I have yet to meet a single woman (over 25) who likes the way she looks in every photo, including myself. A hair's out of place here; a wrinkle looks more pronounced there; and oops, I didn't think there was going to be an impromptu Facebook photo shoot at this random barbecue, so I forgot to put on lip gloss.
Panasonic hears you. And agrees. No offense, but you can look better. Enter their new Lumix DMC-FP7. Or as I like to call it, "the de-fugging device."
The sleek $230 camera can, ironically, fit into your makeup bag and has a built-in feature called Beauty Retouch mode, which will erase your wrinkles, whiten your teeth, and dab that forgotten bubblegum pink on your kisser. Instantly.
If this sounds downright amazing to you, you're right, it is. But is it erasing any real documentation of what you ever actually looked like? You be the judge.
If you check out these here handy, dandy photos, you'll see the results are quite astounding (save for the makeup -- that fuchsia eyeshadow needs to go back to the compact from which it came). The women do look drastically younger and fresher. They even seem to possess a sort of soft, angelic glow in the afters. Bottom line, the technology of it is cool.
But -- and there's always a but here -- aren't photos supposed to be memories? I realize that with Facebook and Twitter and iPhone self-portraits, cameras aren't used for the sole purpose of chronicling a day at the Magic Kingdom anymore, but this Panasonic camera is basically 16 megapixels of complete and utter bull s**t.
Part of the fun in looking at old photos -- to my friends and me, at least -- is to see what we looked like. To see how stupid our perms were, or how frighteningly Casper-white we were. We can look at these pictures, laugh, and see how different we are now. And we can do the same with our husband's or our parents' photos. Who doesn't find it just a little bit fascinating, seeing what our mothers and fathers looked like when they were our age? And who doesn't find it just a little bit hilarious, seeing what our spouses looked like way back when?
But I guess -- crotchety grandmotherism ahead -- things aren't what they used to be. It doesn't seem like we're too concerned with anything other than the right-now-here-and-present. How else can you explain all those stupid duckface pictures, or a camera that won't let your kids see what you ever actually looked like?
Would you use a camera that "airbrushed" you?
Image via xlordashx/Flickr