On the Performance of Enjoyment
Or, how a season of Polaroid photography invited me to present
Hi, joyriders! The self portrait series is over and we’re back to regular programming—AKA, a monthly essay pondering how beauty has intertwined itself with work, art, and identity…so basically, life! As always, feel free to write in. I’m looking forward to having some very lovely conversations about beauty with you in 2024.
In September, Polaroid launched a new (manual!) camera, the I-2. They’re asking $600, so of course there’s a laundry list of specs that (attempt to) justify the price tag. Among them: a menu of modes not unlike a digital camera. Auto, shutter priority, aperture priority, manual (!), multi-exposure, and self-timer. The f-stops (size of the lens opening) go from f8 (moderately large-ish) to itty-bitty (and legendary) f64. A far, far cry from the SX-70 and Sun 600 lounging on my desk. With those, you press the button, maybe fiddle with the exposure bar (but every time I do I ruin it), and hope for the best.
My first reaction was I NEED THIS. In caps. Admittedly, the first thing I saw concerning it was manual mode. Then I saw how much it was going for and 95 percent of me said nope. The other five percent that did want it loved the idea of a perfect Polaroid. The phrase itself is a juxtaposition, oxymoron, what have you. However, it fed my long-standing (though until recently, denied) perfectionist.
After 20 years of denial, I have recently admitted to myself that I am, indeed, one. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. When we describe people as perfectionists, what are we saying? That they’re perfect or chase perfect, no duh. What I can’t figure out is if it’s something to be venerated or reviled.
I’ve always held the idea that perfectionists do everything perfectly. All growing up, my sister fit this bucket neatly, as a perfectionist should. Even her handwriting was like some custom computer font while mine was, and remains, a half-cursive scrawl. Nothing I did was perfect. I was a lousy athlete, my music skills weren’t much to write home about, and I was rarely a straight-A student. (A shame on my Asian identity I must unpack another day. But I said it!)
A few years ago, it finally dawned on me. I am a perfectionist, but rather than doing things perfectly, it’s expressed as perfection paralysis. If I feel like I will not be able to perfectly execute a task, then I will procrastinate in order to delay, for as long as possible, the feelings of incompetency and inadequacy. Thus, it is understandable that any instant camera is a nightmare packaged as carefree fun. There couldn’t be any less control than pressing a button and hoping.
In the late summer, I came across an article on this platform, “Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture.” The author, Terryn, recounted her own summer of instant photos, and I decided immediately that I needed a “Polaroid fall.” One of her aims was to embrace thoughtfulness (each shot is $2.50 so you better L O V E what you’re snapping). But I decided that as to mine—I needed to learn to embrace imperfection. And, I don’t know, be present! Stop being a semi-digital hoarder. And stop the feeling of regret living moments behind a screen when I was literally there in person.
The season started when the first of a slew of friends came to town. I think I took 0 pictures on my phone. I did take 10 tangible photos, including: two washed-out flops, an underexposed shot of a giant stuffed giraffe in a pickup, a good exposure of a graffiti wall that said “say I love you,” and many images of this lovely friend I’ve known for eight (!) years.
It continued when I traveled to visit another treasured soul in North Carolina. Documented: a bonfire that I was mildly concerned would burn down their house, an accidental picture of my friend’s husband on his tractor—but I nearly dropped the camera and the result looks like a Dr. Who time machine/jump to light speed debacle, tea with a side of IV pole, and “Dos Oruguitas” sung on the thrifted upright in the parlor.
My final fall jaunt took me to Los Angeles: 14 days, 20 photos. A (literally) blurry sunset. Palm trees, the beach at sunset, fuzzy taco shop snaps. One morning, I took the bus from Silver Lake to Hollywood for breakfast with a friend. She happens to be a talented travel photographer and thus we had an incredibly illuminating conversation about beauty and photography. Specifically, the title of this post.
It started with a sunset. She asked if I had seen last evening’s, because she had found it particularly brilliant and thought of me. I had not. (At least, not in the way I want to enjoy a sunset, over the ocean or in a skyscraper.) Several days before, however, another friend and I drove to Laguna Beach to see the sunset. We parked ourselves on a bench on the promenade, between two clusters of palm trees, to watch an orange fireball descend slowly over the sea. It was divine, except for all the people who stopped in front of us to take selfies and then walk away without another glance at the beauty before them. Now, sitting at the café in Hollywood with my travel photographer friend, shoveling my sandwich in my mouth, we lamented over our coffees that no one seems to enjoy anything anymore. My friend said it best.
“We find a deep need to perform the experience of enjoying something. It’s like, performance replaces the experience. Now, you just perform that you experience something without actually experiencing it for what it is.”
Instead of actually drinking in the glorious sunset, people were taking pictures to show they were in front of said sunset. I’m willing to bet 99 percent that the images later ended up on some form of social media, probably with some emojis. 🌅🌴😍 are a few of my guesses. Now their friends and acquaintances know they were in the presence of a divine sunset. Maybe it stirred up some envy. And, probably, those photos will be lost in the cloud, buried in the other 91,394 photos of sunsets, etc. To be clear: I’m not judging people for taking sunset pictures. I took sunset pictures. I’m bemoaning that taking pictures seems to be replacing actually living sometimes.
Polaroid fall invited me to be present because there were a limited number of shots, so I had to be sure I absolutely needed a picture of the giraffe in the pickup. (Spoiler: I realized I did not.) But aside from being thoughtful, I also just naturally spent less time taking photos because once I ran out, the rodeo was over. I was free to just enjoy being present and alive doing the things instead of performing that I was doing them for the camera so I’d have something to share later. You may be wondering how I avoided the temptation. I got a new phone (coincidentally, not planned) and didn’t download any social media. I couldn’t have performed for anyone even if I wanted to.
Perhaps equally importantly, Polaroid fall also helped me let go of perfection and embrace imperfection. By nature, the shots are not crisp. There are a lot of things that are wrong. The flash has a hard time balancing with ambient light. But I embraced it and I think that makes me love the photos better. Life’s imperfect…and maybe I want my photos to reflect that.
Thus, I have concluded that to buy the Polaroid I-2 would be a scandalous crime. The camera itself is a contrarian interloper, and honestly, it goes against everything an instant photo stands for. So now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to walk out the door with my SX-70 and enjoy all the beauty that is begging to be admired—as much as it can be, in New York during the winter.