Glamour shots are never a good idea.

Before you know it you’re wrapped in a satin sheet, awkwardly propping your elbow on a someone’s knee next to a basket of plastic flowers. Thankfully, it never went that far for me, but discovering images of my high school friend dressed like a satin sausage roll in “soft lighting” was one of the best days of my life.

Unfortunately I was not exempt from the family portrait style glamour shots. I’ve now featured in three professionally shot family portraits in my life, and I don’t care to be in any more. They hurt my soul and put me at a high risk of blackmail.

Sure, the first one was fine. I was spared the ordeal of having to drape myself over family members as my brain wasn’t fully formed at the time – sitting up straight and grinning was about as much as the photographer could coax out of me.

The second time was much more traumatic. I was big into personal space, and remember feeling severely uncomfortable wedged between my immediate family members. I also had a bob and was wearing a silky pink leopard print shirt that I stole from my sister because I thought it was cool. I don’t know why my parents allowed me to be photographed looking like a middle aged woman who preys on men twenty years her junior; perhaps I had spilt something on the carpet and they had very creative ways of getting revenge.

A few weekends ago, my darling mother thought that it would be a good idea to get the fam together in a park for round three of humiliating photographic evidence that we are related, before we got too old.

As I was stooping down to uncomfortably lean on Dad’s shoulder, because that is what I normally do in my spare time, that horrible feeling that only comes from being strategically placed amongst family members came creeping back.

I have three other sisters, but now after being scarred by the most recent federal election campaign, every time my sisters and I go to get a photo with Dad I’ve been unable to shake the feeling of similarity between us and the Abott family. I feel like I’ve been wheeled out as a prop to say “See, he’s not that bad! I’m young and female, yet I can manage to like him! Look, I’ll even rest my arm on his shoulder. Everyone look at how close we are, because that is totally relevant to how good of a job he can do!”

No matter how casual the photographer tries to make you look, it still looks like you’re playing an uninspired game of musical statues. Everyone’s smile is strained and it looks like everyone is pretending to look happy to cover up that they are secretly plotting ways to violently dismember their family members.

Later on that day I took a photo of a family tearing it up in a gazebo with cheap wine and a karaoke machine, and I couldn’t help but think that this was a better way to do family portraits. Sure it was taken with a phone, but at least it looked like these people liked each other.

There should only be one purpose for staged, silky photos and that is for the embarrassing slide show of pictures at a 21st.