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Take the Selfie

Heather Flanagan

Group of conference presenters taking a selfie together after the seminar end.

“At the Identiverse 2026 Speakers Reception, I gave someone a piece of advice that I realized I should probably write down:

Take the selfie.”

It was the kind of reception where people were trying to find colleagues they already knew, meet people they only knew from email, and pretend they weren’t already tired. There were badges, drinks, small clusters of conversation, and that slightly chaotic conference energy where everyone is glad to be there and also calculating how many more human interactions they can manage before needing to stare quietly at a wall.

Somewhere in that mix, I said what I have come to believe quite strongly: take the picture.

Not necessarily for LinkedIn, Instagram, or your marketing department. Nor for the conference hashtag, the “look where I am” post, or whatever we are currently expected to feed the social media algorithmic gods. That part is between you, your privacy choices, your comfort level, and your personal tolerance for becoming content.

I mean, take the selfie for yourself.

A Digital Identity Digest
Take the Selfie

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Not Everything Needs to Become Content

I am not arguing that every moment needs to become content. I am arguing that some moments are worth preserving. The point is not publication. The point is memory.

Take the picture with the person you just met. Take the picture with the colleague you only ever see once a year, somewhere between a badge pickup desk and a hotel lobby bar. Take the picture with the person whose work you’ve admired for ages and who turns out to be funny, awkward, generous, brilliant, exhausted, or all of the above.

Take the picture with the people you are building something with, arguing with, learning from, mentoring, being mentored by, or simply enjoying in that particular moment.

Some of those pictures may never be posted anywhere. That does not make them less valuable. It may make them more valuable.

Conference Friendships Are Strange and Real

Conferences are strange little temporary villages.

We arrive from different places, wearing lanyards and carrying opinions. We compress months of conversation into hallway encounters. We form working relationships over bad coffee, dinner reservations, delayed slides, and the shared indignity of hotel carpet (also, Scotch). We meet people in moments that feel ordinary at the time, and later realize they were not ordinary at all.

A first meeting can become a collaboration. A casual hallway chat can become a project. A person you sat next to at lunch can become someone whose judgment you trust for years. The colleague you took a quick picture with because everyone was laughing may later become part of the story of your professional life.

And yes, this can feel awkward. So awkward. But, to be fair, I am not suggesting that everyone suddenly become the person who documents every room they enter, nor am I suggesting that you interrupt every meaningful conversation by shoving a phone into the middle of it. Please do not do that. But “Can we take a picture?” is a small ask, and most of the time, people understand exactly why you are asking.

Because someday you may want to look back and say, “I knew this person when.” Or, just as importantly, “I know when we first met.”

Photos Help Memory Do Its Job

Memory is unreliable. At least mine is, and I’m pretty sure that applies to almost everyone I know.

I say this as someone who loves stories and also knows how easily the details go soft around the edges. You remember the feeling, but not the year. You remember the conversation, but not the conference. You remember that someone introduced you, but not who. You remember thinking, “Oh, this person is going to be important,” but you cannot quite place the room where that thought first occurred. Photos help.

A selfie is not just proof that something happened. It is a small anchor point that says: we were here. We were this age. We were at this event, in this city, in this year. We were tired, happy, amused, skeptical, overdressed, under-caffeinated, or pretending not to be jet-lagged. We were in the middle of something, even if we did not yet know what that something would become. We were meeting our heroes or our new best friends.

And when you can, add a name, a date, or a location. Future you will be grateful. Future you will also be annoyed at how often past you assumed you would remember everyone’s last name. Past you was optimistic. Possibly overconfident in what you would remember later.

The Harder Reason

There is also a harder reason I give this advice; this is something I didn’t say publicly at the reception. I did sniffle a bit in a corner, though, after I left the landing. I’m actually still sniffling a bit as I write this part. Boo.

Sometimes people predecease us.

That is an awful, formal phrase for a very human thing: people we care about are not always with us as long as we expect them to be. People we met through work, standards groups, conferences, committees, salons, projects, and professional communities become part of our lives. Not always in obvious ways. Not always in daily ways. But they matter.

And when they are gone, you may find yourself searching your photo library, hoping you have something.

A picture from that reception. A blurry shot from dinner. A selfie from the conference hallway. Something with their smile in it. Something that reminds you not just that they existed, but that you existed in the same moment together.

I have a few photos now that I did not know would matter when I took them. At the time, they were just quick conference pictures: bad lighting, tired smiles, someone holding a glass, someone else leaning into the frame at the last second. Later, they became something else. They became proof that I had shared time with someone I would not get to see again.

I have had enough of those moments now to know that the regret is real. You do not always know, at the time, which pictures will become precious.

We all pause now to grab tissues.

Ask Before You Post

Let’s move on to a quick etiquette reminder. Taking a photo is one thing. Posting it is another. Please keep those as separate decisions.

Take the photo because you want to remember. Post it only if the people in it are comfortable with that. Always ask for permission before posting. Always. Especially at professional events, where the stakes are not the same for everyone.

Some people are private. Some people have safety reasons for being careful. Some people do not want their location broadcast. Some people are fine being in your personal photo library, but do not want to be part of your (anyone’s) public feed. Some people are happy to be posted, but only if they can approve the photo first. Some people simply hate the way they look in pictures, and that is allowed.

Consent is not complicated here. Ask.

“Would you mind if I posted this?”

“Are you okay being tagged?”

“Personal archive only, or is social okay?”

And then respect the answer without making it weird. The point of the selfie is not publication. The point is connection.

The Joy of the Photo Library

There is something truly lovely about scrolling through my photo library and seeing so many smiling faces.

It is not just nostalgia. There is something almost physically comforting about it. A little oxytocin release, perhaps. A reminder that my professional life has not just been documents, meetings, deadlines, panels, standards drafts, slide decks, and inbox archaeology.

It has been people.

People laughing in conference centers. People leaning into the frame at receptions. People making terrible faces because one normal picture was apparently too much to ask. People at dinner tables. People outside venues. People caught in that particular conference state of being both delighted and completely out of social battery.

Those photos remind me that community is built in small increments.

A shared project matters. A good argument matters. A hard conversation matters. A clear specification, a useful report, a well-run session, a thoughtful introduction — all of that matters.

But so do the little human proofs of presence. The “we did this.” The “look how young we were.” The “that was the year everything changed.” (Eventually, maybe, “that was the year SAML finally died!”)

But also, “I had no idea, when this photo was taken, how much this person would come to mean to me.”

A Very Human Kind of Proof

I have been in digital identity long enough to appreciate the irony of saying that a selfie matters.

We spend so much time talking about credentials, assertions, proofing, authorization, authentication, trust frameworks, and the many ways systems try to establish who someone is and what they are allowed to do.

A selfie is not that kind of proof. It is not authoritative. It is not interoperable. It does not come with metadata you should trust. It is not a credential, and please do not make it one.

It is something softer and more human. It is a reminder that before someone was a title, an affiliation, a speaker, a chair, an editor, a reviewer, a founder, a researcher, an implementer, a funder, a critic, or a name on a standards contribution, they were a person standing next to you in a room.

That matters.

Pause for Ten Seconds

At conferences, especially large ones, it is easy to be efficient at the expense of being present. There is always another session, another meeting, another person to find, another obligation, another dinner, another email you should have answered three hours ago. We move through these spaces as if the point is to maximize throughput.

Sometimes it is worth pausing for ten seconds.

“Can we take a picture?”

That is all it takes.

Not every person will say yes. That’s fine. Not every picture will be flattering. That is also fine, though perhaps do not post the bad ones unless you are very sure the friendship can survive it.

Not every photo will become meaningful. Most will just sit in your library, quietly documenting that you went somewhere and knew people there.

But some will become markers. Markers of the first time you met a future collaborator, the last time you saw an old friend, the year a community shifted. The night a hard project finally felt possible. Or maybe the moment when someone who had only been an email address became fully, wonderfully real.

So yes, take the selfie.

Take it for your future self. Take it for the version of you who will want to remember not just what the agenda said, but who was there. Take it because professional communities are still communities. Take it because the people who shape our work also shape our lives. Take it because memory deserves help.

And then, before you post it anywhere, ask.

The algorithm does not get automatic rights to our joy.

But we are allowed to keep some of that joy for ourselves.

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Transcript

At the Identiverse 2026 speakers’ reception, I found myself giving the same piece of advice over and over again.

Eventually, enough people asked me to write it down that it became this episode.

The advice was surprisingly simple:

Take the selfie.

Not for LinkedIn.

Not for Instagram.

Not for the conference hashtag.

And certainly not because every professional moment needs to become content.

Take the selfie for yourself.

The Picture Doesn’t Have to Be Public

When I say “take the selfie,” I don’t mean documenting your conference attendance to prove you’re professionally alive.

Whether you post photos online is entirely up to you, your privacy preferences, and the comfort level of everyone else in the picture.

Instead, I’m talking about something much quieter.

Take the picture because some moments deserve to be remembered.

Perhaps especially if they never become public.

Conferences Create Temporary Communities

Professional conferences have a very particular energy.

People are:

There are badges.

There are drinks.

There are hallway conversations that somehow become far more meaningful than anyone expected.

It’s a strange little temporary village that exists for only a few days before everyone disappears back into their own corner of the world.

Capture the People, Not the Content

Take a picture with the person you just met.

Take a picture with the colleague you only see once each year.

Take one with the researcher whose work you’ve admired for years.

Or the mentor who’s shaped your career.

Or the person you’re mentoring yourself.

Or simply someone you’re genuinely enjoying talking with in that moment.

The point isn’t publication.

The point is memory.

Small Moments Often Become Big Ones

At the time, most conference conversations feel ordinary.

Later, you realize they weren’t.

A casual hallway discussion can become:

The person you happened to sit beside at lunch may become someone whose judgment you rely on for years.

Those moments rarely announce their importance while they’re happening.

That’s exactly why they’re worth preserving.

Introverts Can Take Selfies Too

Yes, I know.

Many of us are introverts.

Asking someone for a photo can feel awkward.

I’m not suggesting you become the person who documents every room they enter.

Please don’t.

Nor am I suggesting interrupting meaningful conversations by suddenly holding a phone in everyone’s face.

Instead, sometimes it’s enough to simply ask:

“Can we take a quick picture?”

Most people understand exactly why you’re asking.

Memory Needs a Little Help

Memory is remarkably unreliable.

At least mine is.

You remember:

But not necessarily:

A photo becomes an anchor.

It quietly says:

“We were here.”

“We shared this moment.”

“We didn’t yet know what this experience would become.”

Give Your Future Self More Context

Whenever possible, add a name, a date, or a location to your photos.

Future you will be grateful.

Future you will also wonder why past you believed remembering everyone’s last name would somehow be effortless.

Past you was optimistic.

Possibly a little overconfident.

Sometimes Photos Become More Valuable Than You Expect

There’s another reason I encourage people to take these pictures.

It’s a harder reason.

Sometimes the people we meet through conferences, standards work, committees, and projects aren’t with us as long as we expect.

Professional relationships become deeply personal over time.

When someone is gone, you may find yourself searching your photo library hoping you captured one small moment together.

A quick conference selfie.

A dinner photo.

A blurry hallway picture.

Something that reminds you not only that they existed, but that you shared time together.

You Never Know Which Photo Will Matter

I’ve accumulated plenty of conference photos over the years.

At the time they seemed completely ordinary.

Bad lighting.

Awkward posture.

Tired smiles.

Someone leaning into the frame at the last second.

Later, those same photos became priceless.

They became reminders of people I would never see again.

That’s why the regret feels real.

You never know which picture will become precious.

Keep Taking Photos Separate From Posting Them

Now for the practical advice.

Taking a photograph and posting it online are two entirely different decisions.

Keep them separate.

Take the photo because you want to remember.

Share it privately because you want someone else to remember.

Post it publicly only if everyone involved is comfortable doing so.

Always ask.

Especially at professional events.

Respect Privacy and Consent

People have many perfectly valid reasons for not wanting photos posted online.

For example:

Some people are happy for you to keep the photo privately.

Others want to approve the image before it’s shared.

Some simply don’t want to appear online at all.

Consent isn’t complicated.

Just ask.

Then respect the answer.

Without making it awkward.

The Best Photos Tell the Story of Community

One of my favorite things about scrolling through old conference photos isn’t nostalgia.

It’s remembering the people.

My career hasn’t been built entirely from:

It’s been built from people.

People laughing at receptions.

People making ridiculous faces because one normal photograph apparently wasn’t enough.

People gathering around dinner tables.

People sharing conversations that eventually turned into years of collaboration.

Community grows in these small moments.

A Human Reminder in a Technical Industry

I’ve spent enough time in digital identity to appreciate the irony of saying that a selfie matters.

We spend enormous amounts of time discussing:

A selfie isn’t any of those things.

It’s not authoritative.

It’s not interoperable.

It’s certainly not a credential.

Nor should we ever pretend it is.

Instead, it’s something much more human.

It reminds us that before someone became:

They were simply another person standing beside us.

That matters.

Slow Down Long Enough to Remember

Large conferences encourage efficiency.

There’s always:

It’s easy to optimize for productivity.

Sometimes it’s worth pausing for ten seconds.

“Can we take a picture?”

That’s all it takes.

Not every photo will be flattering.

Not every picture will become meaningful.

Most will quietly sit in your photo library documenting where you were and who you met.

But a few will become markers.

The first meeting with a future collaborator.

The last photograph with an old friend.

The year everything changed.

The moment someone stopped being just another email address and became wonderfully, fully real.

Final Thoughts

So yes.

Take the selfie.

Take it for your future self.

Take it because professional communities are still communities.

Take it because the people who shape our work often shape our lives.

Take it because memory deserves a little help.

Then, before you post it anywhere, ask.

The algorithm doesn’t automatically deserve every joyful moment we experience.

Some memories are allowed to belong only to the people who shared them.

Conclusion

Professional conferences are about far more than presentations, standards work, and networking.

They’re about the relationships that quietly shape careers over time.

A simple photograph may never be posted publicly.

It may never collect likes or comments.

But years from now, it may become one of the most meaningful reminders of the people, conversations, and communities that made your professional journey possible.

Sometimes the most important selfie is the one that never leaves your camera roll.

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