Friday thing : license photo
Yes it's really me.
I’m not a fan of many pictures of myself and, like most people, especially not an ID photo. However, my driver’s license is an exception. Sort of.
I last renewed in 2010, not having any idea that it would be more than a decade before I would get a new photograph for it. In 2015, I could renew online and reuse my previous picture, which I thought was pretty good despite my slightly wild eyes - they made me take off my glasses and, being quite nearsighted, I couldn’t actually see the camera but didn’t want to squint.
Fast forward to the fall of 2020 when no one was going anywhere unmasked, much less the DMV, so I renewed again online, using the same photo even though I had stopped coloring my hair in 2019. That’s 30 years after the first grey appeared when I was 21 and started panic-dyeing every month.
The entire time I was coloring & highlighting my hair, the greys would start reappearing along my part line & temples within about five weeks. So I expected an array of skunk stripes when I decided to finally just let it go but was pleasantly surprised with a more even scattering of grey, silver, and white strands. Within a few months, my hair actually looked more Emma Thompson than bride of Frankenstein.1
Showing my ID during the last few years has become an unexpected litmus test for decency. Most people - the dutiful clerks when I’m buying wine, Will Call attendants, the occasional club doorman - take a glance and hand it back, satisfied that the birthdate (in the 1900s) or name is legitimate despite whatever they think about the differences between photo and real life. TSA agents are more scrutinizing, as they ought to be, but one guy at SFO perused my license, stared intently at me, and then right as I started to say “The photo’s a bit old” he blurted “You looked better like this” as he handed back my ID with a dismissive frown.2 I think someone behind me in line gasped; I lost consciousness for a moment.
I was still reeling from that experience a year or so later when I presented my license to the usher at a fancy bar in Portland. He seemed like a kind older gentleman but when he began the intense back & forth survey of picture versus person, I felt my jaw start to clench. Once again, I opened my mouth to bitterly acknowledge the differences when he sweetly announced “Happy birthday!” then directed us down the stairs before I could hug him or burst into grateful tears or do some other embarrassing, inexplicable perimenopausal thing.
Lately I’ve only been badgered by well-meaning folks reminding me to make sure I get my Real ID soon and I need simply say that I have a passport, not defend my haircolor choice. I still have one more year to legally use this reverse Dorian Gray picture, never aging in my wallet while I’m out here living my best bespectacled, grey-haired [no longer 140 lbs] life. Whether or not that TSA agent likes it.
Though once I did dress as her for a Halloween party, using my actual [dark-dyed] hair teased & Aqua Netted & sprayed with white streaks
I have not been writing my posts from jail, so we know that I did not throat punch him.
"You looked better like this" -- hahaha! I would've gasped, too.