BEEN THERE. DONE THAT. GOT THE PHOTO.

🎧AUDIO QUACK🎧

Skip introduction: 2:51

“Gen Z are turning their phones the other way to selfie,” Sausage said. “It’s so much better that way.” She took a selfie. “See,” she said, showing me the results. It was a good selfie.

We were on the Brooklyn Bridge during magic hour. The bridge was heaving with photoshoots of selfies and skylines. As the sun fell behind the financial district, I attempted to do the Gen-Z-selfie-way, only to produce a smudged photo of my face. Huh. I suppose you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.

With camera phones and social media, photos are no longer an afterthought but a vital part of our experiences. Photos of ourselves in places are proof that we have been there. That we have a life. Been there. Done that. Got the photo.

That week in New York, Sausage and I went to The Summit, a newish tourist spot with some of the city’s most outstanding views. It’s the 30^th tallest building in the world, towering 1,401 feet tall. (If you’re not into measurements like me, that is approximately 83 giraffes). We went at 10:30 am to avoid the queue but had forgotten that this was Manhattan, so there was, of course, an anaconda of a queue.

We had our photos taken twice before getting into the elevator. In the first one, we were instructed to “Look up to the ceiling.” So, we did. The second photo was taken using a face scanner.

“Why?” I asked one of the Summit crew members.

“Oh. So, we can turn your face into a cloud…”

This made me more suspicious and confused.

We finally rode the elevator up the 93 floors to the top. We were directed into a vast, mirrored room with panoramic city views. Tourists were lying on the floor, taking photos of their reflection in the ceiling. Others had their boyfriends taking pictures of them gazing at the city below.

“Ok, Steven, can you do it one more time? This time can you not have the wide angle on?”

“But how will you see the city?”

“GOD STEVEN!”

Meanwhile, Sausage and I attempted to be pinpricked by the Empire State Building’s ariel. It’s harder than it looks.

The next room was full of floating silver balloons resembling metal bubbles. It appeared dreamy on The Gram, but the place was chaos in real life.

People were scrambling over prime photo spots, children were throwing and popping balloons, and the security was shouting, “Do NOT pop the balloons!” After taking a shedload of photos and being smacked in the face with a balloon by Dennis the Menace kid, Sausage and I moved on to the next room.

It was a screen that spread across the wall, with a video of rolling clouds and zen music playing in the background. Now and again, a face will appear in the clouds. Oh god.

“That’s not me!” I yelped as Sausage pointed at a smiley, chubby-cheeked woman appearing. Sausage was next, her face poking out like a worm coming out of a hole. We were not attractive clouds.

At the end of the experience, in the gift shop, we were shown the first photo they took of us. We looked like we had just been told to “Look up at the ceiling.”

They had superimposed us onto different backdrops of New York and even made us into a timelapse.

They wanted to sell us a photo album including photos of us as clouds.

Sausage said no.

I said yes

The next day, we went to a vintage photo booth called Old Friend in the East Village. I learned about it when someone on my Instagram posted a classic photo strip of him and his girlfriend.

The faded yellow box with a brown scratchy curtain was hidden next to a humble store selling cheap suitcases. We only spotted it because of the queue of 18–35-year-old women and the odd supportive boyfriend.

A woman took a photo of the strip with her phone as it came out of the machine. The idea impressed the queue, and we all decided to copy her. A man standing close by, wearing a Knicks top, didn’t understand.

“Is that what you do now? Take photos of your photos?” He scoffed. The queue dismissed this man as an idiot. Play with a ball or something. This was our fun.

When each pair stepped out of the booth, they came with a tip on how to use it: You can only see yourself in the reflection. Change your pose as soon as it flashes. There are four photos. You only get one strip.

“Why is it wet?” A young girl asked, panicked as she picked her strip up from the machine. We have come a long way.

By the time Sausage and I entered the booth, we were prepared. We crammed in on the rickety stool, paid the $8, and pressed go. Flash. Change pose. Flash. Change pose. We stood outside and waited for a few minutes, and then the film dropped out of the machine with a small “tit”. Sausage took a photo of the photo in the machine. I took a photo of Sausage taking the photo of the photo in the machine. This is getting out of hand.

Today, we can take hundreds of photos of ourselves anywhere we choose. We can flip our phones the Gen-Z way. Or the normal way. We can add a filter to make us look ten years younger. We can even turn our faces…. into clouds. Yet, despite the evolution of photos, there is still a queue outside an old photo booth in East Village. Maybe because four faded black and white photos of you and your best friend, taken in an old tatty booth with no way to edit them, are some of the best pictures you will ever have.