I’ve got a confession to make. I’m a very convincing liar. I wasn’t born with this skill, it was developed in my childhood and perfected in my teen years. I learnt this skill out of necessity. I was raised by a very strict Sicilian born mother, who decided that it was in my very best interest to not date boys or go to parties until I was at least 18 years old.
I became a master “liar, liar pants on fire”. The trick to becoming a convincing liar is believing your own spin. I would come up with a story to tell my mother and visualised myself in the situation as I told it.
I didn’t know this at the time, but learning the fine art of lying to a Sicilian mother puts you in roughly the same rank as a secret agent. The slightest change in vocal tonality, tilt of the head or sideways glance was the difference between life and death – or another Saturday night at home vs going to the coolest party of the week.
Lying and faking it is a tactic I see many photographers use all the time. I often overhear things like:
“That’s . . .