Ever since I’ve bought my ultrawide Sigma 10-20 mm I’ve desperately wanted to do this. But now that Hair’s propagating and requiring an ever growing amount of time to style and keep in place, the right moment never seems to come: the effort to make my head look decent and use one of my paper table covers as a background and set up camera and strobe and up… My arms grew as long as those of a maned sloth only by writing all this down. It’s been years since my self-portraits have been mostly shot with my phone cam so that my aunt would recognise me in social networks. Talk about lazy.
Yesterday, though, the planets aligned and the right combination of rain, restlessness and lack of work joined forces with a heaven-sent pause in my sense of decency. A scruple-removal also needed to wear my old, atrocious Chuck Taylors, a legacy of another life which I found in one of my buried shoe boxes – they were already ripped around the seams back in 2006, I’d say. (Paolo Nutini, you’re a nobody.)
In the sediments of my brain my inner critic is already starting to say “You’re fucking 33, for crying out loud!” so I better post this before it prevails.