Back in 2000, I was told to have a professional photo made for my books. I didn't want one (I am not photogenic) but I was overruled. Get one in color, they said, and no X-Files t-shirts or purple hair, and for God's sake wear some make-up. When I admitted I wasn't exactly skilled with primping -- I once lacerated a cornea with a mascara brush -- I was sent to have my makeup and hair done professionally before the shoot.
It took three people, a trowel, ten pounds of cosmetics, two hours, creative lighting and fervent prayer to turn me into that creature in my author photo. It took me like a week to chisel all that gunk off my face. When they said they were happy with the photo, I told them to treasure it, because I wasn't ever going through that again.
(The original photo with this post is lost, so here's one of me and my daughter from that time. Not as much makeup, but a stylist did do that to my hair.)