12 Feb Stains on White Pants
It was a Monday morning, but the best kind of Monday you could imagine— 50 degrees and sunny in the midst of a Brooklyn winter. I had been planning this shoot for weeks. This was to be the first set of photos to lay the foundation for my new aesthetic. I had the perfect outfit, the perfect location, the perfect weather, and the perfect photographer. I told you, it was the best kind of Monday you could imagine.
I hopped in my $5 Uber, prepared to create magic. That’s when I saw it…… the stain— the yellow circle that had stamped itself into my white pants. “Fuck”. What the hell had I spilled or rubbed up against? Was this stain there all along? Had I been so blinded by my excitement that I missed this? It was too late to fret now. I was halfway there.
As we pulled up to the location I took my phone out to capture one of those infamous OOTD walking selfies that all influencers indulge in. Running the replay and choosing my favorite filter on IG stories is when I saw it…… another fucking stain. A smudge of my velvety brown lipstick somehow made it onto the waistband of my now not-so-white pants.
I was annoyed and disappointed in myself. What kind of adult soils white pants within the first 30 minutes of wearing them? And sure, photoshop exists, but that was not the point. The point was that this particular Monday was set to be a perfect day, and somehow I managed to fuck that up. I’d told Emma, my photographer, about the pants mishap within the first 25 seconds of us meeting. I didn’t know her, and I didn’t need her judging me or my inability to keep my clothes clean. I reminded her that photoshop exists [as if she, the photographer didn’t know this] and we proceeded to take photos.
After a few minutes of shooting, I forgot about the stain. I honestly don’t even think she noticed. We went on to execute the vision I originally had, and then to the apartment to shoot more looks in different outfits.
When Emma sent me the photos I was enamored with how well everything looked. The colors, the shadows, the angles— they were perfect. She hadn’t retouched my stains, and looking at them with new eyes, I no longer hated them. They were a snarky little reminder that mistakes happen and we can either forget about them or let them consume us. How big or small of an issue they become is solely up to us.
I didn’t edit out the lipstick stain or the yellow spill for this post. I left them. To remind you and myself that in a digital world so full of augmented images, a little imperfection is sometimes appreciated. Even the most alluring of women sometimes can’t keep white pants clean. And that is perfectly okay.