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“Don’t you want to see the others?” the photographer asked.

Today I had to get a headshot done for work. I’d managed to elude the head of PR for quite a while, but she finally showed up in my office on Friday. We use images of authors on white papers and reports and presentations — and she had arranged a visit for me with her photographer.

“There is nothing I hate more than having my picture taken,” I told her. She dismissed that with a wave of her hand.

So I drove to the studio and sat there under the lights, in my buttoned up jacket on a 108 degree day in the desert. The photographer’s studio is totally cool — an old barn that’s been renovated and is now a studio and gallery. He has a great selection of work dotting the walls, from abstract, architectural etchings to conceptual combos of words and photographs, to some straight up documentary-like photos of contemporary cowboys. Plus an exquisite set of 15 foot high wooden doors from an old church in Mexico.

As he was setting up, I jokingly commented that his camera was certainly a lot more complicated than my iPhone. He pulled out a new iPhone 4 and told me how impressed he is with the quality of the flash and the images. I mentioned the Hipstamatic app that I love so much.

I looked at the first handful of the dozens of shots he’d taken and settled on the seventh. I am not remotely interested in looking at myself more than that. The only parameter from the head of PR is that the photo has to look professional. Easy enough to do with a nice jacket, a little extra attention to makeup, and a lot of product and praying for my crazy hair.

I’m kind of surprised at my lack of …curiosity? …concern? What if there was a better picture in there, a better picture than number 7? Meh. Whatever. There are some vrttis I can do without.