For years, as a photographer, I avoided self-portraits. I fell into the trap of thinking that showing myself to the world was just a form of covert narcissism. But my relationship with my own image is complicated. When I was a teenager, a photo of mine became a global meme—an image of my face scattered across the internet, consumed by millions of strangers without my consent. Later, I joined a band that didn’t have knowledge of my style until they met me; they wanted me for my aesthetic, exploited my image, and then put all the blame on me when they faced accusations they were too cowardly to accept. My image has been exploited, commodified, and used as a shield by others since I was a teenager. So why show myself now? Because I am taking the steering wheel back. If my aesthetics are going to exist in the world, they will be defined by me, on my own terms. It’s not dishonest to reclaim what was stolen. It’s sovereign. I am a tall, intensely focused woman covered in tattoos, with ...