we are photogirls

A younger oona wanted this book.

As a teenager, I loved to decorate my room. To the point of set dressing. Sometimes it was filled with oversized umbrellas, sometimes ‪papier-mâché‬d comic strips, sometimes sometimes porcelain clowns (that one was actually a bit scary), but always it was a mess of clothing and books and art supplies and makeup and CDs and teenage paraphernalia. Whenever I had to clean it (which was often, as my creativity stalled with too much jumble) I had to draw a map of my lands with numbered areas so that the task seemed less daunting.

(We're talking about a normal sized room, mind you. The circles were quite small, but STUFFED.)

I'd come downstairs, dressed for the day, possibly in lace pants, possibly in a DIY'ed drawn and sliced mickey mouse t-shirt, possibly with stars and lightning bolts painted on my face, always to the delight of my mom, who once decreed she couldn't wait to see what I'd show up at the breakfast table in.

At school, I'd lug four or five bags of various size and heavy weight to each class, needing dance supplies, art supplies, a costume change or two for rehearsal, music books for choir, a makeup kit (I was the unofficial makeup artist for our high school dance troop). And snacks. There was usually no time for lunch. But when I could grab a minute in the cafeteria, I plopped myself down at a table for eight, right in the middle of the lunchroom, with seven friends of every hue, shape and interest. Shy, outgoing, super smart, kinda ditzy, we were a multicolored table sitting directly on the dividing line of lunchroom racial obligation. Everyone was beautiful at our table, because everyone is beautiful.

Sometimes after school on a friday, if there wasn't rehearsal or voice lessons or ballet, I'd go to the mall with my Nan. And always on the weekends. We'd stroll through the levels and she'd spend her social security check on me, clapping at the whacked out combinations I'd come up with, never allowing herself anything even when I'd find the perfect yella top for her.

My hair, which needed no help, was assisted nevertheless by all manner of hair product. My mom still winces at my senior picture, which includes a ninety degree L shaped part that could have served as a raceway in Tron. The most important picture of my life up to that point, and the one time she was disappointed in my arrival at the breakfast table.

I loved my teenage life. Really. I have nothing bad to say about it, not one thing. But the girl I just described to you would have loved to have this book. This is the missing book that would have added a camera around her neck, and one more heavy, happy bag on her shoulders.  

It was written for the girls out there who are creative, daring, timid, loud, wild eyed, soft spoken...for the girl who wants to be a photographer, an artist, a model, an art director, a stylist, who wants to see the beauty in everything, who wants to be confident in her beauty, in her size, in her shape, in her skin, in her style. Who, yes, just wants to have FUN. If you have a girl in your life, she will want this book. She will totally want to be a photogirl, and you will totally be happy with that desire.

When the king contacted me and wondered if DIY Fashion Shoot Book: We Are Photogirls, geared towards a younger set, would be up my alley....I THINK THAT ANSWER IS A YES.

Maybe you don't need to be a girl. Because this woman is putting her name in this one.

this book was provided to me by Laurence King in exchange for an honest review. diving into its pages was a truly gleeful experience. heads up, the link to the tome is amazon affiliat-o.