The tourists flock to the beach late in the morning. The locals had arrived hours ago and as it gets hotter, and the sun moves over the hill to shine down directly, they depart, one by one to abandon the scorching sand to the pasty skinned peoples of more northern latitudes. The vacancies allow the pale vacationers a place to squeeze in and find relief in whatever little bit of shade that’s left.
I am one of the few remaining locals and I defend my half shaded spot with a scowl and a dog, and I watch all the white people walk by. I watch the tourists. I see models everywhere. Models. Some with smart phones. Some with cameras. Most taking photos of themselves. They’re all models, all of them... and in such a beautiful destination the photographers are all intent on focusing on themselves. ‘Look at me’ their pouty lips beg. What, the background? The frame around this fabulous face? Their lips pout even harder.
Look at me. Look at me with this other background when it is turned 90 degrees. Tilt the head up. Tilt the head down. Tilt it sideways and in every possible combination of direction and degree.
I cringe at the post production work that will be necessary, simply the amount of time needed to sort through the dozens, no, hundreds of shots. Some models requisition other models with better phones to be their photographers. They continue with their photoshoots; take a picture of me with this same background but further away, now closer, now I am holding up that sailboat back there in the sea on my palm! Now I’m pinching it between my fingers, aren’t I clever?!
At one point the model posing with the sailboat on her hand has the unfortunate luck of an aging couple on a leisurely stroll wanting to pass by behind her. The couple stops out of politeness and are waved to pass through the shoot. They hesitate a moment and then the old man eagerly takes the offer and, while passing, jokingly poses in front of the model, flexing his none existent biceps. Then he jumps next to the model in a 50’s Betty Paige style pose. Then he runs off giggling. The old woman shakes her head with a small apologetic smile, she is clearly accustomed to his antics. She tries not to get in the way of the photo shoot, and walks around the back of the tourist (I mean model) and into the ocean. I watch her walk her wrinkly body into the small waves. She is quite obviously enjoying herself, tilting her head back into the sunshine and feeling the water, feeling the waves, smiling in the sun. As the sun sparkles off the water around her I think, “even with her wrinkles and imperfect blotchy skin, that is a shot worthy of the camera.” Maybe even more so because of her imperfections. We don’t get to see many authentic shots anymore.
The model and photographer look at each other and exchange glances that clearly say, “what’s wrong with this old woman... can’t she tell we’re in a photo shoot? She is totally ruining the background. Ugh” They roll their eyes, give a quick fake laugh, and move over a bit. But the old couple aren’t paying attention and for the next few minutes one or the other keep drifting into the shot.
I see frustration become disgust. The models now have faces reflecting a subtle kind of hatred... a hideousness more real than any of the hundreds of smiles they’d been flashing for the last hour.
I had seen enough. The ugliness of these people soured the pristine beach. I could feel the emotional sponge of depression soaking up the last of the morning joy and if it weren’t for the old couple still giggling and splashing in the background I might have been worse off for even making the trip.
I pause while packing up to watch the final spectacle, the climax to the ridiculousness of this models life. The model and photographer have clearly had an idea. The photographer and her have discussed, and nodded, and moved their spot on the beach, set themselves up at the appropriate places, and have called the family out from the shade.
As the family trots up the model immediately grabs the three-year-old child by the wrist and poses with him. A few happy family shots. She throws him in the air. Big smile for the camera! His big orange water wings flapping wildly as he drops back toward the sand. He smiles and laughs. It is genuine. He likes the attention, you can tell she doesn’t pay much attention to him other than the photo shoots.
The model has another idea. More action shots! She sets the boy down and grabs his hand. At this moment she notices the old couple are making their carefree way out of the surf on an apparent trajectory behind the shoot again. No time to lose! She grips his hand and starts to jog toward the photographer. The photographer, clearly a friend of the family, encourages them both to go back and do it again. This time jog faster... the old couple are almost out of the water and seem to be walking in their general direction! The child falls... and gets dragged in the sand behind the model for a good few paces.
The model realizes the shot is a bust, but maybe it can be salvaged. She stops and laughs and pretends like they’re having a good time... and the child laughs too, but his eyes don’t laugh. His eyes are confusion with a hint of sadness, like a puppy that had been slapped but doesn't know why.
I walk away. I look back before I turn behind the hill. The old couple have taken a detour toward my piece of newly opened shady real-estate. The model has the boy by the hand again and is making another run towards the camera. I turn away and walk behind the hill.
The camera. That’s what they’re teaching the children. That’s what future generations will believe you are supposed to do when you visit a beautiful place. When you visit paradise make sure to exploit it for your instagram modeling career. And when you model, make sure you document how much fun it was bonding with the family while running along the beach.
As I walked back to the car I could only hope someday I will be in the background of those photos; chest deep in the ocean, my wife next to me, having already seen all my antics, both of us smiling into the sunshine on a tropical beach paradise, not a care in the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment