The Client Chair: What Sitting for My Own Family Portraits Taught Me

I make my living photographing other people's families. So when it came time to get my own crew on film — my wife, two kids, and a dog with the attention span of a firework — I did what any sensible professional would do: I hired someone else and spent three weeks quietly panicking about it.

The session went fine. Better than fine, actually. But sitting in the client chair taught me more about preparation than a decade behind the camera ever did. Some of what I believed turned out to be true. A fair amount of it was nonsense. Here's the honest version.

I Broke My Own Rules Immediately

First thing I did was overprepare. I built a shot list. I scouted a location. I color-coordinated outfits on the living room floor like a man defusing a bomb. Then I texted the photographer three times in one day with questions she had already answered in her welcome guide.

She was gracious about it. But about forty minutes into the session, she gently put a hand on my shoulder and said, "You can stop directing now." I had been doing it without noticing — nudging my son's chin, repositioning my mother-in-law, apologizing for the dog. Old habits.

That's the first thing I'd tell any client: your only job is to show up and be present. Everything else is mine.

The Outfit Panic Is Real (and Mostly Unnecessary)

I get more outfit emails than any other question, and now I understand why. Standing in your closet at ten o'clock at night, everything you own looks wrong.

Here's what I learned from the other side: nobody remembers what you wore. They remember whether you looked like yourselves. My family ended up in jeans, neutral sweaters, and one unplanned splash of red on my daughter's boots, and that red is the only reason half the gallery doesn't look like a catalog spread.

Coordinate, don't match. Pick two or three colors and let everyone interpret them. Skip the logos and the brand-new shoes that will pinch by minute thirty. And if someone in your family has a piece of clothing they genuinely love, let them wear it. Comfort reads as confidence on camera, every single time.

Kids Don't Take Instructions. They Take Temperature.

I've written before about coaxing real smiles out of camera-shy adults, but kids are a different sport. Watching another photographer work with my four-year-old was humbling. She didn't ask him to sit still. She didn't bribe him. She got down on the ground, asked him what sound a dinosaur makes, and let the session become a game for about ninety seconds.

That's the whole trick. You can't manufacture a good mood, but you can protect one. Which means: feed them before, not during. Pad the timeline so nobody is sprinting from soccer practice. Bring a snack that doesn't stain. And accept that the photo where your toddler is mid-tantrum might end up being your favorite, because it's the one that actually looks like your life.

Grandparents Need a Chair, Not a Speech

This one surprised me. My mom has a bad knee and will never mention it. Twenty minutes of standing in a park is a long time for anyone over seventy, and a tired grandparent photographs tired.

Ask about mobility ahead of time. Mention it to your photographer. Twenty seconds of planning means we scout a bench, shoot the group frames first while everyone's fresh, and let Grandma sit for the rest. It also means we can build in a break without anyone feeling like the party is ending.

The same goes for the family member who hates being photographed. Give them an early slot, get the frames you need, and then let them off the hook. Nobody should spend an hour being miserable for the sake of a holiday card.

The Shot List Should Fit on a Napkin

My list had nineteen items. The photographer shot maybe six of them, and the ones she improvised were better.

What actually matters is three things: who needs to be in a photo together, whether there's a generational shot you can't recreate later, and any specific image you'll genuinely regret missing. Everything past that is furniture. Send it, sure — but send it as a wish, not a contract.

What Actually Made the Photos Good

The best frames from our session were taken in the ten minutes after the official session ended. My son had wandered off to throw rocks in a creek. My wife was laughing at something the photographer said. Nobody was performing. That's where the gallery lived.

None of that came from preparation. It came from a photographer who had room to work, a family that wasn't exhausted, and a schedule with enough slack in it to let something real happen.

What I'd Tell You Before Your Session

Less than you'd think. Wear something you'd wear on a normal Saturday. Feed everyone first. Tell your photographer about the knee, the nap schedule, and the kid who needs ten minutes to warm up. Send a short list, then let it go.

And when you get there, put the phone in the car. I did, mostly by accident, and it's the single best decision I made all day.

If you're thinking about a family portrait session this year, reach out — I'd love to hear what your family actually looks like.