22/10/2026
Are we airbrushing away our own history?
When I was in Vienna recently, I visited Mozarthaus and saw something that completely fascinated me. A cast of what is believed to be Mozart’s death mask.
I couldn’t stop looking at it. Could this really be his face? Not an artist’s interpretation, not a flattering portrait, but the actual face of a man who lived more than 200 years ago?
I was so intrigued that I contacted the museum to ask about its authenticity. They very kindly replied and explained that although it’s said to be a cast of the original death mask, even the scientific community is divided over whether it’s genuine.
And I thought, what a shame. Wouldn’t it be incredible to know for certain what Mozart actually looked like?
It got me thinking about photography, airbrushing and the images we’re leaving behind.
As a photographer, I’m certainly not against retouching. I’ll happily soften a few lines, brighten tired eyes, remove a temporary blemish or make little adjustments that help someone feel more confident in their photographs.
And I’m not against Botox, fillers, facelifts or whatever anyone chooses to do to feel good about themselves. That’s entirely personal.
But I do wonder whether, with all the filters, AI and increasingly dramatic airbrushing, we’re beginning to lose something quite precious.
Our authenticity.
As a mum, I think about this differently now.
When our children are grown, when they’re our age, and they look back at photographs of us, what will they see?
Will they see the faces they remember? The little lines around our eyes when we laughed, the expressions we made, the way our cheeks moved when we smiled?
Or will they see a version of us that never really existed?
I sometimes wonder whether we’re unintentionally creating unrealistic expectations for our children, too. If every photograph they see of their mum has been perfected, will they grow older and wonder why they don’t look as flawless as we appeared to?
I photograph weddings, newborns and families, and some of my favourite photographs are the completely unguarded ones. The enormous belly laughs, the scrunched-up faces, even the double chins that appear when someone is laughing so hard they can’t contain themselves.
I absolutely love those double chins. They’re often the best photographs because they’re full of genuine happiness.
And isn’t that what our children will want to remember?
The way we really looked when we were happy. The face they knew and loved.
Our faces are part of our children’s history.
We have more photographs of ourselves today than any generation before us, yet I wonder whether future generations might actually have a harder time knowing what we truly looked like.
Which brings me back to Mozart.
We have portraits and sculptures of historical figures, but those were always influenced by the artist, the fashions of the time and perhaps a little artistic licence. Even the great sculptors, including Michelangelo, were creating interpretations through their own eyes and hands.
A genuine life mask or death mask, though, would be something quite extraordinary. A physical impression of someone’s actual face.
I find that fascinating.
In fact, I’ve been thinking I might like to have a life mask made of my own face one day, just to leave something for my son. Slightly creepy, perhaps, but how wonderful to have something so real!
We treasure little casts of our babies’ hands and feet because we want to remember exactly how tiny they once were. There’s something incredibly moving about preserving those little details.
And perhaps our faces deserve that same appreciation.
I’m not suggesting we stop retouching photographs, or that anyone should feel guilty about wanting to look their best. I certainly don’t want to give up a flattering photograph myself!
I just think there’s a balance between looking our best and changing ourselves so much that we no longer look like ourselves.
Because one day, the photographs we take today will become someone else’s history.
And I wonder whether the people who love us will treasure our imperfections far more than we ever did.
I’d genuinely love to know what everyone thinks about this. Are we becoming too reliant on filters and retouching, or is it simply another way of presenting ourselves, just as portrait artists have done for centuries?
