Why Comfort Is More Powerful Than a Perfect Pose

There’s a moment in almost every session when someone asks:

“What should I do with my hands?”

It’s a fair question. Most people don’t spend their lives in front of a camera. Being photographed can feel unnatural, exposed, even awkward. The instinct is to reach for instruction — for a pose.

But here’s the truth: the best photographs rarely come from a perfect pose.

They come from comfort.

A Perfect Pose Is Technically Correct

Comfort Is Emotionally True

A technically perfect pose checks boxes:

Good posture.
Defined jawline.
Balanced weight.
Clean lines.

There’s nothing wrong with that. I understand light. I understand angles. I understand how to guide someone into a flattering position.

But if someone feels stiff, self-conscious, or unsure — you can see it.

Tension shows in hands, in shoulders, in the way someone holds their breath.

And no amount of technical perfection can hide that.

Comfort Changes Everything

When someone feels comfortable, something shifts.

Breathing slows. Shoulders drop. Hands relax. Eyes soften. Expression becomes natural instead of performed.

That’s when I really start photographing.

Comfort doesn’t happen by accident. It comes from conversation. From time. From not rushing. From letting someone feel seen before they’re ever asked to pose.

Sometimes we don’t take a single serious frame for the first 20 or 30 minutes. We talk. We laugh. We adjust. We settle.

And then the real images start to happen.

I Don’t Photograph Poses

I Photograph People

The goal of a session isn’t to create a magazine layout.

It’s to capture something real. A subtle smirk. A breath between words. A glance that isn’t rehearsed.

The moment after someone forgets they’re being photographed — that’s usually the frame that matters most.

Comfort allows authenticity.

And authenticity is always stronger than perfection.

The Difference You Can Feel

Over the years, I’ve had people tell me they left a session feeling more confident than when they walked in. Not because I hid anything. Not because I reshaped them into something different. But because they saw themselves the way others already did — without the harsh self-criticism they’re used to carrying.

Sometimes the camera doesn’t change how someone looks. It changes how they see themselves.

That matters to me more than any technical compliment.

Because when someone feels comfortable, they show up as themselves.

And when someone shows up as themselves, the photograph stops being about how they look and starts being about who they are.

That’s always more powerful than a perfect pose.