Apparently Bitmoji “photos” aren’t professional.
We started our video series to talk about how different, yet similar, our hearing loss stories are. And to get others to talk about hearing loss. We quickly added this blog series to not only flex our writing muscles but also give our audience a different way to hear about hearing loss. Not everyone cares to watch videos. So having both a spoken and a written medium served us well.
But things didn’t stay there.
In March, we gave a presentation on how our show came to be at the Hearing Loss New England Conference.
In May, The Force was with us as we dove into the waters of Instagram.
In September, we were interviewed on Seen + Heard,
Also in September, our friend and collaborator, Sarah from Mass Ability, helped us start our TikTok account.
Sarah was just one of the amazing people we’d interviewed on the show. We also interviewed Professor David Baldridge from Oregon State University, Dr. Nicole Laffan from Northeastern’s Speech-Language and Hearing Center, and Debra Bare-Rogers the Northeast Region Director of the Association of Late Deafened Adults.
In October, we added podcast versions of our episodes and started posting to Linkedin.
From November to February, we have three more presentations scheduled.
We don’t say all this to brag (well, not just to brag). We say all this to explain why Bitmoji will no longer cut it. We’re going places, people! And so we reached out to Jenna Doughtry to get some professional photos taken. As we’re keen to say, our hearing loss affects every aspect of our lives. A photoshoot is no exception.
Her studio was at the top of a tight spiral staircase that tested our balance-challenged selves. Jenna popped her head out of her studio and said hello, or something. We were too intent on not putting a foot through the gap between steps or leaning too far one way and going ass-over-tea-kettle down to the floor below. That could have been the start of many a miscommunication. But Julie, as she’s wont to do, told her to hold up a second. We needed to get up there and see her face to hear her words.
Jenna took this in stride. She asked what accommodations we need and, after we (but that I mean Julie) gave them, she was constantly cognizant of them. For the majority of the time she remembered to look at us before speaking and when she wasn’t, she made sure to use hand signals to convey her meaning. For example when Julie was done getting her solo shots taken, Jenna said…something to me. She was facing away but waved her arm. Which told me that O needed to get off the fainting couch and join Julie.
Her voice was DHH-friendly; she spoke in measured tones, at a moderate volume, and made sure to make like Goldilocks with the speed of her speech. This was invaluable to me . Because I wanted to be there like I wanted to be in Montreal watching The Habs win The Cup. But as a hard of hearing person in a hearing world, not to mention an introvert in an extroverted one, I’m used to doing things I’d rather not do. I understand the power of good first impressions. So I put on my big boy pants and agreed to be the center of attention. Which made my inner introvert shrink in fear. Which means I was more than a little anxious. And anxiety makes my hearing worse. And tires me out faster. And being tired makes my hearing worse.
But Jenna did a brilliant job at tamping down my anxiety.
The demeanor of the person I’m talking to affects how well I can hear. Taciturn or surly souls make it harder to hear. Jenna was neither. She was talkative and easy-going. By keeping up a constant stream of conversation, it gave me more words to try and hear. The more words spoken, the more I was able to get. That’s not to say I got them all. This wasn’t a fairy tale. And being easy-going made mt introverted aversion to conflict moot.
Even though it was exhausting, I had a good time.
Julie? She was in her element.
Just like the heavenly choirs serenading her in the TV studio, there was a seraphim symphony playing as she entered the photography studio. Some people just belong in some places. Some people are meant to be the center of attention. There was even a costume change to enjoy! But just because she enjoyed it didn’t mean she was spared the challenges.
What challenges, you ask? I’ll turn things over to her to fill you in!
I had already shaken out my Bellatrix Lestrange-esque locks and sectioned it into clips, preparing to wrestle my mane into my preferred sleek style with a slight bend at the ends. The flat iron was plugged in, starting its slow ascent to the highest heat setting (440 degrees), which was still not quite hot enough to wrangle my coarse curls and waves into submission.
I have tried to embrace my natural hair, but after three days of going without my heat tools and products, I inevitably conclude that I am a better person when doused in flammable spritzes and sprays in the name of straight hair.
I stared at myself in the mirror as I waited, analyzing my eyebrow arches, and wondering aloud if I should swipe on a tad of makeup (which I despise). I marveled at my double rows of eyelashes – a genetic mutation that all of the DeMatteo kin share. I checked my teeth for any lingering bits of fajita from an earlier lunch. Finally, as I noticed the indicator light on the flat iron signal its readiness, I stepped back and flashed my signature smile, framed by deep dimples, at my reflection. I threw in a little wink for some added flair.
I was practicing.
In the early days of our collaborative partnership, we got away with some Bitmoji graphics designed to look enough like us that we could use them in presentations, on business cards, and our website. As the company began to grow and we increased our content creation, we realized we needed actual photos, so we bought a selfie stick. We have become more visible on social media and opportunities are starting to come our way that require promotional materials, and as cute as we are in a candid selfie, it was time to up our photographic game.
We needed headshots.
(And neither of us wanted to do it.)
Ironically, because I grew up in a family of extreme extroverts that excelled in the performing arts, I am very comfortable (perhaps too comfortable) in the spotlight. To me, all the world is a stage – and I am perfectly comfortable at the center of it all. Need someone to give an impromptu toast at a celebration? Hand me the nearest glass of champagne. Find yourself lacking a karaoke duet partner? Cue up Johnny Cash and June Carter and let’s knock out a rendition of “Jackson”. No one is dancing on an empty dance floor? Throw on “September” by Earth, Wind, and Fire and get out of my way. I am equally as comfortable having my picture taken or appearing on videos – as evidenced by the very nature of the content that we produce as part of “Hearing Things with Julie and Brad”.
But a formal photoshoot? I was a nervous wreck.
It made no sense, I was a natural performer and shyness is not a word anyone would ever use to describe me! Plus, I wasn’t going it alone – I had Brad along for this adventure as we would also be doing branding shots for our company, Down the Tube Productions.
As I continued my primping and preening, I wrestled with pinpointing exactly why my anxiety was ticking up at an alarming rate. I knew the photographer! I had watched her work with family members!
I went through a mental checklist of everything that was occupying my brain and causing me worry – starting with my hair frizzing on the ride over due to rain; then obsessed over whether my jeans would fit even though I tried them on that very morning; followed by questioning the shade of blue of my sneakers I packed for our casual look photos; and landed on how visible my hearing aids were going to be in pictures.
Aha.
As usual, even after wearing hearing aids for the majority of my life, my hearing loss is present in every situation. I paused at the irony that the photographs being taken were in support of the work that we are doing to bring hearing loss to the forefront, but I suddenly felt awkward and insecure about their visibility. Most of the time, I am pushing my hair behind my ears or piling it up on top of my head when I have simply had enough of it snaking around my shoulders, revealing the very pink, very sparkly, and very “in your face” nature of my aids for the world to see.
I pondered this perplexing and unexpected rush of emotion, and decided that employing a visualization exercise would be of benefit to temper my anxiety and assist in my figuring out what was at the root of my fears. I drew on my memory of observing Jenna, the photographer, working with family members during a photo shoot. I recalled her friendly demeanor, efficiency and easy communication style. I remembered her giving many verbal directions to help them adjust their clothing, or pose, or shuffle this way or that…oh.
And there it was, as clear as a flashbulb going off on the red carpet.
How was I going to navigate a situation where I was expected to “act natural” in order to get authentic photographs while simultaneously relying on a defunct auditory channel to gather and process all of the information needed to achieve such authenticity.
I was going to have to navigate this entire process using my flawed hearing, made worse by the fact that I couldn’t employ my default strategy of lipreading. If I was put into a pose, I couldn’t then turn my head to lipread the photographer if more directions were given. My heart sunk at once again realizing that there is never a situation where my hearing loss does not creep its way to center stage.
No wonder I was nervous.
I finished my preparations, gathered my coat, backpack, and Brad, and trudged to the car. As we began the short ride to the studio, my nerves were tingling and my breath was growing a bit shallower. Brad was calm and reassured me that it was going to be great. As is our habit, by the time we arrived at the studio I was shifting to excitement at the performative aspect of the photo shoot. I ventured a quick glance at Brad for reassurance, and noticed his fidgety hands and smoothing of his fingers over his knuckles – a surefire “tell” that his hesitation was starting to rise while mine started to calm down. We take turns in every stressful situation – I flip out on the lead up to the thing, and as it draws closer I flip into excitement while he begins his own anxious journey as we traipse into the new and novel, often a result of one of my wild musings and propensity for adventure
I mustered my confidence, and switched into what I secretly refer to as, “Ta Da!” mode – giant smile, sparkling personality, and bubbling enthusiasm – all designed to mask the inner terror and anxiety over this potentially scary situation.
Out of the car, and into the photography studio we went.
As the talker of the duo, I rehearsed how I was going to disclose our hearing loss to Jenna as well as request accommodations that we would require to make this process as smooth and efficient as possible. I did not want to waste her time or her skills, and I was so nervous about fumbling
around or stepping too far forward or not turning my head in the right direction even after directions were repeated. I felt like we were about to be a burden and we hadn’t stepped foot into the studio yet.
I should not have had even an ounce of trepidation. Jenna was a gem! Her thoughtful questions, adjustment of speech volume, and attentiveness to our comfort level was more than I could have ever imagined. She was unbelievable – in both her craft, direction, and accommodation.
I aligned myself for the first headshot, and confidently flung my hair back over my shoulder, proudly displaying my glittery molds without question.
Cher, Liza, and Ava would have been proud.
Like J. Giles once said:
Angel in the centerfold?
It’s a family show!
If you find yourself in need of a photographer in the southeast Maine area, we highly recommend contacting the absolutely fabulous, incredibly skilled, and unmatched accommodator of the deaf and hard of hearing – Jenna Doughtry!
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