Consent and Power Relationships

I took my camera long with me to the Steampunk Weekend in Kirkcudbright.

I wasn't an official photographer, but I have a soft spot for Steampunk and knew there would be lots of people dressed up.

Almost immediately I bumped into someone I knew, dressed up to the hilt, with her friend who had similarly gone all out for it. A bit of a chat and then I suggested I could take their photo, with an idea of sending them a copy later.

But as we moved away from all the stalls towards a tree that created a less busy backdrop, a bloke with a camera was suddenly behind me and was clearly wanting to take advantage of the fact that I had isolated them so he could take some images too.

I gave him a bit of space and just tried to concentrate on taking my own images, but they were clearly torn between the 2 of us, with at least one of them looking at the other guy each time I clicked. Then I noticed a 3rd bloke had turned up.

Not wanting to be rude, but feeling a little deflated, I thanked my friend for her time, and as I headed off noticed even more camera-weilding blokes had arrived on the scene and I wondered how long it would be before she would be able to get back to exploring the event.

From then on, it felt like there were more middle-aged blokes with cameras than there were people dressed in Steampunk outfits.

They were everywhere. It seemed like anyone who had on an outfit was being swarmed upon.

It didn't feel right.

Of course if you dress up outlandishly you can expect to get some attention, but this felt positively intrusive.

And then I caught sight of myself in a mirror hanging on one of the outfit stalls and saw a middle-aged bloke with a big camera over his shoulder, wearing my face.

And, to be honest, I felt a bit sick.

It took me a while to understand my reaction, but eventually I realised it was all about power relationships.

For me, a photo shoot, however brief, is a collaboration between myself and the subject – it is a relationship of equals – a coming together to create something you both would like to see.

But it felt to me that most of these other photographers were feeling, or acting on, some level of entitlement. These people had dressed up so they were entitled to photograph them, whether the subjects were comfortable about it or not. And if they didn't like it, they shouldn't dress that way...

I just didn't want to be associated with these people.

To the outside world, there would be no perceptible difference between me and the other guys. We were all middle-aged blokes with cameras taking photos of people dressed up.

But the attitude behind the photography was everything.

I could only photograph my friend because I knew her already, I've photographed her before, and she was more than happy to play to the camera a bit.

But afterwards, I felt like I'd abandoned her to the jackals and didn't feel particularly proud of myself.

A guy I know who makes Steampunk accessories and had a stall there, said he'd heard that the previous year a photographer from one of the bigger camera clubs in the area had stumbled across the Steampunk Weekend last year, taken a photo of the guy I knew, and then had apparently won a camera club competition with the image.

It seems that word had got around and this year most of that camera club had descended on Kirkcudbright, out to get a competition winning photo, whatever the cost.

I didn't take any more photos, and left early.

The whole experience has just left me with a unpleasant taste in my mouth, and I'm going to be processing this for some time.