When reading J.H. Pearl’s essay on Roland Barthes, I was very intrigued by the theorist’s outlook on photographs taken of himself. I resonate with much of what he said, not because I hate getting my picture taken, but with the feeling of self-examination when staring into a camera lens. It feels disingenuous to pose as oneself - fixing your appearance and demeanor to appeal to an audience, ironically attempting to maximize authenticity. For me, this is the case for candid photographs. However, I love to look back at and reminisce about moments captured from a distance and, sometimes, without my knowing. If this image were to be posted online and subject to the lens of a viewer, however, I would feel as if my privacy had been violated and would have wished to consent to the photograph being taken. When speaking about his feelings towards photography and its value, Barthes contradicts himself as he details the importance of the portrait of his mother to him and the purposes it has served to him; yet, when the lens is flipped onto himself, his selfish and arrogant thought process forgets the exterior worth of snapping a moment in time.