My First Photo Shoot

Boy, am I gonna get in trouble for this one. Thank god I'm thousands and thousands of miles away, because I can't imagine "he who must not be named" (but who's face you're about to see multiple times) is cool with having his sweet face plastered all over this blog. I suppose I could use the cropping feature. But I'm not nearly as cute on my own, much better as the smaller half of a duo.

Our mother used to take us to a professional photographer in Helsingborg when we were little. It looks like my first photo shoot took place in 1971, because it seems I've just learned to sit and Ulrik looks like he's hitting the toddler age.

From then, the posing seems to have gotten slightly more sophisticated, but of course, one very important aspect remained. We were always photographed in matching outfits. Always. Which I thought one really only did with twins.

The stories our mother used to tell about this phase of our lives was; a) we were so cute people would stop us on the street, b) the photographer always kept our photo in the window for promotional purposes, for the same reason, and c) people usually assumed my mother was some sort of baby sitter as she looked way too young to have kids. (She was 20 when she had Ulrik, and had just turned 22 when she had me.)

Clearly where my super short bang phase starts. Whoa. The hair in the back had already been chopped as I'd always get food and other things stuck in my hair. I was obviously not destined for ribboned pig tails and butterfly clipped braids. I imagine this haircut lasted for months and months.

This is the last one before the cuteness ends, and we both entered into the awkward teenage years, with teeth coming in a bit funny, and features growing in spurts before settling. So perhaps it's lucky that I don't have any more professional photos.

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In going through the old photos, I found that the matching outfits weren't just for the days we had our picture taken, but permeated our entire childhood. It seems so uncreative and thwarting in individualism and independence. How was I supposed to find my own identity if I was always dressed like the male, older version of myself?

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Perhaps this is why, even with the long blonde hair and the red finger nails, I feel like I have to work at showing my feminine side. Like it doesn't just come out naturally. I'm way tougher than I am demure and girly, and feel like my energy gets a little masculine at times. Maybe this is also why I've felt like one part of a duo most of my life. Don't get me wrong, Ulrik and I are as different as two people can be, but even though we've been geographically separated for almost 20 years, I still feel like one part of a two-parter. Like, Ulrik, part two.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this and the reason for the matching outfits wasn't to confuse my whole existence, but maybe it was just easier to shop that way. "I'll take one red and one blue." Maybe it was because we looked so darn cute being matchy-matchy. Also, our grandmother Celina helped by knitting many a matching, itching sweaters for us to wear.

The plot thickened as I found the following photo of us with our uncle Ulf. It shows another sibling pair in the background, in matching shirts and shorts, also deprived of originality. So perhaps it was just a thing of the seventies? I guess so. And now I have to go and find another reason to explain all my childhood identity issues. Stay tuned.