The Ugly Truth: Evolution of a Photo.

My current Twitter profile picture is breaking two of my most fundamental rules and core values of existence – or at least for the existence of my profile pictures.

1. It’s a Selfie.

2. I took it with my iPhone.

Upon emptying my phone of it’s memories not too long ago, I found the discards of that self-photoshoot. Discards which painfully reminded me why I need to continue to have such legalistic rules against selfies: because of my complete dweebishness of carrying out the process, my sad lacking in the skill of “knowing my angles,” and the fact that I have been the reigning Miss Unphotogenic America for nearly two decades.

(I earned my title in Junior High, when I could hold up my Tiara solely on my eyebrows, much like a bowl of cereal propped upon a pregnant woman’s belly.)

So. The selfies.

It all started on a day when it was unseasonably warm and I found myself lying in the sun. As I laid there, I was struck with a vision for an artsy photo of myself.

But, being the self-conscious person that I am, didn’t have the guts to ask my husband to take it.

But I couldn’t escape the vision.

So I attempted it myself. The following is the evidence created by such attempts.

Too Shadowy.

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Too Yardy.

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Too Booby.

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Too Constipationy.

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Too I-Have-a-Thirty-Pound-Baby-Laying-On-My-Stomachy.

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Too Squinty. And Army. Must avoid the self-photo look.

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WAY too Army. And yes. That’s a flower in my hair. Thank you, Ali.

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Too Attacky.

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Too Dead.

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Too Soap-Opera-Dramatically Dead.

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Too Bad-Dreamy.

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Nearly The Vision. Except that The Vision didn’t include wrinkles.

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So I added a dozen filters. And cropped a wrinkle or two.

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(Yes. Still slightly dead. But dead in an artsy Showtime Drama way.)

I dream of a world where everyone has to share their selfie-outtakes.