Some call it overphotoshopped. I call it perfect.
Sometimes purity is best preserved in a colorless universe.
I've always been a proponent of Photoshop - idealism is at the core of fashion, and how else could we achieve the perfect worlds of Mert and Marcus, Greg Kadel, or Camilla Akrans? But as much as I love those high-definition universes with their shadowless, poreless models, I've recently realized that realism possesses its own brand of subtle beauty. Though it may not be as stereotypically flawless, a seemingly untouched image can convey far more powerful sentiments than its edited counterpart. I'm not saying that these supposedly realistic images aren't airbrushed - they probably are to some extent - but they don't sacrifice their potent rawness and natural candor in the process. All the same, not every image needs to appear so spontaneous - in many scenarios, it simply wouldn't work. And if anything, it's more difficult to capture the right formula in a "natural" snapshot: I've seen far too many so-called "realistic" images that were too mundane or flawed to be considered art. But it's important to keep in mind that sometimes, in the pursuit of perfection, an image can lose the idiosyncratic dimensions that made it so valuable in the first place.
More after the jump.
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