Resting Midjourney Face
The time I asked AI to take my picture
Not to brag, but I have a degree in photography. My senior project was a set of studio portraits. I got an A. Again, not to brag. Since then, I’ve grown into a mediocre to bad photographer. Having an iPhone in my pocket has somehow made me worse at taking pictures, even though the rest of the world seems to be thriving in a smartphone photography world.
All of this is to say that I should be able to take one photo of myself that I like for this Substack. I’ve seen heaps of writers in their stacks, sitting in offices or writing studios, looking all writer-y. I need a kick-ass self-portrait. With that in mind, I snapped some shots, which were… not good.
So I did what any self-respecting slacker would do, I turned to the internet, Google to be more specific, I’m no Duck Duck Go weirdo. Google told me that AI could do this for me. I saw before AI pics and after AI pics that looked legit. It turned beasts into beauties. That gave me hope. That hope led me to Midjourney, which led me to Discord, which, of course, led me away from Discord to YouTube to learn how to use Discord and, in turn, Midjourney.
One thousand YouTube videos later, I got set up in Midjourney. The first thing I did was upload a picture of myself, one I’d taken a few years ago after what may have been my last haircut. You can tell in the photo that I’m still on a salon high. That’s what I call the period after a haircut where you’re still confident you can replicate your new hairstyle. Then you take a shower, and you quickly realize there’s a reason you pay other people to fix your hair.
With my salon high pic uploaded, I wrote my first Midjourney prompt:
“Portrait of THE MAN in a writer’s office”
THE MAN in the prompt refers to the picture I uploaded of myself. I am THE MAN. In theory, that means that I should get back photos that look like The Me in the picture.
I got back 4 pictures. This is the first:
Let’s dissect this. I’ll start with what the robot got right:
I have the standard issue hipster glasses.
My beard is very shaggy.
I do have wavy hair.
I own books.
I also own curtains.
Now, what did Middy get wrong:
I don’t wear blazers.
I rarely wear button-up shirts. I reserve those for funerals or meetings, which can have a similar vibe if it’s a bad meeting or, to be honest, a good funeral.
I do not have bookcases in my office. In fact, I work in my garage surrounded by dusty tools and camping gear.
I do not have a Buddha statue.
I don’t get fresh sunlight on my face. Again, I can’t emphasize this enough: I work in a garage.
And lastly… I look nothing like this!
Moving onto the second image.
Okay, so we’re getting closer here.
I don’t have a lamp per se but I do get all of my work light from an artificial source. I have also worn a sweater like this before with the sleeves kind of bunched up in a I’m-ready-to-work pose. This beard is closer to mine. Although I trim around my lips, so that kissing is less disturbing for my wife. But THE MAN does have the same works-in-his-garage aura as I do, if you know what I mean.
I never have a stack of papers. I have a real issue with printers. They never work. Like ever. You know that scene from Office Space where they destroy the copy machine? I’ve lived that but with a printer. There is, however, a printer next to my desk. But it is exclusively used by my wife. I will never print out a script or short story to edit by hand like THE MAN here.
This is the third image.
So let’s address the elephant in the room, those are not my arms. But I do have that shirt. The style and color is the same as, what my wife colloquially calls my meeting shirt, because I have a meeting uniform. Doesn’t everyone? It’s this blue shirt. Some jeans. And boots.
Again with the book cases. So yes, I have a book case in the house. I’ve only read a third of the books. My wife has read the others. I am a digital book man. All digital, all the time. I see there are more lamps and more windows.
I do want to call out his hair. It’s kind of wild. But is it wrong that I like it? I struggle with hair styles. I hate getting hair cuts because of how intimate the whole experience is. So much touching and caressing and rubbing. I’ve always wanted one of those crazy hair styles that looks like you just woke from a nap or just finished kicking the shit out of a laser printer. But no matter what I do, mine just parts down the middle. I look more like Claire Danes from My So Called Life but with less volume and bounce.
Lastly, was this guy.
Now I’m wearing a vest? What is happening? Now to actually brag, I have a full head of hair. I am confident, because I ask my wife almost weekly, that my hair isn’t thinning out. So what does Midjourney know that I don’t? Not that there is any wrong with a bald head. We all know Statham is smoking. But THE MAN, also known as me, is not Jason Statham.
More books. More papers. More windows with great views. More clocks.
I figured maybe the office was the problem. I tried to simplify things by going outside.
“Portrait of THE MAN standing in a field”
Still not me. This isn’t even THE MAN from the office. I also never layer. It’s too hot. Outside didn’t seem to be the solution. So I thought maybe no background. Just focus on… THE MAN. Focus less on making it seem realistic.
“Portrait illustration of THE MAN”
“Who is this?” you say.
“No idea,” I reply.
Why is THE MAN’s hair swooping across like that? And what happened to the beard? My beard is thick, this guy is really struggling to get it to fill out. I’m confident when he is an adult, he might have a full beard.
From that point on, all hope was lost. There was no way I was going to find the right photo. So I decided to just swing for the fences. It was time to make me cool.
“Glamour photo of THE MAN, leather jacket, wide shot, studio lighting, shot on Fujifilm Eterna 400”
I like THE MAN’s confidence here. He flies planes. He can put contacts in but chooses not to. He catches footballs. He doesn’t wear an Apple Watch, yet he has a very popular YouTube channel focused on tech. He has a regular barber that gives him the usual. And look at how tightly his mustache is trimmed. That’s a guy that knows how to make out.
He is not me.
Needless to say, I failed at my mission. I did not find myself in the machine. I did, however, create a new person: THE MAN. THE MAN is not me. He’s also not not me. He feels like me. The me from my failed self-portraits. (The portraits you’ll never see.) The me that was trying to look serious. Trying to look authoritative and intelligent. The me that people might believe struggles to wrangle words on a page but somehow through years of training and practice has figured it out. The me that is trying too hard. The me that looks like he’s holding back a fart.
This contraption had failed to capture my outside appearance but could still convey my essence.
In a world where a picture is worth a thousand words, I just wrote 1,300, rather than share my picture.
So here’s to me… THE MAN.
