Let me tell you a story I've experienced about five times in my 20-year career. There's this young woman who wants to be paid for a publication and tells me with shining eyes: "It's been my biggest dream since I was a child to become a Playmate someday." Four years later, the WhatsApp comes on Saturday night. Same person, but the tone has completely changed: "I demand that all photos be removed from the internet."
What happened?
Most of the time, it's the new boyfriend. He brings different cultural ideas about how a woman should be. Often, though, the model is just acting in anticipatory obedience. All art photos must go, the past must no longer exist. Sometimes it's also reactions from their environment: coworkers whisper, the boss makes weird comments. Suddenly, what was once a proud artwork becomes an embarrassing secret.
Only problem: images can't be deleted from the internet as easily as you might think.
While we're talking here, my photographs are being shared on shady websites and social media. Without my involvement. Without my consent. The servers are located in countries where German lawyers are about as effective as snowballs in the Sahara. And although I'm well-equipped legally and try to take action against violations, I have no chance against this extreme form of piracy.
You think this is just my problem?
Think again. When nude models today decide on publications, they're also deciding on this reality. Their images will show up somewhere, even if they don't want them to. This isn't a threat, it's simply the sad reality of the digital age.
But there's something else nobody talks about: What happens to me, the photographer, when suddenly everything is supposed to be deleted?
I invest months in a production. Location scouting, permits, styling, travel planning, scheduling coordination. Then the shoot itself, image selection, post-processing, working with publishers. If you think it's quitting time after the shoot, you've never worked professionally as a photographer. The actual shooting makes up about 10% of the total work.
When that WhatsApp comes saying "Everything must go," it means for me: All investments are toast. Nobody reimburses my costs. Instead, I get additional work. This isn't just pressing a button, it's several more hours of work for deletion on my website and all my social media posts.
The courts make it very easy for themselves here. "Personal rights trump contract rights" is a guiding principle. Strictly speaking, this means: Model release contracts are null and void. Yet I still need these contracts to be able to work commercially at all. A paradox that nobody resolves.
I sometimes even understand the models' motivations. Workplace bullying is real and should be prosecuted more strictly. When bosses harass their employees over nude photos, they should be held accountable. Bullying on social media happens incredibly often and must be punished. Politicians and courts are called upon to stop treating this like trivial matters.
But the naivety of some models frightens me. They dream of glamour and fame without thinking about the consequences. Publications aren't a decision for just a few months.
With private commissioned work, it's naturally different — there the rule is: private stays private and such images will never be published anywhere by me. But with commercial productions intended for publication, save yourself and me the problems if you're unsure.
Because one thing is certain: In our digital age, there's no going back. What's once on the internet, stays on the internet. Unfortunately. No matter what the lawyers promise.