Fuck that.

They told you to pick something practical.
Be responsible.
Be reasonable.
Stop being so dramatic.

So you did what Gen X women do exceptionally fucking well.

You figured it out.

You built the career.
Built the business.
Built the family.
Built the reputation.
Built the life everyone told you would mean you’d made it.

And somewhere inside all that competence, they convinced you that the raw, loud, strange, sensual, creative parts of you were supposed to grow up too.

They didn’t.

They just got quieter.

And I’m not interested in photographing the version of you that learned how to behave.

I want the woman underneath her.

The one who still wants the music too loud.

The one who remembers exactly who she was before “appropriate” became a fucking personality trait.

The one who doesn’t need another picture where she looks pretty.

She needs evidence that she is still in there.