Money: The Most Intimate Thing We Don’t Talk About

Here’s the thing I’ve been circling for a while now: money is one of the most practical, impactful topics in our lives—and yet, among friends, it’s often treated like a taboo. Talking about finances can feel awkward, impolite, or weirdly intimate. We’ll talk about relationships, health scares, therapy, SEX, and existential dread before we’ll talk about salaries and debt.

I find myself wanting a small circle of friends where money isn’t taboo. Not competitive. Not braggy. Just… collaborative. A group where we can talk openly about how to lower expenses—because someone always knows a trick you don’t. A better phone plan. A smarter insurance setup. A way to renegotiate a bill you assumed was fixed forever. 

And just as important: a group where we can talk about increasing income. Side projects. Negotiation strategies. Teaching gigs, freelance work, investments, opportunities. Rising together doesn’t mean everyone makes the same choices—it means information flows freely enough that people can decide what’s right for them.

What’s interesting is that when these conversations do happen—usually accidentally, or one-on-one. Someone finally admits they’re confused. Someone else says, “Oh, I’ve been there.” 

I think most progress comes from shared knowledge and shared resources. Avoiding money talk preserves a polite distance, but it also keeps everyone reinventing the wheel alone.

I don’t want money conversations to replace joy, creativity, or connection. I want them to support those things. I want friendships where we can talk about food and spreadsheets. Dreams and deductions. The emotional side of life and the logistical one.

Why “Make Me Look Skinny” Made Me Quit Photographing People

Dear friends,

Please be patient with me as I relearn how to take pictures of people.

I’m out of practice. Rusty doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m more “found in the back of a garage under a tarp” than “needs a quick tune-up.”

For years—years—I actively avoided photographing people. This wasn’t an accident. It was a series of conscious decisions layered with rationalizations, preferences, and a healthy dose of self-preservation. Let me explain.

I was trying to be considerate

Some people truly do not want their picture taken. They freeze. They grimace. They raise a hand like a traffic cop and say, “Nope.” And I respect that.

Asking every single time, “Is this okay? How about now? What about now but from the left?” starts to get tedious. It feel like interrupting a moment to ask permission to document it. The flow dies. The magic evaporates. Everyone becomes hyper-aware of their face.

So I opted out. Food doesn’t object. Landscapes never say, “Wait, I wasn’t ready.” Shadows are always emotionally available.

I like pictures that not everyone likes of themselves

I love candids. I love the in-between moments. The half-laugh, the blink, the expression that lasts a fraction of a second before someone remembers they’re being observed. Those moments feel true to me. They make my heart go pitter-patter.

Other people, however, would like their eyes open, their posture corrected, their chin lifted, and their complexion gently retouched.

Sometimes my favorite photo of someone is the one they immediately hate. And that’s awkward for everyone.

Expectations can be… ambitious

I’ve heard some version of “Make me look skinny” more times than I can count. If you are not skinny, that is a challenging request. I’m a photographer. Not a magician. Not a sentient Instagram filter.

Yes, there are lenses, angles, lighting tricks, and retouching tools. All of those take time, energy, and skill. Retouching alone is its own art form and a significant investment of time and energy. And they usually don’t have the patience to put all of that into practice.

I’m bad at posing people. Truly bad.

Telling someone where to put their hands while remembering camera settings, composition, and lighting is a skill I never fully committed to learning. I avoid it. I panic. I say things like, “Just… be normal?” which has never helped anyone in the history of photography.

People are messy and expressive and complicated and impossible to replicate in 2D.

People photography requires emotional labor.

This one doesn’t get talked about enough.

When you photograph people, you’re managing insecurities, expectations, energy, and sometimes decades of baggage they bring to their own reflection. That’s real work.

You’re not just composing a frame—you’re reassuring, directing, encouraging, translating intention into something visible. Some days I don’t want to do that. Some days I want to photograph light hitting a wall and go home.

I didn’t want to deal with the aftermath.

Because the photo session doesn’t end when the shutter clicks. It continues in the texts. The emails. The “Do you have any more where I look better?” The comparisons. The requests. The quiet disappointment when the images don’t match the version of themselves they were hoping for.

Avoiding people meant avoiding all of that.

And yet…

People are the point this all began for me. I didn’t study photography to take pictures of my food. I got it to take pictures of the people I love. 

So here I am. Relearning. Shaking off the rust. Remembering how to talk while shooting. Remembering that awkwardness is survivable. Remembering that not every photo needs to please everyone, sometimes it just needs to exist.

If I photograph you and it feels a little clunky, a little unpolished, a little “we’re figuring this out together,” that’s accurate.

I’m practicing. I’m rebuilding muscle memory. I’m saying yes more often instead of hiding behind abstract objects and excellent excuses.

Thank you for your patience.

And for standing there while I remember how to do this thing I avoided for so long.

I promise I’m trying.

Friends, Take My Picture Already

Friends. Listen up. We need to have a serious talk. A camera talk. A “this-is-not-a-drill” talk. Let’s make a little pact. A sacred, non-negotiable, morally binding pact. The next time we hang out IRL, let’s… gasp… take pictures of each other. And then—here’s the revolutionary part—actually trade them.

I Want Memories Too!

I don’t have nearly as many pictures of myself as I would like. You’d think I do. I’m a photographer, after all. I have cameras glued to my hands. I should be drowning in images of me, right? Wrong. Dead wrong. I am shockingly absent from my own photo archives.

Why? Because when I hang out with non-photographers, I automatically become the default group photographer. “Grace will take pictures. Grace always takes pictures.” And indeed, I do. I capture the laughter, the awkward mid-sentence hand gestures, the perfect light hitting the plate of food. Pictures for everyone!!! Everyone, that is, except me. 

And if I’m with my photographer friends? Still nope! You’d think pros would be amazing at this. BUT, they’re off duty. They’re relaxing. They’re thinking, “I’m not getting paid for this.” Which, fine, I get it. But now I’m stuck trying to photograph myself in the wild, like a sad influencer. 

Of course, there are exceptions. Asian friends, for example, are absolute monsters with the camera. They will snap hundreds of shots. But here’s the catch—they’re usually posed shots. Faux candids, as I like to call them. “Look like you’re laughing naturally while subtly tucking your chin down 15 degrees.” Close, but no. I want raw, chaotic, slightly embarrassing realness. 

A Fair Trade Agreement (No Photo, No Mercy)

So here’s my plea. Friends. Please. Please. Take pictures of me. Maybe two. Maybe twenty. And make them good. Real. Human. Alive.

And here’s the deal: I am nothing if not a fair negotiator. No trade, no mercy. No picture for me, no picture for you. Think of it as photographic karma. You capture me, I capture you. We all win.

Life is short. Someday we’ll look back on these images and be grateful, not just for the perfect smiles and flattering angles, but for the messy, unposed, unpolished moments. The ones that actually show us living.