The Strange Reality of Being a Woman Photographer Online

A repost in time for International Women's Day.

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I dislike the term “female” photographer. It has always felt reductive and superfluous. Throughout my career, I have stayed away from women-only competitions and publications, not wanting that to define my identity as a photographer. Yet, my experience in the industry has been, though overwhelmingly positive, not without an occasional whiplash of sexism. Most of it has been digital. I rarely check my Instagram DMs to avoid stumbling on suggestive comments and occasional dick pics. Two years ago, I wrote a newsletter about just that, and as of today, not much has changed. A casual scroll through my Facebook messages still looks like this. So, on the occasion of International Women’s Day, I am reposting the article about digital misogyny.

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The Strange Reality of Being a Woman Photographer Online

I am quite allergic to the "heroic photographer" shot — any photo of myself holding a camera and looking serious — but I needed one to advertise my newsletter on Facebook. After agonizing about the choice of a photo, I decided that the proper way to introduce myself to new readers had to be an image where my vocation is clearly readable, so I used this snapshot taken by my husband (and often reluctant assistant) while on an assignment in Hawaii.

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The comments that I received under this image reminded me that I should never take my mostly positive experiences as a woman photographer for granted. Many noted I was holding the camera wrong and doubted that I was, in fact, a photographer. Others thought I was photoshopped onto the lava background. And some inquired if I had an OnlyFans page. "The lava is hot and so is she," was one of the more anodyne examples of such commentary. Needless to say, all of these were left by men.

My inbox was flooded with messages as well, from a simple "Hi, honey can we chat,” to actual dick pics (didn’t realize that was still a thing). I was left incredulous that this particular photo could provoke such misogyny. I've had a few unpleasant incidents in the past, but nothing major or systemic. There was a time when an editor at a portfolio review started making blatant advances during the actual review and commenting on my appearance versus the photographs in front of him. Another time, while shooting at fashion week, a male photographer physically picked me up to move me from what he claimed was his spot. When I was still a student, a successful photographer I greatly admired texted me out of nowhere to propose meeting in a hotel room because he heard "I was fun." Instead of telling him to fuck off, I made a faltering excuse, after which he blocked me. The bitter taste of the incident lingers to this day.

Other occurrences were of a more amusing, but still constant, variety. Like being asked in Adorama, a famous New York camera equipment store, if I photograph babies or weddings — presumably, those are the only possibilities the well-meaning gentlemen working there could imagine for me. Or having my mostly male assistants mistaken for the photographer, even while I'm the one holding the camera. And, on a few occasions, unsolicited advice from other photographers (male, of course) to not trade having children for a career. Though mildly irritating, I never took any of these massively to heart. The few times I was interviewed about my experience as a woman photographer, I stated with confidence that it's been a great one.

I have never been above using these stereotypes for certain, useful purposes. My street photography often feels confrontational by the mere fact of the close distance to the people photographed. I am sure that being a woman has saved me from quite a few cases of disgruntled violence. I can photograph children on the street and stand close to a playground without looking suspicious to vigilant parents. I pursue my voyeuristic series of lit windows shot from the street without being reported to the police by an alarmed passerby. I was able to photograph the Amish community partly because, as a woman, I wasn't considered threatening. "Does your husband let you come here all alone?" was a question I heard from a few concerned elders. Not being taken seriously has its sneaky advantages.

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Of course, the downside of not being taken seriously is that it also tends to happen when I least intend it. Over time, I have found myself becoming more sensitive to casual misogyny in its many forms, whether blatant sexual innuendos or patronizing approval. I realize that I have been lucky, in that the only negative experiences throughout my career have been — unpleasant as they were — of the more innocuous variety. But after getting yet another piece of unsolicited advice on how to properly hold a camera (followed by a DM with yet another crass proposal), I have finally had enough of silently blocking them and decided to write this post.

Deleting daily private messages with heart emojis and kisses, compliments on my appearance, questions if I'm single or have a minute to chat, and all kinds of sexual propositions from complete strangers have become a customary, almost normal part of the social media clutter. I am sure that every female photographer with a social media account is familiar with the experience. Virtual exposure inevitably comes at a cost, and for women, that cost is always higher.

Navigating digital misogyny is a peculiar experience because it is non-threatening and demeaning at the same time. An involuntary trace of complicity accompanies every one of these comments and messages, making me question if perhaps, the tank top in the lava photo is too provocative. But just as I was finishing this up, I received another notification. “Is anyone else completely creeped out by many of the male responses to this post?” A few men chimed in as well, rebuking their less civil brethren. So maybe it would be more accurate not to describe those inappropriate commenters as “men”, but as a few entitled jerks. And I refuse to be bullied by those. The photo is staying up.

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