FB: "How about this one?"
ME: "No, my face looks like a fat chimp."
FB: "OK, this one?"
ME: "I look like a horse on sleeping pills."
FB: "OK, maybe this one?"
ME: "Yeah, if the title of my album was Triple Chins."
FB: "OK this? You look beautiful here."
ME: "Sure, if you're into giant bag eyes."
FB: "Where do you see any bags? There's NOTHING THERE."
ME: "If you truly cannot see the steam trunks of luggage under my eyes, then I don't know what to tell you. No way. This is NOT the album cover. NEXT."
My art direction for my album cover has been shamelessly narcissistic and simple:
Hot picture of me.
I don't really care what style, what colors, what genre, whatever. As long as I look smoking hot, it's AWESOME by me. I have picked apart at least 250 photos of myself, crazily scanning every inch of my face for the flaws. The major problem I have run into is that apparently in a photo shoot, my "sexy" look actually reads as "I hate you/die now/I am miserable and want to kill everyone."
Thankfully, before I had to resort to watching America's Next Top Model for clues (actually, I'm lying...I have already watched every episode of every season, who am I kidding?), FB found a treasure trove of photos he took of me in Coney Island before we left New York. The second I saw them, it hit me. These are the album art.
Coming soon, hehe.