When a 60-year-old father of the bride-to-be just recently questioned me about the requirement of a photo booth, my only reaction was to lightly push him into the photo booth with his group of wonderfully tipsy wedding visitors. Fathers. They were all papa to somebody at the wedding event, and they at first had a tough time understanding why ‘the kids’ would queue at the photo booth. Certainly the reality that everyone had mobile phone implied that this was gimmicky (and I presume one of many things that had tallied approximately the relatively inescapable blowing of the wedding budget …).
The first photo on the strip was quite tame, with the group uncomfortably shuffling around, half-smiling. Photo number 1 appearing on screen showed some half-closed eyes and mouths caught mid-sentence, which set us up for some roars of laughter which made their method onto photo number 2. We were getting there … But when photo 3 provided us with a rogue member of the unit unexpectedly putting on a Rastafarian head piece, we stayed in business!
While I was pleased to see them experiencing the booth for what it was– simply a lot of enjoyable!– the real winning minute for me was later that evening, when the leader of the pack pulled his child by the hand into the booth for a moment that would just be theirs to share. At a wedding so packed with guests and a roaming photographer there to capture the huge minutes, the few personal minutes the bride and her dad had alone in the booth together, pulling amusing faces and suggesting props to each other looked like a true bonding minute.
I liked thinking of the replicate prints they left with increasing on 2 various refrigerators, in two various houses and the stunning connection there was in those photos in some cases being glimpsed at exactly the exact same moment.
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