February 2017 | Billings, Montana
Like many other Americans, my diploma is nearly useless in my current occupation. When I crossed that graduation stage years ago with a secondary education degree, I never imagined that this once Bible-thumping, English-teaching schoolmarm would evolve into a wedding photographer with an unexpected soft spot for taking sexy pictures.
I'm not sure I understand the evolution myself, but I do remember the moment I fell in love with boudoir photography. Several years ago, I attended a workshop that was also a wedding--Mike and Tracy were a real couple getting married--and before the wedding, we photographed Tracy in lingerie. During the shoot, I watched Tracy turn from nervous to completely confident, not caring at all that eight cameras had her in their sights while she wore nothing but her undies.
After witnessing Tracy's transformation, I knew that I wanted to be part of that experience again. I read and watched everything I could to learn how to properly light and pose women. I harassed every woman I knew to sit for me. My mom. My sisters. My best friend. My sister-in-law. My hair-dresser. Once confident in my skills, I opened up shop, peddling my services to women.
I'd never seriously considered a boudoir shoot for a man until a few months ago when I received an email that wanted to know if I'd "be comfortable shooting a guy."
My initial response to the email was to laugh. My new professional problems had certainly changed from the days where I concerned myself with turning in mid-term grades and creating seating charts.
After deliberating for a few days, I decided to go for it and photograph a man in his underwear.
And, why not? I've done countless shoots for women who want to give the photos to their boyfriends and husbands. Why wouldn't I enjoy providing this same service for a man?
And now that I've photographed one man in his underwear, I've decided boudoir photography is no longer a gender specific venture. At least not for me.