Photoshoot Quotes

You must not look in that mirror at your doughy legs and flat feet, for today is about dreams and illusions, and unfiltered natural daylight is the enemy of dreams.

I don't jump in real life, why would I jump in a photo?

A junior editor chirped in my ear about canary yellow sundresses and Cuban photoshoots while the January wind worked its icy fingers through my layers. I navigated the curb buried under foot-tall piles of what used to be snow. Now it was gray slush frozen into dirty, depressing clumps.

It all adds up: the interesting face; the long, wiry frame; the taut, fight-ready stance – to create a body that casting directors for edgy photoshoots would salivate over. The sort of photoshoots that, if they involve teeth, it isn't because people are smiling

Women with dark skin are sharing selfies on social media after decades of being underrepresented in the mainstream media. From what I have observed much of the dark skin adoration on social media appears to come from us - black women. We tend to use the appreciation hashtags with our own pictures of photographs of dark skin women whom we feel are stunning. While I am loving this fierceness.. There is just one sidetone to this revolution: I feel as if we are much more appreciated if we show more skin. The timelines are filled with absolutely beautiful dark-skinned women but most sadly most of the time they are all oiled up and showing their body parts in different angles. Now, I am definitely in to art and as a model I know that this comes with the territory. But we most not forget that we are Queens.. We need to stop degrading ourselves for likes on the gram. You don't have to be naked to show the world you're beautiful. You my sister are an African Queen. I feel as if black women are only appreciated if they wear very provocative clothes or if they do naked photoshoots. To me, it's degrading and reminds me of the time that we couldn't ride the bus because we were black. Women were seen as servants. The black women that weren't servants were sex slaves. We are not objects, we are not meat and people need to stop looking at us as sex objects. BUT we need to start respecting ourselves first! A black woman is a woman first and it should not even be necessary to specify the colour but this is the society we live in and I feel like I had to share this.

Speaking of performances, I have my first Delamonte photoshoot next week. In New York.” Christian’s laughter died down, though traces of amusement lingered around his mouth. “Dates?” I told him. “Noted. We’ll take my jet.” I stared at him, sure I’d heard wrong. “You’re coming with me?” “The word we does imply that, yes.

Today, take a moment to celebrate you. Your beauty. Your style. Your sense of inner mischief. The way you glow in the sunlight. Your strut in those badass boots. The way the dress hugs your soft curves. The gleam in your eye. The curve of your irrepressible smile. The line of your collarbone. The way you know, underneath all the doubts and insecurities and demons that you are, in fact, magic. And what’s more? You always have been. You don’t need someone else to say so. This isn’t for likes or comments. You don’t need to book a photoshoot for this celebration. This is between you and you. For you to take the time to see yourself. To smile at your own beauty. Find a spot where you feel the energy. Where the sun hits just so. Where the colors or textures make you feel more alive, more you. Find somewhere to prop your phone and set the timer on your camera. You don’t need special equipment. And then just see what happens. Be open and curious about what wants to be seen. If someone sees you and stares or laughs or has the nerve to judge, you just ground down and rise up even more. They are just missing out on how good it can feel to see and know your own magic and beauty. And yes. If you want, and it feels good, you should share it. Because we want to see you and celebrate you too.

Amma closes the window, walks back, re-spreads herself languorously over the sofa, convince me why feminism getting a new lease of life isn’t a good thing, Dominique? isn’t it just what the doctor ordered? actually it’s the commodification of it that bugs me, Amma, once upon a time feminists were so vilified by the media it turned generations of women away from their own liberation because nobody wanted to be denounced as one, now they’re in a lovefest with it, have you seen all these glamorous photoshoots of stunning young feministas with their funky clothes and big attitude – until it’s no longer on trend feminism needs tectonic plates to shift, not a trendy make-over

In 2011, actor Johnny Depp told the November issue of Vanity Fair that he felt participating in a photoshoot was akin to rape. "Well, you just feel like you're being raped somehow. Raped . . . It feels like a kind of weird - just weird, man. But whenever you have a photo shoot or something like that, it's like - you just feel dumb. It's just so stupid," he said. Likening instances of being flustered or uneasy to the often life-shattering experience of rape has become a far too common comparison in modern lexicon. The phrase "Facebook rape" is perhaps the most widely used, which implies one person has posted on another person's Facebook account - usually something intended to embarrass the person. But the casual, flippant use of the term "rape" in instances that do not involve sexual violence is highly problematic in that it trivialises one of the most despicable invasions of a human being. Desensitising the masses to the term "rape" is just another way the conversation surrounding sexual assault is derailed or diluted in society. Rape is, and should be considered universally, as a serious societal sickness that occurs within the "toxic silence" that surrounds sexual assault as Tara Moss put so elegantly in her recent Q&A appearance. Further to that, the use of the term can be a trigger for rape survivors in that it may jolt terrifying memories of their own experience. According to the Australian Institute of Family Studies, up to 57 per cent of rape survivors suffer post-traumatic stress disorder in their lifetime, with "triggers" including inflammatory words like rape causing deeply traumatic recollections. Beware desensitising the term "rape", Newcastle Herald, June 6, 2014

One of my favorite album covers is On the Beach. Of course that was the name of a movie and I stole it for my record, but that doesn't matter. The idea for that cover came like a bolt from the blue. Gary and I traveled around getting all the pieces to put it together. We went to a junkyard in Santa Ana to get the tail fin and fender from a 1959 Cadillac, complete with taillights, and watched them cut it off a Cadillac for us, then we went to a patio supply place to get the umbrella and table. We picke up the bad polyester yellow jacket and white pants at a sleazy men's shop, where we watched a shoplifter getting caught red-handed and busted. Gary and I were stoned on some dynamite weed and stood there dumbfounded watching the bust unfold. This girl was screaming and kicking! Finally we grabbed a local LA paper to use as a prop. It had this amazing headline: Sen. Buckley Calls For Nixon to Resign. Next we took the palm tree I had taken around the world on the Tonight's the Night tour. We then placed all of these pieces carefully in the sand at Santa Monica beach. Then we shot it. Bob Seidemann was the photographer, the same one who took the famous Blind Faith cover shot of the naked young girl holding the airplane. We used the crazy pattern from the umbrella insides for the inside of the sleeve that held the vinyl recording. That was the creative process at work. We lived for that, Gary and I, and we still do.

The next day we booked a three-hundred pound sow for a most unusual photoshoot. She was chauffeured to Hollywood from a farm in Central Valley, and arrived in style at the soundstage bright and early, ready for her close-up. She was a perfect pig, straight from the animal equivalent of Central casting: pink, with gray spots and a sweet disposition. Like Wilbur from Charlotte's Web, but all grown up. I called her "Rhonda." In a pristine studio with white walls and a white floor, I watched as Rhonda was coaxed up a ramp that led to the top of a white pedestal, four feet off the ground. Once she was situated, the ramp was removed, and I took my place beside her. It was a simple setup. Standing next to Rhonda, I would look into the camera and riff about the unsung heroes of Dirty Jobs. I'd conclude with a pointed question: "So, what's on your pedestal?" It was a play on that credit card campaign: "What's in your wallet?" I nailed it on the first take, in front of a roomful of nervous executives. Unfortunately, Rhonda nailed it, too. Just as I asked, "What's on your pedestal?" she crapped all over hers. It was an enormous dump, delivered with impeccable timing. During the second take, Rhonda did it again, right on cue. This time, with a frightful spray of diarrhea that filled the studio with a sulfurous funk, blackening the white walls of the pristine set, and transforming my blue jeans into something browner. I could only marvel at the stench, while the horrified executives backed into a corner - a huddled mass, if you will, yearning to breath free. But Rhonda wasn't done. She crapped on every subsequent take. And when she could crap no more, she began to pee. She peed on my cameraman, She peed on her handler. She peed on me. Finally, when her bladder was empty, we got the take the network could use, along with a commercial that won several awards for "Excellence in Promos." (Yes, they have trophies for such things.) Interestingly, the footage that went viral was not the footage that aired, but the footage Mary encouraged me to release on YouTube after the fact. The outtakes of Rhonda at her incontinent finest. Those were hysterical, and viewed more times than the actual commercial. Go figure. Looking back, putting a pig on a pedestal was maybe the smartest thing I ever did. Not only did it make Rhonda famous, it established me as the nontraditional host of a nontraditional show. One whose primary job was to appear more like a guest, and less like a host. And, whenever possible, not at all like an asshole.

Senses impaired, I knew I was there for a cover shoot but felt unfazed when I saw the wardrobe rack full of bras, panties, and nothing else... after having just come from a party full of naked people, with me in my skivvies, and still coming down from rolling, I wasn’t feeling like my more modest self... The shoot began with pics of me half-naked in bed—first, with a white sheet concealing just my breasts, which is the shot that made the cover, and then with my legs open to the camera but the private stuff covered... [the next shot] turned out to be my favorite picture from the day. I’m leaning forward, tits heaving, on a set of stairs.

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Elle ignored the ache in her chest. 'You know, you might just be a good man, after all, Proveaux.' 'Can you say that a bit louder, please? Perhaps the people I tricked into going to a fake photoshoot can hear you.

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We’re the most powerful Fae in this kingdom!” Tory shouted, her voice filled with power as it was amplified by Orion’s magic and her hair swirling around her in a wild breeze, making her look fierce as hell. “And we may have been hurt, beaten, bruised, drowned.” She glared down at the Heirs. “But we’re never going to stay down.” The Heirs shared anxious looks and my heart swelled as I met Orion’s gaze, his eyes brimming with pride. I loved him fiercely in that moment. Truly. Madly. Always. “So we intend to claim our rightful place in the kingdom!” I announced. “Bring on the press, the photoshoots, the interviews, we’re ready to step out and be the real princesses that we are.” Tory caught my hand and I lifted her arm into the air on instinct. “We’re going to fight for our throne!” she cried. “And we’re going to win it!” I finished.

Cian: Where the fuck? Gabriel: Family centre, somewhere around the top floor if the view is anything to go by. Gabriel: The why is less obvious. Elijah: Seriously? It’s clearly a photoshoot. Her father is an Icon with a penchant for aggressive media campaigns. He will see her partly bonded status as an opportunity. Gabriel: I said it was less obvious, not that it wasn’t still obvious. Moses: Stop comparing brain size. Kilian: Yeah, stop waving your big … brains around.

Thanks, though maybe I should be wearing black. You know, for the end of my twenties,” I tell her. “Like those photoshoots they do where it’s like a death.” “Please, those bitches don’t realize your thirties are amazing. You stop giving a fuck so much more than in your twenties.

Lance Orion. He was Zodiac Academy’s star player. He’d had photoshoots in magazines all over Solaria as they tipped him to be picked up by the Solarian Pitball League once he graduated. The image changed and Orion sat before me on a large bed with books spread out around him. The texts drew my gaze and I saw a hundred spells staring back at me. But they weren’t things I’d ever learned. They were dark magic.

When living in Denver, me and my friend Tony – who’s actually up here now and does amazing photography and helped us with the photoshoot for this collection – we did this funny thing on the anniversary of the stock market crash. It was a protest at a mall in Denver, and we called it “Black Friday is the new Black Monday”. We wanted to make the hipster thing into something else, we wanted to see what potential it had. Because we were fascinated by Paris 68, we made these pamphlets that said stuff like “Real hipsters riot”. We tried to encourage that mythology of the hipster from Sorbonne, Paris. This guy you see in Godard movie. We went into Urban Outfitters, threw a bunch of shit, flipped over things, went outside, shot a bunch of fireworks. That was pretty cool. The IEF was grounded in certain theoretical premises of insurrectionist theory, continental philosophy, and critical theory. It was definitely all over the damn place.

I forgot you’re not a morning person.” His voice is laughing at me. “Though I should have remembered, since you threatened me enough times in the predawn hours.” “Don’t remind me. I love the morning light, but I hate getting up for photoshoots. And you deserved those threats. You’re annoying as hell before 9 a.m.” “And here I was under the impression that you find me annoying at any hour.” “That too,” I grumble.

There is not enough money in the world to make a winter beach photoshoot enjoyable.

He stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Ashanti pose in an airy, soft peach dress with a crown of colorful flowers propped on her head. Duchess looked as if she had been made for the camera in her matching peach tutu. Even a non-dog lover like him couldn't deny that she was cute with her flower crown askew on her head and her stubby tail wagging like a flag in a windstorm.

All of this, the soft curling locks, the rural goddess photoshoots with farm animals, the flowing linen: it hides something steely and unyielding. Beneath it all she’s always been hard as fucking nails.

I tried a different tactic. “Tell me about your happiest memory.” Alex’s lips thinned. “I thought this was a photoshoot, not a therapy session.” “If it were a therapy session, I’d be charging you five hundred dollars an hour,” I quipped. “You have an inflated sense of your worth as a therapist.” “If you can’t afford me, just say so.” “Sweetheart, I could get you with a snap of my fingers, and I wouldn’t have to shell out a single penny.

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His dark blond hair is shorter on the sides and longer on top, styled perfectly, making it look as though he came from a photoshoot at Gucci or something. Just enough scruff to give him an edge despite his otherwise clean-cut appearance.

I crossed over to the window, staring out at the electronic billboard on the building directly across the intersection. It was me. Giant me. In nothing but a skimpy black corset, thong, and heels, leaning on a bar and looking every inch the sex kitten. Beside me was a bottle of vodka that I didn't remember being there in the photoshoot. The image pixelated out, only to be replaced by an even sexier one of both Archer and I. I was in his lap, our eyes locked and our lips just a fraction away from a kiss. On the table in front of us was that same vodka and a martini.

The proliferation of social media has significantly impacted the industry. Families now have a platform to share these treasured photographs with friends and loved ones, expanding the reach and impact of baby photography. The ability to connect with other parents and share the joy of parenthood through social media has also contributed to the growth of this niche. These photographs are more than just decorative pieces; they become a source of pride and a lasting symbol of the love and joy a baby brings. They play a pivotal role in documenting a child's growth and development, creating a visual timeline of milestones, from the first coo to the first step. Hyderabad baby photoshoot are not merely photography sessions but celebrations of the purest moments of life. They capture the fragile beauty of a new life, the wonder and love of parenthood, and the universal experience of the early days of a baby.

In the bustling, culturally diverse city of Hyderabad, an emerging trend has been steadily gaining momentum - the Hyderabad baby photoshoot. These heartwarming photoshoots are not just a reflection of changing times but a testament to the enduring importance of capturing the innocence, joy, and beauty of early childhood. The Hyderabad baby photoshoot has transformed from a fleeting trend into a celebrated tradition in Hyderabad and around the world. The arrival of a new member in the family brings unbridled joy and wonder, making it the perfect occasion for a professional photoshoot. In the chaotic rush of life, the early days of a child are fragile and fleeting. Baby photoshoots offer a way to preserve these moments, capturing the beauty, innocence, and love that surround a child's arrival. These photographs are not just images; they are a portal to revisit and cherish the most precious moments of early childhood.

A maternity shoot is a wonderful way for couples to bond and connect emotionally as they prepare to become parents. It's a shared experience that strengthens the bond between partners. Pregnancy can bring about changes in your body that may make you feel self-conscious. A maternity shoot is an opportunity to feel confident and beautiful in your own skin. Maternity photography is a form of artistic expression. Photographers use their skills to capture the magic of pregnancy, resulting in stunning and creative images.

When hairless cats curl up into a ball, their excess belly skins looks a lot like a lady garden. So, we can have the best of both worlds by adopting unwanted hairless cats and using them for photoshoots of... vaginas, quote unquote. So that we can make a Pornhub that doesn't exploit young women. We'll call it Bald Pusses. And technically, we can't get sued for lying.

I have metabolised my sexual trauma by writing columns, blogs, books and a one-woman show. I also regularly participate in erotic photoshoots. My brand of ‘fierce female sexuality’ doesn’t sit well with a lot of people. How dare I control my image and narrative by exploiting my sexual self online? Instead I should wait around to be the victim of revenge porn and have my explicit images shared without permission.

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One moment I would be collecting the mail or a bundle of designer clothes for a photoshoot from the courier drop-off point at ‘Gate Six’ at the far end of the Wapping plant, and the next I’d be asked to work on an investigation into drug smuggling or the IRA. With hindsight, it was absurd.

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Exactly what part of his signature do people not understand? I spin around. “It needs his …” Holy mother of fucknuggets. Did this guy just walk off a photoshoot for some fancy designer cologne? My jaw hangs open, the rest of the sentence caught in my mouth as I try not to drool.