The photo in question was a seemingly innocent vacation snapshot that would typically be found in family albums and Instagram feeds. It depicted my ten-year-old niece leisurely sunbathing on a beach, sporting cute pink sunglasses and a bikini. Little did I know, this photo would set off a series of events that many parents can relate to this summer.
During our family holiday in France, my niece’s brother decided to share the picture on our family WhatsApp group. Considering there were only nine members in the group, it wasn’t exactly breaking news. Her mother and I thought she looked beautiful in the photo. However, when my niece discovered what her brother had done, she erupted in fury. She shrieked at him, demanding the immediate deletion of the photo, claiming it was posted without her permission.
This outburst sparked a chain reaction among the other Turner children. My 16-year-old daughter, the youngest of my three kids, joined the revolt. She accused me of committing the same offense by sharing holiday photos that included her without her consent. She also insisted on their removal. Have our children suddenly become celebrities with the power to declare “no pictures” whenever they please? Apparently, that’s the case.
For the remainder of our holiday, the younger members of the Turner family refused to be photographed. If they reluctantly agreed to a photo, they insisted on inspecting the results before immediately demanding their deletion. Their reasons for this forced censorship could be summarized into two factors. Firstly, vanity played a role. I nearly received permission to keep a picture of my daughter on the deck of the cross-channel ferry, but she objected, claiming her hair looked unsightly. It saddened me that she couldn’t recognize her own beauty. Yes, the wind was strong, but that added to the charm of the picture, didn’t it? Not in her opinion. Delete.
The second reason for these mandated deletions was simply a lack of interest in family photos and a belief that they were a pointless exercise. “Why would you want a picture of me eating lunch?” they would exclaim as soon as the phone was raised. Unlike us parents, they don’t grasp how swiftly time flies, making it all the more necessary to capture these moments as our children grow older.
Now that we’re back in the UK, aside from the occasional selfie, I am left with only two types of pictures to remember our delightful time in France. The first consists of breathtaking views of the sandy beaches and expansive skies of France. They are lovely but lack a personal touch. The second type of picture features our family dog, the only one willing to be captured on camera without reservations.
In the future, I may look back at these photos and wonder if I imagined taking my children on vacation in 2023. Or perhaps they were wearing invisibility cloaks instead of beach towels. Trouble has been simmering for some time now. During our trip to New York before the pandemic, I struggled to find a family photo where everyone was smiling due to my teenagers’ tendency to scowl whenever a camera was in sight. I resorted to physically cutting and taping two pictures together. The only issue was that my daughter’s photo was taken closer to the camera, making her appear larger than her older brothers.
When my children were younger, they would become upset if one sibling was featured more prominently than the others in the displayed photographs around the house. I had to ensure an even distribution of pictures. However, now that they’re older, if I unveil a new framed picture, they regard it and me with utter condescension. Taking family photos is seen as a mundane parental hobby, akin to washing dishes or listening to the radio.
It’s a far cry from the family vacations of my childhood, where my parents would snap photos of us without a second thought. The concept of consent didn’t exist back then. We were busy sailing toy boats in paddling pools in Anglesey, lounging on lilos in the sea at Rhyl, or picnicking in a lay-by near the M1 while searching for our escaped cat.
To this day, I still have a photo from our first vacation abroad to Spain in 1970. It must have been taken by my mother, capturing the rest of us enjoying dinner at the hotel. In this photo, we are oddly formal, with my father donning a suit (a peculiar choice for Majorca in August). We dutifully posed for the camera, silently conveying our determination to make the most of our trip. In the 1970s, it never occurred to me or my siblings that we should grant permission to appear in holiday photos.
Now, instead of being able to cherish a joyful family photo on a French beach, I am left with a handful of selfies, numerous sand dune landscapes, and pictures of our dog. So, why have my children, and I suspect many others, become camera-shy? I believe it boils down to control. During my youth, it was the parents who held the camera, but now most teens have smartphones with built-in cameras. They prefer taking their own, superior-quality photos and curating their own media profiles.
Having a parent capture a slightly imperfect beach photo may not align with the image they want to project. However, they snap thousands of self-portraits to meticulously select a few for online posting. Unfortunately, I am not privy to most of these photos, so I can’t compare them to my daughter’s so-called “hideous” shots. However, after browsing Instagram, I fear that no unfiltered photos of today’s teenagers will exist, as they seem to predominantly consist of pouting selfies and meticulously posed images transformed beyond recognition.
Perhaps, when they reach my age, my children will regret not allowing their parents to keep those candid photos they once detested. For now, mothers like me will have to covertly stash away the photos we take. I try to find solace in this irritating censorship trend by considering it a sign that today’s kids possess enough self-esteem to assert themselves. I want my children to feel empowered and to have a sense of agency. It’s just aggravating that they choose to exercise this newfound autonomy precisely when I want them to say “cheese.”
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