Ain't no way I'm sending the man I love into that den of iniquity all on his own. All those hoochie mamas and their beads.
ANYhoo, he has needed an executive portrait for the speaking engagement, which is something he is absolutely loathe to do. It is a torturous event each year just getting him to pose for ten minutes in the obligatory family Christmas card photo. Getting him to voluntarily submit himself to a portrait session in a suit and tie?
Probably as awful as having to go to mardi gras with your hag of a wife, I'm sure.
But he finally acquiesced and I am happy to show you the results of
(Note the absence of a wedding ring on that left hand. It was lost years ago while he was coaching gymnastics and I've never replaced it. I think it's time I did, don't you?):
(Want to see the same picture straight out of the camera? Taken in my ghetto basement studio, you know, with the un-ironed white muslin backdrop and the un-photoshopped face? Amazing what a few clicks in Photoshop will do for even the best looking face.)
While dashing and handsome even still, he lacks that certain luster that pretty lights and a good photoshop edit can give you. (And he also now realizes that every picture in the magazines is not remotely the straight-out-of-camera shot. Yes, we all CAN'T be expected to look like Elle McPherson. Even Elle doesn't look like Elle, if you know what I mean.)
Here is another of the finished ones. I tell him this is his "Happy-going-to-lunch-executive-look."
Much less stoic and boardroom-like. It's kind of what he looks like if you're sitting across the table with him having a casual conversation.
See, honey? The photo shoot wasn't really that painful.
And I'd say that one of the perks to having your own in-house photographer is getting to wear your plaid shorts instead of slacks, all the cookies you can eat while shooting, and not having to pay your photographer in dollars.
Brilliant, I tell you. The man is brilliant.
And also pretty dang cute, if you ask me. Look out, Na'Orlins. Here