I’ve Photographed Presidents and Strangers. Here’s What They Have in Common.

The most powerful images I’ve ever taken didn’t happen because of my camera. They happened because someone finally let themselves be seen.

She walked into my studio before I even had a chance to say hello.

The door was barely open when she looked at me and said, flat out, “I hate every photo of myself.”

I stopped. Took a breath. And said, “Hi. I’m Becky. And you are…? Nice to meet you. Really though — every photo? What does that say about how you feel about yourself? That’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think?”

She laughed. Nervously. But she laughed.

She was a fashion designer. Brand new to the industry, about to do her first press interviews, and she needed EPK photos — promotional images to introduce herself and her line to the world. This was supposed to be her moment. Her debut. And she walked in ready to hate every frame.

We started shooting. I shoot tethered, which means my clients can see the photos on a screen in real time as we work. About twenty minutes in, I took a shot. Something clicked — the light, her energy, the moment. I knew it the second it happened.

She looked at the screen. Went quiet.

Then: “Oh my god. Is that me?”

And I said, “I’m not in that photo. The only person there is you.”

She left that studio genuinely flabbergasted. Not because I’m magic with a camera — though I’d like to think I’m pretty good — but because for maybe the first time, she saw herself the way I saw her. All of her. The nerves and the talent and the vision and the insecurity and the fire. The full picture.

That’s what I mean when I talk about The Full Spectrum of You.

You Are Not Just What People See

Here’s something I’ve learned after decades behind a lens, photographing world leaders, celebrities, entrepreneurs, and the person next door:

What you see is never the whole story.

Every single person who has ever stood in front of my camera carries a universe I know nothing about. The CEO who rebuilt everything after losing it all. The activist who almost gave up the year before the breakthrough. The fashion designer who walks into a studio hating every photo of herself — and walks out with images that make her jaw drop.

You have a history of experiences I will never fully know. Chapters that didn’t make it into your bio. Seasons that didn’t resolve neatly. Versions of yourself you’ve been quietly carrying for years — the ones you survived, the ones you’re not sure you’re proud of, the ones that made you who you are whether you asked them to or not.

That’s the full spectrum. The beautiful and the broken. The polished and the raw. The parts you lead with and the parts you tuck away.

And here’s what I want you to hear: all of it is valid. All of it is you. And all of it is worth seeing.

Why I Can’t Take a Bad Portrait

People ask me sometimes what makes a photograph iconic.

It’s not the lighting. It’s not the composition. It’s not even the subject, though I’ve been lucky enough to photograph some extraordinary ones.

It’s soulfulness.

The images that stop people cold — the ones that make you lean in, that make you feel something you can’t quite name — are the ones where the person in the frame decided, consciously or not, to stop performing. To just be.

My job is to create the conditions for that to happen. To open the door — literally and figuratively — and make someone feel safe enough to show up as their whole self. Insecurities and all. Complicated history and all. Weird chapters and all.

When that happens, the camera doesn’t lie. It captures something true. And true is always more powerful than perfect.

That fashion designer didn’t leave my studio with perfect photos. She left with honest ones. Photos that showed the world a woman with vision and vulnerability and style and a story. Photos that looked like her — not the edited-down version she’d been tolerating in mirrors for years, but the real her. The full spectrum her.

That’s the only kind of portrait worth taking.

What We Lose When We Only Show Half the Picture

Here’s the thing about hiding parts of yourself. It’s exhausting. And it costs more than you think.

We live in a world that rewards the highlight reel. The “Instagram famous” version of our lives — the gorgeous flat lay, the perfect vacation shot, the carefully curated feed that says everything is great over here. The glamorous parts. The aspirational parts. The parts that get the likes.

But not the messy parts. Not the 3am parts. Not the parts where you’re sitting on the bathroom floor wondering how you got here.

And when we only show the polished version — the edited-down, filtered, acceptable-for-public-consumption version of ourselves — we lose something profound.

We lose the ability to truly connect.

Brené Brown spent years researching this. In her groundbreaking work on vulnerability — if you haven’t watched her TED Talk The Power of Vulnerability, stop everything and go watch it — she found that the people who lived the most wholehearted, connected lives had one thing in common. They were willing to be seen. Fully. Messily. Without guarantees.

She calls it vulnerability. I see it every single day through my lens.

Because here’s what I know to be true: vulnerability is the bridge. When you let someone see the real you — the complicated, unfinished, still-figuring-it-out you — something extraordinary happens. You stop talking at each other and start connecting with each other. Heart to heart. Not surface to surface.

That kind of connection can’t happen when everyone’s performing. It only happens when someone is brave enough to go first. To say this is actually me. To lower the armor and mean it.

When you get comfortable with your own full spectrum — when you stop apologizing for the complicated parts and start understanding them — something shifts. Not just for you. For everyone around you. Because when you lower your armor, you give other people permission to lower theirs.

That’s not just good personal development. That’s how real relationships are built. That’s how trust happens. That’s how the most powerful images get made.

This Is the Beginning of Something

I’ve been thinking about this for years. But lately it’s been getting louder.

I talked about it recently on the Purpose for Life podcast with the wonderful Suzanne Roberts — about what it means to really see people, about authenticity, about the courage it takes to show up as your whole self. And the response made me realize this idea is ready to become something bigger than a philosophy I carry into my studio.

I’m building toward workshops. Experiences where photography becomes a tool for self-discovery — where the shoot itself is the therapy, not just the output. Where you walk in with a story you’ve been half-hiding and walk out with images that show the world who you actually are.

And eventually, retreats. Deeper immersions. Space to slow down, look inward, and do the real work of embracing every part of yourself — the warts, the gold, the ugly, the beautiful, and everything the world hasn’t seen yet.

Because here’s what I know after all of it. After all the presidents and the strangers and the fashion designers and the quiet people who just needed someone to really look at them:

You are more than what anyone can see.

And that’s exactly what I’m looking for.

🎙️ Listen to the full conversation: Be The Full Spectrum — Becky Yee on Purpose for Life

📸 Follow the movement: @beckyyeephoto | @colorwheelstudios

Connect with Suzanne Roberts: @suzanneroberts3550 | LinkedIn | Facebook

#fullspectrumofyou #empoweringportraits #iconicimages #authenticself #femalephotographer #femalegaze #nycphotographer #womenphotographer #portraitphotography #purposeforlife #seeyourself

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