Your Laugh Lines Tell Better Stories Than Perfection Ever Could

Do you believe in myths?

Chances are you do without even knowing the wool’s been pulled over your eyes.

While I’d love to spend some time bantering how we only think with 10% of our brains, giving ourselves colds by walking outside with wet hair in winter, or whether I heard a banshee two years ago or not, there’s a myth we’ve all come across at some point, and most of us believe: the idea that “capturing perfection” is the goal of being photographed.

Perfection. The idea that you must look flawless—polished, poreless, effortless—before you’re worthy of stepping in front of a camera. It’s a myth that sinks into our thoughts when someone lifts a phone for a photo or when we scroll through pages of curated, filtered lives on social media. Somehow perfection becomes something we desire and, oddly, something we believe we might actually achieve if we change a list of things about ourselves. Allow me to say that not only is it unattainable (for reasons we’re about to unveil), but…

Perfection is a misunderstanding of what it means to be human.

Just like I say “photogenic” is a dirty word, “perfect” is a dirty word, too. Both words deceive us in the same way: suggesting there is a template we all should fit inside. An ideal face, an ideal body, an ideal way to appear on camera… and everything else is a fault. A flaw. A failure. These words make us shrink. They make us believe we’re supposed to match a blueprint that doesn’t actually exist.

But there are endless variations of humanity. Bodies shaped by genetics… and joy… and time. Faces etched by laughter or worry or the sun. Skin tones mimicking entire palettes of earth and flame and metal. Voices that rise, tremble, rumble, whisper. Cultures that interpret beauty through completely different lenses. When we get out of our negative spirals and remember the wild diversity of the world, the idea that “there is one perfect way to look” becomes almost laughable.

Breaking our attachment to words like “photogenic,” “perfect,” and “flawless” frees us. It lets us actually see what’s in the mirror. We stop comparing ourselves to a standard, but honor our own cosmic constellation of features. We stop asking, “How close am I to the ideal?” and instead ask, “How can I take care of the features I uniquely have?” When there’s nothing left to compare ourselves to, we start to naturally… casually… easily… show up in the world.

What people connect with isn’t perfection anyway.

Storytellers and writers for stage and screen and literature have known this adage forever: if you want to make an audience hate a character, make them perfect. Why? Perfection creates distance. It’s sterile. It’s unrelatable. It may also come off as slightly creepy. (Stepford Wives ring a bell?) Nobody roots for perfection or sees themselves in it. But humanity— ah… the beautiful, whimsical, unpredictable, honest, ever-changing, natural state of us—is magnetic. Vibrant. It pulls people in. It makes us feel and be understood.

Let’s talk about your laugh lines, then. Or your “elevens” because you constantly have genuine concern about people you care about. The way your nose wrinkles when you laugh. Your fly-away hairs because you always seem to be carrying a breath of fresh air with you. All these are the things that define your character and make your instantly recognizable and adored by others. Not the omission of these features, but the presence of you.

Your comfort in front of the camera matters too. And when discomfort arises, it’s worth asking where it comes from. Most often, that twinge of self-consciousness isn’t actually yours; it’s a reflection of old conversations you heard growing up, repeated long enough so that you adopted them as your own. The camera becomes a mirror of internalized stories—not of your appearance, but of your beliefs.

I want us to pause and imagine something: what life would be like if we kept not showing up? If we kept hiding? If we passed through decades without being documented—no photos, no video, no proof that we lived and loved and existed? What would our loved ones feel? What legacy would remain after we’re gone?

Photographs aren’t just images; they are gifts to the future. They are love letters to yourself and to the people who will one day wonder where you were, how you looked, what you felt like in a room. Without documentation, entire histories disappear. Do it now. Spend a day celebrating that you’re alive, with faculties, in a body carrying stories and energy and essence unique to you.

Celebration of who you are should not be taboo. Celebrate your current story. Your past journey. Your current curiosity. Your having leveled up. Your softness, your boldness, your sensuality, your grit, your power. Show up gently or fierce. Playful or mysterious. Show up in every version of yourself you’ve ever secretly wanted to embody. Let that blessed camera lens reflect back the truth you keep forgetting—that you are enough, right now. Not someday. Not eventually. Now.

When you let go of the myth of needing to be perfect, you create a record of your courage, your presence, your existence. You leave behind something real. Something true. Something that whispers to others and even to yourself when you need it most: I am here, and I live fully. And that is an incredible story.

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★ written without AI

“Spider” Meka Hemmons is an international portrait photographer, speaker and visual consultant based in Chicago. She helps heal trauma around being photographed and disrupts the beauty industry with her perspective on vanity and deep-rooted messaging. Check out her Streams of Silk podcast and newsletter.

Cover Photo provided by WIX