Fresh Writer Headshots: Use a Typewriter Without the Cliché

Find the Right Typewriter and Setting

You need a machine that looks used, not like a museum piece. A 1950s Royal Quiet DeLuxe with a slightly chipped ‘Q’ key is perfect. A pristine, gold-plated Underwood feels like a costume prop. The goal is authenticity, not a period drama. I once had a client bring in her grandmother’s 1942 Smith Corona. The space bar stuck, and she had to gently tap it free with her thumb. That tiny, real moment of interaction gave us our best shot.

Where you place it matters more than the model. A cluttered desk with real manuscripts, a single coffee mug, and a reading lamp beats a sterile studio table. The setting should feel like a place where work happens, not where a photo is staged. Look for natural light from a window to your side. It will catch the metal details of the keys and create soft shadows that add depth. Avoid overhead office lights; they cast unflattering shadows under your eyes and make everything look flat.

Your posture at the machine is the foundation. Sit up straight, but not rigid. Imagine you’ve just found the perfect sentence and you’re leaning in slightly to capture it. Your shoulders should be relaxed, not hunched. Position the typewriter so it angles toward the main light source. This creates a leading line that draws the viewer’s eye to your face, not just to the machine.

Your Hands Tell the Real Story

What’s the biggest mistake I see? Stiff, posed fingers hovering above the keys like a pianist about to perform. It looks terrified. Your hands must be doing something. Rest your left fingers lightly on the home row keys. Let your right hand cradle the return lever, or rest on the paper guide. The connection should look natural, like you’re pausing for thought, not for a camera.

Focus on the details a reader would recognize. A simple silver band on your ring finger, the faint ink stain on your index finger from a leaky pen, the way your thumb rests against the space bar. These small truths build credibility. I always watch how a writer’s hands move when they talk. One poet I photographed kept smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on the paper. It was a nervous habit, but it showed her care for the words. We used it.

Should you actually type? Yes, for a few frames. The sound and rhythm can relax you. But the shot we usually keep is the moment of pause—the breath between thoughts. That’s where your personality lives, not in the frantic clatter.

The Look in Your Eyes Matters Most

Here is the core of a non-cliché headshot: your gaze must be directed inward, not at the lens. You are thinking, not performing. Look down at the paper, just above the platen. Look out the window, as if searching for a word. Glance at the keyboard, not to find a letter, but to consider a choice. The camera captures you in a state of work.

What if you feel silly staring at a typewriter? That’s normal. My trick is to give you a real task. Before we start shooting, I’ll say, “Think of the last line you wrote that you’re proud of. Now, type it.” For that minute, you’re not with me anymore. You’re back in that creative space. Your eyes change. They soften, focus, and lose that “photo face” tension. That’s the look we want.

Avoid a smile directed at the camera. A slight, thoughtful smile as you read your own words? That’s gold. It’s specific and earned. It says you enjoy the craft, not the attention.

Avoid the One Big Mistake Everyone Makes

The mistake is letting the typewriter become the subject. You are the writer; it is the tool. The composition must reflect that hierarchy. If the machine fills the bottom half of the frame and your face is a small moon in the top corner, you’ve failed. The typewriter should anchor the scene, not dominate it.

Keep your face the brightest part of the image. Use that window light or a soft, off-camera flash to illuminate you more than the desk. The metal keys can gleam, but your eyes must gleam more. Crop in tightly. A classic three-quarter shot, from the midsection up, works beautifully. You can see your hands in relation to the machine and your face in relation to the work.

I learned this the hard way. Early in my career, I shot a novelist with a beautiful old Olivetti. The photos came back and all anyone said was, “Wow, cool typewriter.” He was invisible. Now, I constantly check my monitor: if the viewer’s eye goes to the carriage return before it goes to the person, I change my angle immediately.

Capture the Moment After the 'Click'

The most genuine expressions often happen right after I say “got it.” The posture relaxes, the held breath releases, and a real smile breaks through. I always shoot for five more seconds. That’s when you might lean back, run a hand through your hair, or laugh at the whole situation. These “in-between” shots often feel more like a writer than the perfectly composed ones.

Ask yourself: what do you do when you finish a paragraph? You might stretch your neck, take a sip of coffee, or just stare into the middle distance. Try those actions. Let’s capture the rhythm of the work, not just the pose of working.

Have a prop ready for this sequence. Close the typewriter cover thoughtfully. Pull the finished page from the roller. Roll a fresh sheet in. These are the small, authentic rituals that tell your story without a single word.

The practical takeaway is this: use the typewriter as a key to unlock your real, working self, not as a costume to dress up as a writer. When you focus on the specific action—the pause, the thought, the minor frustration of a sticky key—the cliché falls away. What remains is simply you, at work.

If this one does not settle the question, Tilt Just Right: How 5° Changes Your Headshot Impact treats the same problem from a different angle.