I am not looking forward to the day when I have to have this conversation with my daughter. I’m not sure when it’s going to be, but I know it will have to be soon, and I am none too happy about it.

I will have to do it when there’s no one else in the house. I’ll probably have to get someone to take my son out for ice cream in order to have this private and uncomfortable chat with my eldest. I may try to ease the discomfort we will both undoubtedly be feeling by serving cookies or hot chocolate. But no matter how I try to frame it or phrase it, the message will have to be clearly communicated to my offspring in no uncertain terms. “Daughter,” I will say to her, because I actually do call her that. “It is essential…nay, it is imperative that you never, ever put a naked picture of yourself on the internet. Because, if you do, it is very, very likely that your daddy will see it. Neither of us wants that, do we?”

There was a time when the idea of taking a dirty picture of yourself was something that only the truly outrageous and wild at heart would ever dream of doing, and even then it was an intimate and private moment between you, your lover, and the one-hour photo booth guy.

I remember years ago seeing the in-depth 60 Minutes report that blew the lid off the scandalous practices of photobooth guys across the nation who actually had the power and the audacity to make a copy of your naked picture for himself! Oh the shock and horror! Such an unprecedented betrayal of a sacred trust, photobooth guy!

My daughter would never know that world, however. That all changed when she was still an infant, with the advent of the digital camera. Finally we no longer had to deal with the hassle of loading film or standing in line at the photomat in order to see our own genitalia from every possible angle.

That was the start if it. Those were the first snowflakes that began the long, slow drift down the mountain. It was mere months, not years, months before the inevitable evolution of this remarkable trend began to grow into the unstoppable juggernaut that it has become.

The first stampede came with the camera phones. It wasn’t enough that you could take a picture and have it appear on your computer, ready to be printed and relieved within seconds of the original occurrence. Now these magical image capturing devices were free! You didn’t need to be wealthy or a professional photographer to get your hands on these marvels of modern boudoir technology. All you needed was to sign a two-year contract, whatever that means.

Next came the social networking, where a picture of yourself became more than just a memory of a delighted moment. Now it was you. A picture of you became your identity. Your sigil. In the minds of many, your profile picture is more you than you are. And for some reason, a snapshot from your free camera phone, under dim fluorescent lights, in the bathroom mirror, was a perfectly acceptable alternative to finding a friend with a scanner.

From there the practice went viral. Millions upon millions of people the world over snapped photo after photo after photo of themselves. Bathroom mirrors. Bedroom mirrors. Dining room mirrors. Vanities, credenzas, rear-view mirrors, and even kitchen appliances. Whole websites were born, flourished, and crumbled under the weight of collecting, showcasing, and even critiquing your camera phone mirror pictures. It was a trend that had burst from the chest of the Internet with such fervor and tenacity that for a few years the bathroom mirror became the unofficial mascot if the Internet.

We were all so sure that this was a fad that would burn out as fast as it had begun. But no, it lives. It continues to be the go-to way to show off your new hairdo, party outfit, or successful efforts at weight loss. The years of asking our friends to take a picture for us is long gone, for the image of the photographic subject awkwardly holding the camera on their own hands has long since rid itself of it’s classless stigma.

What came next, of course, may not have actually come next. For all we know it may have been first, even if we’re only talking a matter of hours. It may be the next chicken or egg question to haunt the next thousand generations of deep thinkers. Which came first; the mirror shot, or the naked mirror shot?

We may never know which gave way to which, but we do know that the phenomenon of the naked mirror shot went from shameful deviance to mainstream act of empowerment faster than talking shit about celebrities in a dog grooming forum.

The question isn’t how this became so popular, that’s an easy and simple answer; because we liked it. We reacted to it, we rejoiced in it, we begged for more, and as our demand grew greater, so did the willingness to fill that demand.

The question is why? Why does this simple little image appeal to us so. Why does a clumsy snapshot under bad lighting with stained wallpaper in the background make the 13-year-old boy in my head squeal with glee?

Is it that same appeal that attracts us to the “girl next door,” that assumption that the girl in the mirror is more real than the girl in the magazine? Is it the raw sexuality of a girl who’s dropped all pretense and just wants to be seen as a sexual being? Is it that ever-so-slight hint of fantasy that this is a girl who might have just the right set of poor decision making skills to be attracted to a guy like me?

While all of these things are true, and probably helping to further the cause, I think the real reason is her smile. It’s only there for a moment, but it’s captured for an eternity in that picture. It isn’t the same “smile for the camera” smile that she’s used for every other picture taken of her before. It is a smile says something entirely different. It is a smile that says that for one breif moment, she looked at herself and liked what she saw. So few of us are allowed the privilege of that moment, and fewer still to see it happen in others.

It doesn’t matter what the origin is behind that picture. Maybe she took the picture and put it online herself in order to get attention from the huddled, unwashed masses that is the internet. Maybe it was at the request of an untrustworthy lover who wasted no time in copying the picture to everyone he knew in a gorilla-like act of chest-thumping pride. Or maybe she just needed to know if she had the nerve to go through with it. There’s no telling what brought her to that moment of carrying out this premeditated act of defiant self-adoration, but the undeniable fact is that for a singular moment in time and space she was smiling the most honest smile of her life. It’s a smile that says “Right now, I like me.”

A woman that looks in the mirror and likes what she sees is perhaps the rarest thing in the world these days, and it is the one thing in the world that we are all aching to see. We all like to talk about the details we think are important, like hair color, eye color, body type, bust size, sense of humor, creative aspirations, career path, agreeability, independence, affection, respect, or cheek bones, but these things are as changeable and negotiable as the weather. The truth is that what we find attractive in a woman are the very things that she finds attractive in herself. It is her own self-love that we want to be close to, to touch, to love. We love women exactly as much as they love themselves and for the briefest of moments that girl in the mirror is wholly in love with herself.

No amount of makeup can cover, fake, or fix that. No amount of lighting can enhance or detract from that. No backdrop can compare to it, no props can translate it. When she looks at her own naked body and smiles, that smile is the sexiest thing any of us will ever set eyes upon.

So what do I say to my daughter? How do I tell my baby girl that she is beautiful and she should never be ashamed of her body, but for the love of Batman don’t upload it?

Like I said, it is a message that must be clearly communicated to her but I have no idea how I’m going to get through it. And worst part is, even after I’ve worked through that obstacle, my daughter and I have come to an understanding, and we agree to never speak of this again; then comes the next, even more uncomfortable part of the conversation, when I ask her to pass the message on to her friends.

...Smile Naked