Kirby & the Amazing Mirror (2004)
I reckon I picked the wrong time in history to be unphotogenic, you know. Of course I’m arrogant enough to believe I’m a tera-hunk, but it only takes a rogue camera to catch you at your worst and it’s all over, the entire illusion is shattered – it’s ten chins, my hair’s a silvery mess and the gut is hanging right out.
Worse still if you’re photographed alongside somebody who knew where to look and nailed their pose. I’m surrounded by models, experts at getting papped. It got so that I’d dread those social media notifications, where people would snap a single night out using what’d be the olden days equivalent of ten rolls of film. With that many candid photos of you floating around, there was bound to be a few stinkers in there, for the object of your desires to find and cringe at, and for you to gloomily reflect on. After all, you can’t filter every photo to within an inch of its life, can you?
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