I was recently watching a time-lapse video of another photographer’s work retouching an image. The subject was an incredibly beautiful woman in perfect lighting. The retoucher’s cursor ran back and forth, cleaning up stretch marks, masking blemishes, smoothing skin, adjusting the shape of the woman’s eyes, and finally patching up a section of her eyebrow that apparently wasn’t up to his standards.
It made feel sad.
The kinds of imperfections that the retoucher was fixing were natural, real parts of what an adult human’s skin looks like. It made me wonder if the retoucher had ever been in love, when any flaw is an endearing trait to be cherished and treasured.
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