You don’t have to turn a day out into a production
Keep the photographs. Lose the shooting schedule.
Header photo: real_ jansen / Unsplash Unfortunate scenes at the US Open, where a tennis match has interrupted some content. According to ABC’s reporting , a clip of spectators posing and waving for a video during Naomi Osaka’s first-round match prompted complaints about behaviour in the stands. The USTA subsequently said it had increased signage and reminded ticket and suite holders about avoiding disruption, including flash photography and ring lights. It also confirmed that the spectators involved weren’t among its accredited content creators. That distinction matters, particularly before we decide an entire profession needs escorting out by security. I like photographs of days out. They’re reminders of who was there, what happened, and occasionally what we used to think was an acceptable haircut. Sharing them lets people enjoy a bit of something they couldn’t attend, and a good video can introduce you to a place you’d never have thought of visiting. Creators do that particularly well, often making an unfamiliar activity feel considerably less intimidating. None of this requires us to pretend the camera phone was a terrible mistake. There is, though, a point at which taking a record of something starts to become the thing itself. You can see it when a perfectly pleasant afternoon acquires a shooting schedule, or when a moment has to happen again because it wasn’t captured properly the first time. Someone needs to move, someone needs to wait, and someone needs to look as though they haven’t been told exactly where to stand. The people who aren’t there start having quite a lot of influence over the afternoon of the people who are. A concert is probably the most obvious example. A short clip of a favourite song can be a lovely thing to have, especially when you send it to the person who understands why that song matters. Holding a phone above your head for most of the set is a different proposition, particularly for whoever bought the seat behind you. They came to see the band, and your interpretation of the evening through a six-inch screen wasn’t mentioned on the ticket. Dinner has its own version, generally involving somebody’s food arriving before the photography department is ready. There’s nothing unreasonable about wanting a picture of a beautifully prepared plate; someone in the kitchen has probably put considerable effort into how it looks. But once everyone else has to leave their cutlery alone while the arrangement is improved, the photograph has acquired a small unpaid workforce. I think people should be allowed to eat their chips while they’re still worth eating. Photo: S O C I A L . C U T / Unsplash Then there’s the view. By all means get a photograph with yourself in it, because otherwise you can return from a holiday with excellent evidence that several mountains exist and none that you were anywhere near them. It gets less enjoyable when everyone has to keep shuffling about until the landscape provides the right supporting performance. A quick photograph can become twenty minutes spent assessing versions of the same photograph, with the actual view still sitting there, largely unattended. I don’t think the answer is to become the person who announces that everyone should put their phones away. That can make a day out surprisingly tedious too, and you don’t know what somebody else is recording or why. Perhaps they’re sending a clip to a parent who couldn’t come, or photographing something they’ve waited years to see. You can allow for all of that and still expect them not to shine a ring light across a tennis match. The useful distinction is what your recording asks of everybody else. A photograph that takes a few seconds is usually asking very little; repeated instructions, blocked sightlines, and lighting equipment ask rather more. Other people have paid for their evening too, and the people performing or working there have a job to get on with. Neither group automatically becomes part of your production because you’ve found a good angle. This matters to 42 Things To Do because the whole point is to help people actually do things they want to do. When you’re choosing what belongs on your bucket list , it’s worth leaving room for things you’d enjoy even if the photographs turn out badly. We’ll probably promote this article on social media, so I’m not claiming some magnificent position outside the situation. I’d just prefer the day itself to be worth having before we worry about whether it’s worth posting. You don’t need a new rule for every outing. Get the people you love in a photograph, record a bit of the song, and send someone the view if they’d enjoy seeing it. If the next attempt means making everybody wait again, perhaps the picture you’ve already got will do. Take the picture. Then have the experience you wanted a picture of.