Harshest Critic

So until recently, I had what you would call a moderately inappropriate
Facebook photo. It wasn’t obscene, or anything, it was just a lot of
cleavage. A. LOT. OF. CLEAVAGE. Which – if you know me – isn’t that
rare. I mean, whatever. It just isn’t. Yet as more and more people
joined Facebook, it became less of a "friends from college who wouldn’t
be phased by the low-cut dress I wore for my 30th birthday party" and
more of a "hi, boss. Hi, former boss. Hi, head of all advertising sales
at Google." While I’m proud to say I enjoy keeping in touch with former
– and current – employers, there’s a reason we wear business clothes to
work and going out clothes to get our DebauchAubrey on. Web 2.0 is much
more Bub.blicio.us than Boobilicious.

As such, I figured it was due time long overdue for me to find a better profile photo. So I started trolling through my Flickr favorites and Aubs-tagged
ones only to find out that I basically hate all the pictures of myself.
I don’t know if this is because my father, an avid photgrapher, had a
camera perpetually stuck in my face and has caused me to be
hyper-critical of my appearance. It might just be me being
hyper-critical about everything I do. Regardless, I had the hardest
time finding one of me that I actually LIKED, and the process was
nothing if not painful. Hello, world, I’m apparently vain.

Yet alas, the lovely Willo comes through in a pinch – the photo I
finally chose was one she used for her website and it’s her awesome "Words are so delicious"
t-shirt that I’m modeling. And, amazingly, kindly, many people have
commented nicely on the photo, meaning perhaps I’m just my own harshest

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