I spotted videographer Fitchie Capone, leaning on a sign at the corner of Broad and Chestnut, from across the street and down the block and knew immediately that I wanted to photograph her. It might have been the cheetah spots on the side of her head or the puffy pink fro, but I think it was more something about how she carried herself. I hurried my pace and rushed through the crosswalk. I got a few shots of her on the sign, then asked her to pose on Chestnut where it wasn't quite so backlit. "I respect all artists," she told me, as we parted ways.
Here, she's wearing a tank top and cut-offs from Old Navy, shoes by Levis, and a pair of sunglasses she got from "some store on Chestnut." She describes her style as "spontaneous" and her taste in music as "everything." When pressed, she mentioned Soulja Boy as one of her all-time faves.
I got back late last night from the annual conference of the American Anthropological Association (AAA), the biggest professional society of anthropologists in the world and a frenetic mass of professors, grad students, and unemployed PhDs all vying for their place in an increasingly tight academic market. Over 6,000 of us buzzed through the hallways of the Union Square Hilton in San Francisco, attending panels, screening films, discussing the state of the discipline, and above all, loitering in the lobby, waiting for someone we know — or ought to know — to pass by. I always think the same thing the first time I step through the doors of the conference venue: does the world really need this many anthropologists?
But it was a good time, in any case. I saw lots of old friends and met lots of new people. And I gained a new perspective on the meetings through participating, for the first time, in board and editor meetings. I have a new position in the AAA, having recently taken over as Co-Editor of Visual Anthropology Review, the journal of the Society for Visual Anthropology.
I may have more to say on this subject when I've had more sleep. An anthropology fashion update may very well be in order. In the meantime, here's Kelcie, who I photographed last week on the streets of Philly. She's wearing a scarf made for her by her roommate's grandmother, a scarf, I might add, that has a distinctly anthropological quality about it. We are suckers for the handmade and the homespun, those objects woven through and through with cultural meaning and personal significance, especially when, like this one, it tells us something of the networks of kin that animate someone's life.
