This post is part 3 of my 3-piece-series on Paparazzi: My first and last day as a paparazzi.

Like I have said many times: The paparazzi disturb me me a bit. I absolutely think that they can go way beyond the bounds of decency to get that one “money shot.” And it doesn’t seem to matter to some of them who they hurt or literally step on or over to get their picture.

Now, I am not talking about just any photographer who likes to or who does take photos of celebrities highlighting the work and art of the celeb. Celebs want the publicity and we the fans crave the news. So, photographers definitely serve a desired purpose.

But I am specifically talking about those professional photographers who get paid top dollars for lying in wait for their celebrity victims to take shots of the celebs’ most private moments. The moments which for whatever reason, we, as a society salivate but have no right to see. So, I am not just blaming the paparazzi, we all share the blame in this game.

I really wanted to learn first hand what the life of a paparazzi is really like.  So, I decided to live as paparazzi for one day to see what it is like doing what they do and to interact with them on their playing grounds.

I needed a celebrity target. And just then, one of the most prized paparazzi targets just happened to fall into my lap: Brad Pitt. Well, Brad Pitt and his daughter, Zahara, which means an even bigger prize in the murky world of the paparazzi.

A particular concern of mine has been the lack of care the paparazzi seem to give to children of celebrities, so, I wanted to see how things go with this father-daughter target on what should have been just another ordinary day for the two.

When I found out where Brad Pitt was on that particular day, I packed two cameras and headed to the shopping mall where I knew Brad was.  Once there, I learned that Brad and Zahara were inside the American Girl shop, attending the private birthday party of rocker Chris Cornell’s daughter.

Obviously, I could not just walk into the store and snap my pictures, so, I had to find some paparazzi and learn from them. I walked around and saw a handful of men with cameras larger than anything I have ever seen standing by a white SUV parked outside of the back private entrance to American Girl.  I knew I had hit jackpot. So, I found my spot–the spot I thought would best serve for my photo and video footage once Brad came out of the large gated door and I stood there, holding my ground. Waiting. And waiting.

Minutes went by and then hours went by and more and more paparazzi showed up. A couple of them even had a young child with them each, with the child perilously sitting on each of their shoulders as they held cameras in their hands.

As more paparazzi came, more pedestrians stopped to ask who the paparazzi were waiting for. Some of the paps said nothing and just remained emotionless, ignoring the pesky questions directed to their faces. Others were very friendly and happily answered the inquisitors. And so the crowd grew. And grew.

As more time went by, the swelling crowd became more and more antsy. And louder and louder, annoying some of the paps who had been there for hours.  And so, some of the paps turned on the non-professionals. If any non-professional dared to stand in front of the paps, the paps would push them away and say, “You have no right to stand in my way,” as if the paps held a legitimate claim to the private property owned by someone else. I found this particular exchange pretty disturbing:

Pap to fan: “Don’t get your damn cell phone camera in way of my camera.”
Fan to pap: “I have to take my picture too.”
Pap to fan: “Oh right, with your pathetic cell phone camera.”
Fan to pap: “At least I am not a loser who wastes my life waiting to take pictures of people for a living.”
Pap to fan: “Right, you are just a loser waiting here to take a picture for free with your useless cell phone.”

Even though most of the paps thought of me as a fellow pap since we had time to discuss why I was there with the ones who were actually either friendly enough to talk to me or who were hitting on me (more on that later) I myself was not immune and was shoved, poked, and pushed by pap men twice my size; a behavior which would or should never be allowed in any other setting; yet, as a so-called paparazzi, it was OK to push and be pushed. My gender or size or the fact that this behavior is unacceptable anywhere else was of no importance.

If I wasn’t being pushed around, I was incessantly being hit on by a couple of extremely crude men who I assume are used to mostly seeing only their gender in this field. As part of their charm, they were trying to impress me by telling me things such as: “I got paid $200K for the video of Lindsey Lohan doing blah blah blah.” The monetary figures boasted for various “money shots” were shocking.

Now, let me say, the paps were not the only ones there who were being a bit unreasonable. There were fans there with very young crying children who were begging their parents to leave after a while on that particularly hot day, but the parents refused to leave for hours for the chance of taking one picture of Brad with their phones. Guess that is why there is a need for the paparazzi: We the fans feed the machine.

After all was said and done, four hours had gone by. It was extremely hot, it was boring, it was hellish. I had sweat of unfamiliar people all over me since we were all packed like sardines to get as close to Brad’s car as possible.  Throughout the ordeal, the security guards and Brad’s bodyguard kept moving Brad’s car around and to different places, in the hopes of dispersing and confusing the crowd, but it never worked.  The crowd always returned, and in larger numbers. There were many false alarms as the gated door was opened at least 50 times by people who were not Brad, each time almost inciting a frenzied riot of camera flashes, followed by a series of, “Ah’s,” or “No’s.”

Finally, when I thought I was gonna give up my experiment and leave because the tension in the crowd was palpable and quite frankly grown a bit scary, Brad Pitt and Zahara came out. Hand in hand. And the paps went crazy. Brad took care to safely put Zahara in the child seat in the back and then proceeded to the driver’s seat. The paps shoved anyone in their way and rushed the car and surrounded it, without any care that a young child was inside or that Brad, the father and driver, was trying to safely get himself and his daughter out of what must have been a terrifying situation. Brad somehow kept his cool and calm. I know I would not have been able to if the tables were reversed.

Here is my video documenting the whole day. As it turned out, most of the people there, including myself, ended up with a bad angle once Brad came out. My video is a mess on purpose with no major edits so it can show the true frenzy of that day, especially for a non-professional paparazzi. I have cut out anything which would show Zahara out of respect for children’s privacy.