In many ways, the world is a divided place and finding common ground with a complete stranger is an occasional privilege. If there’s one thing that unites so many of us, it’s the unshakable fear that comes with getting your headshot taken.
Government photo I.D. can make the beautiful look ugly and the less-than-beautiful look even more so. Without a doubt, the worst of the bunch is the port photo. You’re stuck with one of those “captured moments” for five years. Five years!
At least with a driver’s licence, if you’re lucky enough to lose it—or give it to a friend’s younger sibling for $20—there’s a chance they will let you re-take the picture. I was fortunate enough one summer to drop my licence in a parking lot and have the opportunity to replace my stunning why-didn’t-anyone-tell-me-I-had-a-massive-rattail mug with a more sympathetic shot.
Unless you lose your port—which is arguably worse than tolerating the picture—you’re stuck. In my five years waiting for a new photo, I had plenty of time to think about the significance of it all. And so I did—probably more than the average person.
The whole idea behind renewing your port photo is because it’s assumed your face changes enough in that time span that it’s necessary to keep updated records. The irony is the biggest changes aren’t visible.
As I recently drove down Princess Street to Japan Camera, I realized not much about my looks have changed, while every other aspect of my life has evolved dramatically. The sheer fact that I was driving myself to get my photo taken was impossible five years ago and I on that day in Grade 10, rollerblades were my wheels of choice.
A friend had jokingly given me a makeover for my first-ever port photo and it turned out half decent. This time I forewent any sort of preparation altogether. It’s amazing how vividly those new cameras can capture lack of sleep.
High school concerns such as not forgetting my locker combo have been replaced with trying to figure out where my life is going.
I have seen and experienced amazing parts of the world, embodied by the inked pages of my once-blank port.
Even the port rules are different. In my old picture, I was smiling. New regulations that comply with International Civil Aviation Organization standards don’t allow for so much as a smirk because it will essentially make it harder for technology of the future to identify a face.
My old and new photos don’t show faded friendships or restored ones, my accomplishments or failures.
Really the only prominent change—not to underestimate the hygienic importance of this one—is my clothing.
So next time you’re driving—or rollerblading—to get your picture taken, think back to where you were five years ago. Whether that thought brings on a smile or frown, or another facial contortion, make sure you wipe it from your face before the flash goes off.
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