What is it exactly that inspires someone to take naked photos of themselves and others [hopefully loved ones] on their cell phone? I’m not even talking about the legend-in-your-own-mind-Paris-Hilton-publicity-whorish-hound-I-need-attention sort of snapshots. I mean the captured image of, lets say, your friend Chloe’s boyfriend. I hadn’t seen Chloe in several months and she was excited to regale me with tales of her new relationship. As she’s telling me of her new man, we’ll call him, Juan, she pulls out her cell phone, and says, over tea and crumpets, “Here’s a picture.”
My innocent eyes gaze down expecting a nice candid of him laughing with his puppy or perhaps playing a rousing game of Parcheesi only to find him naked and completely erect on her pink T-Mobile. I found myself feeling prudish while I tried to organize appropriate niceties about this naked stranger. “He seems smart.”
I didn’t know what bothered me more about this situation—was it the fact that she was showing me this picture as if it was a wallet-size of her grandchild, or was it I took issue with the fact that right before she was about to be penetrated by this smart young man, she whipped out her cell phone and couldn’t decide whether to take the call or take a snap shot. Hot. She opted for the latter. Whatever happened to setting up a camera so one could utilize both grabbing mitts during fun time?
She had to skip over several that were just of her nude self. Does one really need dozens of self-taken buff shots, on their own phone? I’m pretty. Tell me I’m pretty–validate me. Narcissism or need, either way it seems a bit silly, and not silly-sexy, silly-trite. Myself I simply opt to line my entire wall with naked Polaroid pictures of myself in different yoga positions, just so I can harness my chi and find my Zen, but then again, I’m a lady. Not so much so that I can’t, all snide aside, begrudgingly admire the lack of shame—lack of shame is one thing I can respect—I just hope their heart is in the right place, for I know all their other organs are.
Are we so voyeuristic, that every moment must be documented and the instantly distributed to friends, family and strangers? Don’t get me wrong, I like a nice nudity shot as much as the next gal, but in order to get that true of a candid, it seems like it would be moment killing. So obsessed with capturing the memory, that one never actually lives it. Is that too deep to delve in the topic of cell phone skin flicks? Yes, yes it is. Forget it; let’s all just send a nice topless text to everyone in our phonebook. It can’t be taboo if it’s the common practice.