55
Official Author Photo
Pray with me, all ye who have ever needed professional photos for publicity, media, books, and whatnot, and were completely blindsided by the effects of gravity, weather, and consternations accumulated since the last time someone managed to capture your soul on film and really show YOU in all your hoary glory.
Also ye who realize that resting “boss” face is here to stay—one cannot be expected to forever sally forth with a perpetual smile, eyes wide and doey.
The picture above is me, right now, every crease and cranny, unretouched. My wonderful local photographer, Olly Plu, is incredibly talented, but she only had so much to work with.
In truth, I haven’t taken undo pains to keep up appearances. I’ve gained 50 lbs since a notable tangle with Nutrisystem 15 years ago. I don’t wear sunscreen religiously, although I do scurry from shade to shadow as often as I can. Moisturize? Jesus. I’m just glad I manage to floss my teeth regularly.
But you know, I realized, as I sifted through the pictures from my recent photoshoot, that I hadn’t really looked at myself in such a granular way in years, and it is actually reassuring to see myself easing well into middle age.
Nothing is certain in this life. Not too long ago, I was heading in a very wrong direction. Today—in this skin and this body—I relish the little wins.
A while back, someone recommended Oldster Magazine by the amazing and prolific Sari Botton, and I was like … Oldster?! Me?!
Bearing in mind that there will forever be some small part of me that feels this adorable little tyke bombing around inside my head, it took me a beat to realize: Holy crap! I really am 55. Yes, me.
“But why focus on age and aging?” Sari asks:
Because we live in an age-obsessed culture, but also one in which each generation seems to define “adulthood” differently than the one before it. Particular attitudes and milestones are no longer necessarily associated with reaching certain birthdays. It’s as if somewhere along the way, the Baby Boomers burned the guidebook for what you’re supposed to achieve when, and the generations to follow have been making up their own rules.
Yes, we are rewriting the rules, but once you hit “50-is-the-new-30” you also can’t help but start noticing things that once you took for granted. I used to eat whatever I wanted, rarely exercised, and partied … well, let’s just say to excess.
Now, sober 3 years and finally (FINALLY!) with my wig on straight, I’m looking at life head-on. I still eat whatever I want, drink far too much coffee, and only exercise sometimes, but I’m also not expecting any miracles or taking any shit from the more than one person who has told me, “Oh, if only you lost some weight you’d be really…”
You know what? I already AM, really. Pass the cake and shut the hell up.
My AgeTest.com score? 44, and feeling it.
But a few of you connected on Instagram may remember my foray into AI author photos a few months back which went so fabulously awry. This was one of those services which—for the low, low price of $39—asks you to upload 12 clear photographs of yourself so that cloud robots can buff, nip, and tuck you into some semblance of worthy portraiture. It was no small feat to find 12 pictures—I’m deeply suspicious of most cameras’ intentions.
The results were… Maybe I won’t say what the results were, and simply show.
We had some fun laughing over this Brady Bunch of Troy-adjacent cousins.
Here we go:
Marsha - The teeth!
Jan - Who are you?
Cindy - No.
Mrs. Brady - Teeth again.
Alice - TEEEEETH!
Mr. Brady - Chipmunk much?
Greg - Fore. Head.
Peter - Well! You'll do…
Bobby - Can't put my finger on it.
The other thing, of course, is that they all shaved off 10 years, including in this picture that I was using for my “author photo” until I was firmly told I needed something more realistic. Oy.
I mean, this was me about 10 years ago, though this California boy has only ever owned two suits in his life—once when my grandfather died and 5-year-old me needed a munchkin suit for his funeral, and again when 30-year-old me left financial services for interior design and needed something snappy for interviews.
Considering all of this hullabaloo is for ONE BLOODY PICTURE to include in the author bio for Lamb, it seems relevant to harken back to those halcyon days in 1990s San Francisco when sweet Lamb and D were screaming between Berkeley, Castro, Mission, South of Market and Burning Man in search of love.
By the time the 90s hit, a certain relaxing of the “clone” image was starting to take hold. We can thank poor Michael Hutchence from INXS and The Lost Boys movie for my several attempts to grow some luxurious locks.
And we can thank my friend Cheryl and her braider for a new look at Burning Man 1995, when there were only 4,000 of us in Black Rock City compared to the 87,000 last year.
Because my actual hair was so short at the time, about half of these blue braids fell out before the end of the weekend (in protest of my absurd act of cultural appropriation?)—I started giving them away as souvenirs, and kept just the one for my scrapbook.
Different day, different hairstyle—I was always fiddling. Never had a mohawk, though.
At some point, I did sort of give up on ever trying to grow my hair long again, and settled on something more standard issue.
So this is it, my Official Author Photo.
It’s not bouncy. It’s not cute. It’s the photo I’ve earned—with years, sobriety, and no small amount of courage to put aside my lifelong horror of taking pictures.
And I kinda love it.
I *love* it, Troy. It's perfect. A damn fine photo for a damn fine writer (and damn fine person I feel lucky enough to have met through this platform).
Thank you for all the other photos, AI and real. A treat seeing those.
Wow, Troy! I'm truly amazed by your story. I even registered on this platform to leave a comment with gratitude for your trust in me as a photographer. Good luck with your book!