The Curious case of The Polaroid Advent Calendar.

It was Black Friday and as I checked my shopping basket to see if anything I had added just might have dropped in price there it was. The Polaroid camera I had added on a whim had the red strike through and the new reduced price. I immediately checked it out for next day delivery. See the thing is, I never get an advent calendar. In the hullabaloo of the start of the holidays it just gets forgotten. My mind too busy trying to figure out all the other festive magic. But not this year. This time I said to myself if (and only if) the camera dropped in price, I would start a Polaroid advent calendar. One photo per day to capture the best moment that happened or to seal a feeling into a memory. One photo, no take backs, even if it was dreadful. That was the deal. We were going back to the 90s, full analogue, no socials, no tags, just me, the camera and the moment.

I cant remember being as excited about a parcel arriving as I was when it came. Lots of parcels arrive at this time of year, none for me unless they are supplements, but still exciting when you get your kicks out of gift giving and joy like me. Indeed getting great concert seats and picking the perfect gift I would list as my slightly odd superpowers! I’m not sure if it was the build up and excited anticipation, or the fear that this would not turn out to be the Hallmark holiday movie moment I was imagining, but I was a bundle of nerves as I unwrapped the plastic sealing the box. I would have to wait to start as it was not December yet but every time its iconic boxy shape caught my eye sitting on the shelf I found myself whispering the number of days to go.

When December finally rolled around I could not wait to start. I had told everyone I knew about my idea. I wanted their buy in and to spread the joy I was feeling. It was a nostalgic feeling, one that felt familiar but hadn’t been felt for a long time. I am known for my creative, if off the wall, concepts so I was met with reasonable excitement and knowing smiles. We would see, we would see. Day one was easy, I was taking my Mama to see Father Christmas. Yes, just us, two grown women off to visit the big guy in red (see I told you I had previous for hair brain ideas). The helpful Gen Z photo elf looked horrified as I excitedly thrust the Polaroid camera into her hands, explaining in a flurry of excited words the concept. And then the all too familiar sound and out projected the first photo, the first moment of my calendar encapsulated forever. I almost squealed as I gently took the camera and photo from the elf, like I was handling a precious relic. And now the waiting. It took so much longer than I remembered for the photo to develop. I resisted blowing on it and shaking it and tucked it in my bag. I distracted myself until we sat down for a coffee and got the photo out. It was dark, so dark you could barely make us out. The disappointment drowned me. No take backs, one shot. How had it gone so wrong? I wont bore you with the story of each daily photo (maybe not on this post) but here is what I learnt in 24ish days of me and my Polaroid.

1. It was a lesson in delayed gratification.

Waiting for each photo meant I couldn’t look at it straightaway and get that buzz from seeing a wonderful photo of people I loved or a funny moment. I had to wait. I started to notice as the days went on, an excitement building as I set up the photo. I knew I would have to wait an unknown number of minutes before I could see anything and yet that became part of its charm. It wasn’t waiting for long, but in a world where we now pretty much have zero wait for anything it felt hard at first. It was liberating not feeling jittery or being tempted to attempt to make it go quicker. In fact, there was something about watching the outlines of peoples heads slowly emerging that became an important part of the whole process. I noticed it trickling ever so slightly into other moments of my life. The need for everything to be satisfying immediately was waning.

2. It was a chance to develop (no pun intended) a new skill.

The last time I was in possession of a Polaroid camera I was too young to remember it. My Dad tells me how when I was a young child they would give me the family Polaroid camera and just let me loose with it. Random blurry photos of nothing with the odd decent one thrown in. I wont lie, I figured how hard could it be to just point and shoot an old camera. Hard. The first few photos were disappointingly dark even though the room was light. My phone camera would have nailed it. I didn't get it, so I needed to do some research. And that I did. Tips and tricks and things I needed to look out for. All the light, outside is best. So I tried new things and I started to think more about how and where my photos should be. I was learning, firing up my brain. It felt good to be doing something and getting better at it each time. By the end, I had it nailed! Not perfect but a Polaroid with north of 12 people in it that wasn’t dark take inside in the evening. Chefs kiss!

3. People bought into the feeling.

To start with, I wont lie, I think my friends thought it was a cute but coo coo, possibly social media trend idea that I wouldn’t stick with. See, I have these great ideas and ALL the intention of seeing them through but then life happens and they join the graveyard of all the others that have gone before them. However, I stuck with this one and obviously, the thing I wanted to capture the most was moments with people I loved. I wanted their gorgeous faces paused in time for me to look back on. Their smiles, their joy. This meant making people pause and be still for the photo ( because Polaroids have a habit of coming out burry if you move) so no quick snaps. The longer we did this though, the more people loved it. They were excited to be a part of this memory making process, they felt important and chosen. More than that, THEY were huddling around the developing photo, watching it for any sign of life. THEY were reminding me to take the photo. There was one moment where I looked up to see a bunch of nostalgic adults and curious teens all staring at this small blank square and for some reason it reminded me of watching tv as a family when I was a child. Everyone engaged in the same activity, waiting for the same ‘big reveal’. Shared anticipation and then shared joy as the photo emerged and everyone could comment, laugh, be satisfied with the ending. I hadn’t witnessed a moment like that for a long time and I felt content. Having people say they were looking up cameras to do the same next year made me realise this project might actually be a bit magic after all. It was reconnecting not just me, but those around me, with feelings and emotions they either hadn’t experienced before or ones lost in an ever developing tech world.

4. It became community property, not just mine.

As quickly as people around me bought into the feeling they became almost as invested in this project as I was. I noticed that very quickly these curated moments I was saving were not just mine anymore, I was storing them for all those around me too. Questions of what would happen to them now and requests of could you send me a photo of the photo were coming thick and fast. I didn't set out to create something to be shared but now I was in it it felt completely as it should. I had flash forwards to Christmas get together years from now, sitting going through the photos, in actual albums, intentionally assembled, laughing at memories and haircuts. That is the thing with capturing these special moments in an analogue way, you become the gatekeeper as there is only one, unless you have copies made but who copies a Polaroid?

5. It made me live in the present moment and seek joy.

Needing to take one photo everyday is not always as easy as you think. Sure, if you have a social gathering to go to you can capture the group. If you are baking gingerbread you can snap that. But on those quiet days where there is nothing planned but the everyday of school runs and laundry, what do you capture? In the first few days that was a challenge but the more I started to actively look for something I wanted to remember, the more joy I noticed as a side effect. I noticed how much I loved the local Christmas lights, couldn’t snap them as it would come out too dark but just noticing them was enough. I observed my boys huddled on the sofa watching something funny on tv. My family laughing whilst eating dinner. Sometimes I didn't want to jump up and grab my camera for fear of breaking the moment or I knew by the time I got set up the moment would have passed, but I still took the time to acknowledge it. Then it levelled up and it wasn't just things I could photograph. I observed how I felt after a lovely phone call with someone I loved or how gloriously warm my shower was. All of a sudden I could see and feel joy everywhere when I was actively trying and soon I didn't even feel like I was trying anymore sometimes. It also made me realise it is more important to live the moment and be present than it is to capture it. One shot, no take backs meant it was over in a flash. It was done and then we all moved on with our day. There was no editing, no retakes and that felt so freeing, like I had surrendered some control or pressure that I hadn’t asked for in the first place. I remember the exhilaration of taking photos on a film camera as a teenager and then putting the film in to develop. I was impatient so it was always on the 1 hour service. Waiting that 1 hour was excruciating because I had no idea what would be on the photos, some i didn't even remember taking because I lived in the moment, took the photo and then moved on. There was a simplicity in that which my brain loves.

6. Being analogue made it special almost exclusive.

In a world where just about everything of people’s personal lives is shared on social media, what could be more special than not doing that? It is like a secret. It seems mad to me that now we are living through a time where the phrase ‘if its not on socials it didn't happen’ is normal. Confession, I used to be that person. It started with nights out on Facebook. Uploading them as soon as you could the next morning whilst nursing a fast food breakfast and the hangover from hell no doubt. Tagging all your friends to prove you were there and so were they. Then Instagram arrived and I took photos of trees and sunsets for a while but then tagging and stories arrived and it became like the second coming of the night out FOMO. It progressed as I grew up into holiday photos, house photos, mum life photos. Tagging brands and people who potentially couldn’t give a flying rats ass! So who was I actually doing it for? Then I got sick of it and stopped. The world didn't end, shocking! Fast forward to my little advent calendar and it dawned on me that these photos would only ever be seen by the people I chose to show them to IN PERSON. Like, actual humans, sitting in the same room, taking the time to look at something. How special is that? Firstly to be chosen to be a part of the moment, the photo, the memory and then for there to only be the one copy of it that has to be seen in person. Is this why galleries and museums are so wonderful? Was I, in my own way, creating a museum of moments to be cared for and passed down for years to come? There is an exclusivity to being part of someone else’s memories. It isn’t about cliches and groups, it is about realising how loved you are by someone that they choose to share special moments of their life with you. I always say to my closest friends, it is an honour to watch your children grow up and to have you be in my children’s lives the same way. Maybe what I needed was a reminder that it isn’t about the number of likes from people I haven’t seen in years. It is about the exclusivity of doing life with the few who make it better. They are the ones in my calendar, because they matter.

7. One shot, no take backs helped me with my perfectionism.

I have fallen into 2 horrid traps with photos in my life. The first is taking photos and then leaving them to slip away from my conscious mind in the depths of a cloud. The second is taking 25 shots of the same cup of coffee, beach sunset or friendship group and then painfully pawing over them to find the perfect one to remember. There is obviously also editing on top of that too. I’m not a fancy editor but if I can make something a little brighter or straighten up a horizon I'm all for it. If I am feeling artsy maybe a black and white filter. And even after all those amendments and tweaks I'm still not sure I ever ‘love’ the final photo. Enter the Polaroid. Mildly anxious inducing for someone like me who doesn’t handle mistakes too well. I learnt fast that having the no take backs rule was going to test me more than anything my therapist had set me as homework! But you know what, I learnt to love it. As I lent into the process I soon realised the whole point wasn't to make the picture perfect. The thing I love the most looking back at old family Polaroids is the slightly blurry edges or the fact that one person isn’t looking or got away with pulling a ridiculous face. There is a joy in capturing the real, the unfiltered moments of life and we have lost that understanding now. I guess it is a bit like going to the theatre versus watching a movie. Anything can happen as life unfolds in front of you. There is no way of changing it and why should we. We are shaped by the moments we experience and as I dropped the need for perfectionism I gained a clarity that life is one shot, no take backs, and that is what I was capturing and starting to live.

So as I pack away the Christmas decorations and carefully place all the Polaroids from 2025 into an album, I feel very reflective about what this experiment has brought into my life. What started off as a little bit of fun has given me so much more and I do believe has changed my outlook. I think it has also reaffirmed things I knew about myself and what I really want from this one life I get. softly it has reminded me that  genuine feelings cant be filtered or edited and don’t need to be. You just needed to have been there.