You know, people ask me sometimes what makes a great business headshot. And usually what they’re expecting me to say is something about lighting or lenses or backdrops. And of course those things really do matter, but they’re not what makes a headshot great.
For me, a great headshot is about presence. It’s about that moment when the real person shows up — when you feel like someone is actually looking back at you through the photo.
It’s a hard thing to define, but it’s easy to recognize when you see it. There’s this sense of authenticity. The person feels relaxed, grounded, there.
I sometimes think about old 19th-century portraits. So many of them feel very formal, very stylized. You can admire them, but you can’t really reach the person. But then you look at something like Robert Cornelius’s early self-portrait — one of the first photographs ever made — and there’s this uncanny feeling of connection. He’s right there, from nearly two centuries ago, and yet you feel like you could talk to him. That’s what I’m looking for when I shoot a headshot. That sense of presence that bridges the gap between the person and the viewer.
And I think this sense of presence matters because of who’s going to be looking at the photo.
For a business headshot, that viewer is often a client, a colleague, a recruiter, maybe even someone making a hiring decision. The more that person on the other end feels like they’re looking at someone present, the easier it is for them to imagine working with you, feeling comfortable with you, trusting you.
It makes you seem approachable, genuine — like a real human being, not just a polished image. That’s why I chase that sense of presence. Because it’s not just about making someone look good; it’s about helping them connect with whoever’s on the other side of the screen.
Now, how you get to that moment really depends on the person in front of you. I’ve learned to adapt the way I communicate based on who I’m photographing.
If I’m working with someone who’s imaginative or expressive, like an artist or a musician, I might talk in more emotional terms: “Think about someone you admire walking into the room,” or “Imagine you’ve just heard good news.” They understand that language.
But if someone’s more analytical, I’ll explain things in a more literal way: “Turn your head this way so the light catches your eyes,” or “Let’s shift your weight so the posture feels more open.”
Either way, the point is to make a connection — to give them a glimpse of the process. Because people find things they don’t understand intimidating. If I can take away some of that mystery, they relax. And when they relax, the real person starts to appear.
Of course, it doesn’t always go that smoothly. Some people really hate having their picture taken. They come in tense, or guarded, and sometimes no matter what you do, that guard never fully comes down.
And that’s okay. In those situations, I focus on what is within my control: the lighting, the composition, the technical side of things. I’ll go for a neutral but dignified expression, something composed, professional.
I never force someone to smile or push them past what they’re willing to give. Instead, I frame it as collaboration. I might say, “The attitude we bring to this session will shape the photos we end up with. We’re working together to make a good photo.” That way, it’s not me versus them, it’s us making something together.
There’s something strange about seeing someone through a viewfinder in real time versus seeing them in a captured image, even if it’s the same scene. They feel different.
It took me years to start recognizing that intangible something while it was happening — that moment when everything lines up and the expression just feels right. It’s kind of like realizing you’re in a great moment in life while it’s happening, instead of only appreciating it in hindsight. That awareness takes time to develop.
And it’s not something you can always explain. It’s a feeling, almost like the photo has already happened and you’re just catching up to it.
I think that ability comes from two things in equal measure: experience and confidence. Once you’ve built the technical foundation — lighting, exposure, posing — you stop worrying about the mechanics. You stop second-guessing yourself. And once that self-doubt quiets down, you can finally pay attention to the person in front of you, see them clearly, and help them see themselves the same way.