Snap happy: a century of photo booths

Before the arrival of the first photo booth in New York in 1925, the only reason anyone would sit in a small box behind a curtain would be to open their soul to a priest. Russian immigrant Anatol Josepho’s invention offered New Yorkers, who immediately queued around the block with their dimes, a different kind of confessional: you could shut yourself off from the noise and clamour of Broadway for a few seconds, and let a machine see you for who you really were.

Josepho’s magic boxes quickly colonised corners of train stations, dive bars, Woolworths stores and post offices across the world. There was a utility about them – the photo booth made standardised passport photos (no smiling for strangers!) a possibility – but from the beginning, true to those theatreland origins, the space behind the curtain became a stage for self-expression. Individuals could share secrets with the neutral eye of the camera that they would never expose to the world.

As the booths were designed for one, there was always a slight transgressive intimacy about filling the frame as a couple. First dates could check out how they looked together. Departing soldiers could capture a last few seconds of closeness. Gay partners found a small public space to celebrate relationships that had to be conducted in private. And there was never a colour bar in a photo booth.

For all of these reasons, as the pictures on these pages from an ongoing exhibition at the Photographers’ gallery in London show, booth photos offer a unique kind of social history – a record of discreet moments free from inhibition. The exhibition marks a century of Josepho’s invention and it comes at a moment when photo booths, which seemed to have been erased from towns and cities, eclipsed by the iPhone and the selfie stick, are making something of a comeback.

Helped by a preservation movement – you can find maps of the spread of photo booths across continents – a new generation has discovered the special mechanical magic of booths: the rotating stool for height adjustment, the countdown for getting your expression in order, the four-fold opportunity to come up with a winning grin, and the moments of expectation before the pictures are delivered. As with many mechanical inventions, what seemed obsolete again seems alive – photo booths on street corners once again encouraging a night-time queue. There is a retro appeal to the resulting pictures, but also an indelible quality; as Andy Warhol, the master of the cool vocabulary of photo booth images, observed: “The best thing about a picture is that it never changes even though the people in it do.”

Endless digital reels of portraits have blurred that distinction. In a world of vapid control – the other day, I watched a young couple set up a tripod and some lights to capture a spontaneous cuddle on a bench over the course of 20 minutes – the photo booth retains the appeal of surrender: no lights, no alternative angles, no retouching. As with a slot machine, you pay your money and you take your chances.

Strike a Pose! A Hundred Years of the Photo Booth is at the Photographers’ gallery until 22 February. The exhibition is part of a year-long programme of centenary celebrations, in partnership with Autofoto.

Photographs courtesy of Raynal Pellicer