ridiculously as I could as the model emerged from the bathroom.

This woman had not modeled for any length of time and was taken aback when he asked her if she could lie on the floor. Since studio was laid out shotgun-style with my desk at the front of the room and everything else behind me, I swiveled in my chair to watch the shenanigans. The model, who I'll call Peaches, was clad only in a pair of black boyshorts, a corset-style camisole and 4-inch heels. She looked like she was ready for the stripper pole.

"Um, so if you could just lie down and maybe put your legs up in the air...oh that's it, that's right, make love to the camera, that's so fresh, I thought you said that you hadn't done this before!" Gertie came out of her studio to watch, and remarked on how well everything was going. "The model's got a great smile!" She said. The guest photographer heartily agreed. "She spans the full gamut, her range goes from happy to sexy!"

I thought my ears would explode from the onslaught of garbage I was hearing, so I swiveled again to behold a spectacle of soft-porn, but the model was only striking caricature Pilates pose. "Good God, it's the dumb leading the dumber out here", I thought.

I tried to concentrate on my work, but Lady Gag-me was now making it exceedingly difficult. "Romrom Rom Ma Maa, Ah Ah Ooh La La I want your romance!"
Does anybody over the age of 14 actually listen to this drivel?
Don't answer that. I've heard enough bullshit for today.