It was 2016 when PhotoVogue dedicated its Festival to the female gaze, questioning the hegemony of the male perspective in the arts, investigating through photography the concept theorised by the film critic Laura Mulvey. The female gaze is an act of redefining reality through the way we look at it. It is also an act of resistance, of regaining back the narration of the woman and the female, for too long and too often held in the hands of men.
We created PhotoVogue Female Gaze, a new series focused on female photographers and their works. In a socio-political landscape in which womxn have gained more centrality but, at the same time, see their (freshly achieved) rights continuously threatened, we think that it is pivotal to share the multifaceted talent of the womxn of our PhotoVogue community. Our artists can be inspiring and encouraging figures for all those who dream but can t or do not have the words to describe or the eyes to see their dreams and potential.
“Woman - Your Duty is Beauty” is a rigorous yet ironic analysis of the beauty standards imposed on women, the harsh self-judgment they endure, and the care they extend to others. Sofie Flinth delves into these themes, beginning with the most personal battleground for every woman: her own skin and body. Her self-portraits, set in cold, almost alienating environments, are illuminated by the presence of her grandmother, creating a delicate dialogue between generations that share similar struggles and insecurities. Through a meticulous use of light, Flinth refuses to conceal the vulnerabilities and imperfections of herself and her grandmother. Photography becomes a means to challenge reality and societal constraints, presenting female beauty without compromise.
I’d like to start with a general question—how did you start photographing, and how did you find your own perspective?
That’s a good question. How did I start? I think it was very much in the time of blogging, back when I was around 13 or 14. At the time, there wasn’t Instagram like there is now. It was all about blogs—Blogspot, for instance—and bloggers were a big thing in Denmark.
I wanted to become a blogger, essentially what you’d call an influencer today, but back then it was all about blogs. So, I started photographing myself, my outfits, and whatever was around me. I even asked for a camera as a gift and began taking photos of everything. Over time, it became less about my outfits or having followers and more about the photography itself. It became more creative, more experimental. I was heavily inspired by Tumblr, which was all about creative expression and mood.
That’s how it began. I had no idea what I was doing. But I loved it. I’ve actually kept my old blog, and now that I think about it, the focus on self-portraits from back then is still a part of my work today.
That’s really interesting—how it all started naturally and evolved into something more creative. Speaking of self-portraits, your project features a lot of them. There’s almost a Cindy Sherman vibe to the work. Could you tell me how you started this project and why self-portraits play such a big role in it?
It’s actually quite simple. It started for practical reasons. After getting back into photography in art school, I realized I was comfortable photographing people I knew, but I was afraid of approaching strangers. In school, we were encouraged to develop ideas and experiment. Some of my ideas involved nudity or body paint, and when I asked my friends to participate, they didn’t feel comfortable. I thought, “Okay, if no one wants to do it, I’ll just do it myself.”
It wasn’t planned or conceptual at first, just practical. And honestly, I think I found it easier to expose myself in front of the camera than to ask others to do it for me. It’s funny because you’d think it would be the other way around, but I’ve always enjoyed dressing up, pretending to be someone else, and experimenting with characters.
It seems like you were naturally in control of your image, creating a persona or character that let you step outside of yourself.
Yes, once I’m in front of the camera, I don’t feel like myself anymore—I become someone else. That’s always been a part of the process for me. And while these are self-portraits, the intention wasn’t for people to recognize me in the images. I wanted to disappear into the character, so it didn’t matter whether it was me or a model—it just happened to be me.
That’s fascinating because even knowing you in real life, I wasn’t always sure it was you in the photos you sent us. I recognized something familiar but couldn’t pinpoint it.
Exactly! That’s the effect I aim for.
And how did the project with your grandmother come about?
My grandmother has always been playful and loved attention—she wanted to be an actress but never became one. The project actually started as part of an assignment in art school with the theme “fake.”
The first photo I took was one of her in the bathroom with the white face mask, wig, and headband. I’m a bit tired of that image now because it’s old, but it was the start of everything. The idea of vanity and playing with appearances fit perfectly with the theme of “fake.” It was a combination of the assignment and my grandmother’s personality that made the project come together.
I think everything I do just comes from intuition. I’m in a certain place at a certain time, and it happens organically. For example, I was in Denmark, at home, thinking, “Who can I photograph?” I only want to photograph people I know and my grandma loves it. So I thought, “Fine—I’ll do something fun with my grandma.” I had this wig, and that’s how it started. It was very natural and unplanned—it just happened.
How did you work with her? This project also started because of a book, right? Something about beauty secrets or procedures that your grandma had? Did you talk with her about your ideas, and what did she share about her experiences? How was the actual process?
At first, for the first few years, it was more about me having assignments or ideas that I wanted to try, and I’d photograph her. Over time, though, we started talking more about symbolism and imagery. She knows so much about art history, especially the Baroque, and Vanitas paintings, for example. So we started having conversations about capitalism, the anxiety of dying and aging. I quickly realized we have similar experiences but come at them from such different points of view. It became clear that things she experienced as a young woman, I’ve experienced too. A lot of our vanities, for example, come from wanting to please the male gaze. But at the same time, we’re so different because of our age gap. It was a lot of conversation. Then at some point, she mentioned this book she got when she was 14.
It’s filled with all these recipes, but also bizarre suggestions—like, if you put salt water on your boobs and go outside in the cold, they’ll grow. She would do these things secretly. Her mom had passed away when she was nine, so she was raised alone with her dad. She’d try these things in her room without getting caught. When I started reading it, I thought, This book needs to be the core—the skeleton—of the project. It gave us a concrete starting point, a clear perspective to work from.
I’m really curious about the little things she did when she was young. Did she tell you about anything else that, with your contemporary mindset, made you think, Oh my God, that’s crazy?
Yeah, there’s this story of her going out with a friend—maybe to the movies or something. She wore a purple sweater, not even a flashy top, just a sweater. Her dad saw her and said, “What are you wearing?” She answered, “Just a purple sweater.” And he said, “Only prostitutes wear purple.” She replied, “How do you know that?” He got so angry with her. I’ve thought about recreating that sweater and photographing her in it.
That’s how it goes with this project. She has so many stories that add layers to everything, but for me, it’s not important that people know all the backstories. It wouldn’t matter if the audience knows the story behind the purple sweater. What’s important is that these anecdotes inspire the images, allowing them to have different meanings for different people.
What’s the best memory you have of working with her?
My best memories are us in her apartment, dressing up, deciding what wigs go with what outfits, her getting changed—it’s this whole process that I really enjoy.
For me, it’s just that we bond so well when we do this. Outside of photography, she’s my grandma. When we’re photographing, we’re equals, there’s this unique bond—something only the two of us share. Every time we shoot together, it’s a great experience. She’s so game for anything. She’s the most positive woman I’ve ever met—her glass is always half-full. It’s rare to have this kind of relationship with your grandma, and I really appreciate it. I’m also conscious of her age—she’s 85. I don’t know how long I’ll have with her, so I want to photograph her as much as possible.
It seems like such a collaborative process. Have you noticed any differences or similarities in how you and your grandmother see yourselves in the pictures?
Oh, definitely. Even though I’m more of a feminist and body-positive, we’re both so vain. For example, there’s a photo where we’re both wearing wigs, and she’s holding my face with a red glove. All she could talk about was how wrinkly her skin looked. On my end, I felt my arm looked too big and unflattering, so I cropped it out. It’s cruel, isn’t it? I had the power to crop my arm, but I left her wrinkles because I find them beautiful. But I couldn’t accept myself in the photo.
It’s wild how self-conscious we both are. All I can see when I look at my skin are the scars from my teenage acne. That’s the only thing I notice—just all the scars on my chin. Meanwhile, the only thing my grandmother talks about is my young skin and how tight it is. She’ll sometimes say, “This looks too wrinkly,” talking about herself, but she lets me keep it. She doesn’t feel her age—she says she feels like she’s 40—but when she looks at photos, she’s reminded she’s much older.
So, you and your grandmother are pretty similar in the way you perceive yourselves in the pictures.
We find each other beautiful, yet we can’t see that in ourselves. I think that vulnerability definitely comes out in self-portraits for me. I almost need to not look like myself in order to let go and let the image just exist as it is. But when I look too much like myself, I get incredibly self-conscious. Maybe that’s something that comes with age. I’m not sure.
I also wanted to ask you about that diptych of your grandmother—the close-up portraits. One is light, and the other has that jelly-like texture. It reminded me of the movie The Substance. Would you talk more about that? I found it really interesting.
I’ve taken so many pictures over the years, and most of them just sat on my computer unused. Only now, as I go through them, am I finally pulling together a coherent series—and it’s still a work in progress. For instance, with those two pictures, I originally didn’t plan to use the one without the slime. That was just a test shot before I added the slime. I had this idea inspired by her book, which is full of DIY face mask recipes. The slimy, jelly texture ties into that.
Yeah, because the jelly-like texture is a recurring theme in your work.
Right. She even made one herself using eggs. So there was some thought behind it, but it wasn’t fully intentional at first. The picture without the slime just turned out so beautifully. It was one of the first times I photographed her not as this alter ego with makeup and wigs—just her, with subtle makeup.
For me, it was more about showing her how beautiful she is as herself. I wasn’t planning to use it, but later, when I revisited the photos, I found it interesting to pair them together. It created this cinematic, before-and-after sequence, or a sense that something else is happening just out of frame.
Speaking of layout and organization, I wanted to ask about the spaces where you place yourself and your grandmother. As I mentioned earlier, there’s an eerie quality to them. They’re domestic spaces, yet they’re unsettling—not cozy at all.
No, they’re definitely not cozy.
Which is interesting, given that in Nordic culture, you’re known for creating cozy environments. But in your photographs, that coziness is completely absent.
I know. I’m not entirely sure why I lean toward creating this eerie atmosphere. For example, there’s a picture of her sitting in front of a white background with those window shades—it’s clean and minimal.
When I photograph her in her house, I strip away the personal elements. She has all these flowers, sculptures, and little lamps, but I remove them. I want clean lines. The cleaner the space, the better. I literally remove the coziness to make it feel more neutral or even unsettling. I want clean lines, I don’t want distractions. And doing this, I realized it adds something to the atmosphere—it gives it a feeling I can’t entirely explain or put my finger on. But a lot of the pictures I create start with a practical intention. Then, during the process, it becomes something else.
I wanted to go back to the book you mentioned earlier. Have you noticed any patterns between what the book instructed women to do and contemporary beauty routines or makeup trends? Do you see similarities in how women have been guided to change themselves?
I think the obvious comparison is that back then, you had a guidebook about makeup for women, and now we have TikTok tutorials. Both are about being instructed on how to look, what’s trending, and how to apply makeup. What’s changed is who dictates those trends. It’s no longer a white male pharmacist with a radio show or book series being the sole authority. Now, with the internet, there are countless sources.
But what’s funny is how specific both systems are—like today, TikTok tutorials show exactly how to apply makeup with dots and lines all over your face, blending it out with brushes. It’s such a random method, but everyone does it. In the book, it was equally precise: step-by-step instructions, like “start with this concealer, finish with lipstick.” It’s fascinating that even applying makeup can be dictated so specifically.
It’s almost seen as scientific.
Exactly. But what’s really different now is the norms around who can wear makeup, when, and how much. The book made it clear—no dark, smoky eyes during the day, for example. It was very rigid and had real consequences if you got it “wrong.” Women faced societal punishment. Today, at least in Denmark, that danger isn’t there in the same way.
What would you tell the Sophie who started this project? And what would you like to keep in mind for the future?
Hmm. What would I say to myself? Maybe I could say something clever to the Sophie in the future—more than to my past self. I feel like whatever the “old Sophie” was doing was great because I worked so much from intuition back then. For me, it’s almost the reverse—I’m reminding myself now to be more like her from the beginning. It’s about channeling my younger self—really trusting my intuition, trusting the process, and just making work. I’ve always found the meaning behind things after creating them. It’s less about me telling my younger self something, and more about my younger self telling my current self to relax and trust in what I’m doing.
That makes total sense. Final question: what advice would you give to young women who want to become photographers, based on your experience? Is there anything you wish you had known earlier?
First of all, being a female photographer is a strength. We have the gift of a different perspective compared to our male colleagues, and that’s something to be proud of. Your feminine perspective is valuable.
Especially when you’re in art school, a photography course, or any setting where you’re showing your work, you might hear others explaining their purpose or reasoning behind their photographs. My advice is—never doubt yourself or your own purpose. Don’t compare your reason for making photographs with anyone else’s, because that will drive you crazy. Your perspective is just as valid as anyone else’s. So whatever your unique vision is, just go for it.
