I hadn't been in LA an hour before realizing that I needed new headshots. The realtor on the billboard outside my studio had a sharper headshot than I did. I shopped around for two weeks, but good shots were simply beyond my means so soon after moving cross-country. I was getting desperate.
During a visit to LA Casting's main office I sifted through samples from a dozen photographers. One in particular caught my eye, and not because it was the most ostentatious of the bunch. On the contrary, it was lit naturally and the subject wore no make up. It was exactly the kind of organic, unpretentious image I had envisioned my next headshot being.
When I called I got an answering machine for a home phone. It made no mention of the business I was trying to reach. That was the first of many red flags I would ignore. When the photographer returned my call I explained my need for new pics ASAP. I had only two stipulations; I wanted my photos shot indoors and on digital. She did not have the means to accommodate either request. I told her I would need some time to think. She suggested I visit her website in the meantime for more samples of her work. I did, and came across three more photos I liked. If I'd known then what I know now I would have settled for nothing less than thirteen great samples before calling her again.
Price was what sold me. She charged a mere $250, about 200 cheaper than her competition. What I should have thought when I heard that too-good-to-be-true quote was how much it could cost to have sub par photographs professionally doctored, assuming any were worth the effort and expense. Instead I made an appointment.
Aside from her repeated suggestions to metro sexualize my hair and wardrobe we got along well enough and the shoot went off without a hitch. I had every reason to anticipate dozens of great shots. What I got was anything but. Nearly every photo was oddly framed. Her top margins began at my hairline, leaving my hair color and style to the imagination. Her bottom margins ended just below my sternum, as if she'd been shooting a busty swimsuit model rather than a rail-thin male. My eyes cowered from LA's merciless midday sun in every third or fourth photograph.
I am very non-confrontational by nature. I knew that I was well within my rights to ask for a reshoot, but found myself lost for a diplomatic way to do so. As it turned out, I didn't have to. She surprised me with a call. She felt that the photos "did not come out as well as they could have," and offered to shoot an additional roll gratis. I was astounded by her professionalism. Little did I know that it was the last time she would display any. Determined to get it right the second time around I tactfully detailed what I disliked about the first batch of photos. When I mentioned her framing, she condescendingly responded that her style was an industry standard known as a "three-quarter shot." I politely explained that TQ shots are referred to as such for encompassing three quarters of their subject, not one third. She reluctantly agreed to adhere to my specifications during our do-over.
For our second shoot she introduced a "bounce board," a white, rectangular sheet used to redirect light. Since she brought it I assumed she would know how to use it. As the wise old adage goes, "Assumption is the mother of all F@c& ups." Her contraption bleached my skin tone and facial features out completely. As a whole, the second batch of photos was worse than the first.
I called her determined to express my dissatisfaction. I never got it out. She was curt, claiming to be running late for a previous engagement. It is not hard to understand the tact her attitude took after our second shoot. Her work was pitiful; if she could avoid me, she could avoid me asking for a refund. Obviously, a third session was not an option. If she couldn't get it right in two tries she wouldn't get it right in three. I decided to cut my losses, learn from the experience and move on.
A few days later I bumped in to her on the street. She gave me a belabored, "Hi," and claimed to be running late for yet another unspecified appointment. Before she could dash off I requested a receipt for our session. She acted put-upon. I explained that I did not need a notarized audit on company letterhead, just something with her business name, the date of service and acknowledgement of payment on it. She replied, (not in jest) "Geez, you could just do that yourself." I pressed the issue and she begrudgingly agreed to send one along. A week passed with nothing. I left two messages, each less congenial than the last. When she finally returned my calls she saucily informed me that she, "hadn't considered my request a priority." The receipt never came.
Epilogue
Weeks later I was having coffee with a fellow actor who mentioned needing new headshots. She asked if I knew any good photographers who worked cheap. My response became the content of this reading, minus numerous expletives. I told her how I had picked my photographer based primarily on price, and where the money I saved ultimately wound up; from four rolls of film I salvaged two pictures through cropping, Photo shopping, and color corrections at twenty bucks per procedure. I'm certain I got through to her, I can only hope I've gotten through to you. Up-and-coming actors are going to learn many lessons the hard way, mark my words - better yet, tape them to your refrigerator - and "You get what you pay for" will not be one of them.
