Bruce Almighty

Photographed By Ellinor Forje

Life is strange.

Twenty years ago, one entire wall of my bedroom was plastered with magazine pages torn from Bruce Weber’s photography. I had cut them out and arranged them in a fervent attempt to create a masterpiece collage. It was a half-butch, semi-successful effort, largely because the most compelling images had to be carefully concealed from my parents’ view (Mark Wahlberg posing semi-naked in a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs did not go down well with the parental unit then, nor now, nor ever).

I was completely in awe of Weber growing up. Still am.

And yet, the day I finally ran into him, I could hardly believe my eyes. I recognized him instantly, the bandana gave him away, but, just to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me (pinching myself never quite suffices), I conducted a brief Q&A:

“Are you a photographer?”

“Yes.”

“Are you Bruce Weber?”

“Yes. I am.”