The Rise of the EPO

What is the deal with Engagement Photo Ops? When did this become a thing? Was it a thing before Facebook became a thing? 
 
There are probably millions of these photos out there, lost to the World, neatly filed but decoratively arranged in albums with the couple's names engraved on the cover.

Of course, they are almost certainly covered with dust and sitting in Grandma's closet in a picnic basket that hasn't been used since picnic baskets were also things. Because no one looks at an EPO collection more than one time.

It was nice, the first time I saw one. (Of course, it actually was my Grandparents album, and it was a Wedding Album with some pre-Wedding photos.)

And then, it was still relatively nice when I was in my early twenties and my friends and old high school classmates getting married was still a relatively new phenomenon. That was back when people thought Facebook was a really great way to meet girls and rekindle lost friendships rather than a convenient way to share photos with the family or lose a job with style.

And sure, even then, sans Facebook, it was nice to see that, wow, Grandma and Grandpa were kids once. Damn, they got married young. It was even interesting seeing me standing next to my Mother and Father, looking like a boss with a stupid grin on my face.

Nowadays, everyone has a cousin or girl-friend that's a photographer. Five out of every four people have gone to Best Buy and looked through their camera section thinking, "Damn, if I could only afford this one I would take the absolute shit out of some photos." 

Because, of course I would be great at it.



The thing that gets me, and this may seem horrible, Future Wife, but, I really can't think of anything I'd like to do less, in regards to getting married, than pose for an EPO. Wedding Photos? Sure. We're having a good time. We're dancing. Our friends and family are here. Let's take those photos. Someone get over here and take the absolute shit out of some photos.

But the idea of finding a photographer, (Not hard, got forty or so on my Facebook, I'll just post a status like "Hey need a photographer for something." And before I hit "enter" I'll have three personal messages and a price quote.) finding a location, and then smiling at my fiancee for however long an EPO takes to get done sounds suspiciously like torture.

I can just hear the not quite Hipster not quite Preppy photographer talking now:

Smile at her lovingly.

Now smile at her lovingly but tilt your head to the left.

Now lean against this tree, touch her stomach, and smile at her lovingly.

Too lovingly.

Whoa. Not lovingly enough? Dude, are you cheating on her?

Let the love reach your eyes.

Now stand in front of the sun. Lean on the tree. Climb the tree.

SMILE LOVINGLY AT HER FOR THE SAKE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY!

Eventually, because I'm me, I'll get frustrated. Then I'll get smarmy. Then Future Wife will get mad, and then I'll get mad. But she'll smile, because she loves me (but she's beginning to question it) and say to me, in her most supplicatory voice, "Do it for me, baby."

And then she'll smile lovingly. 

And of course I'll do the damn EPO, and the entire time I'll be thinking, if I am ever actually tortured, I'm sure it will be to the tune of "Do it for me, baby."



So now, it's a Tuesday evening and (the Collective) we see that Sally is getting married. Yey, Sally! Congratulations!

10 seconds or so after her status changes to "Engaged" (because that's the most important part of being engaged,) an EPO surfaces. As a member of Sally's 500 friend strong Facebook circle, we feel that we are wanted, if not required, to take a look. So we glance, we click through the photos leisurely, or if the album seems to go on into Eternity, then rapidly. Then we move on with our day.

Sometime later, let's say less than two years after our run in with Sally's EPO, we run into her at a bar. Or a coffee shop, grocery store, whatever floats your fantasy boat.  And the following conversation inevitably happens:

"So how have you been, David?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, thanks. The job isn't what it used to be and the girlfriend thinks I need a haircut, so I'm picking up this bag of M&M's to make myself feel less morose about the whole situation."

"Wow."

"Yeah. So how are you?"

"Well, my husband and I went to the Ke--"

"Oh! You got married! When?"




*Sally is a fictitious character used to make this blog more relevant and connect to you, the reader.
*David is my name because I'm the writer and I get to to put my name in prestigious places. Like the Internet.