Disappearing Photographs
Several years ago, I dressed up as a 1940s-era photojournalist for Halloween. I wore a fedora with a PRESS card, a fake mustache and a cheap suit while carrying around an antique twin-lens camera and an unlit cigar.
When I saw my friends, they said, “Oh, you’re a journalist.” Strangers said, “Look, a photographer.” But no one registered that I was an anachronism: a vintage photojournalist. To this assortment of Wonder Women, zombies and cowboys, nothing had changed since those fast-talking, flashbulb days.