Wife, mom, artist, and full-time chaos wrangler with a camera in one hand and snacks in the other. I live for the real stuff—belly laughs, big feelings, chipped nail polish, and quiet light that sneaks through the window just right.
This work is how I see the world…
and how I love it back.
Every fall, right around the time the leaves start changing, I start getting the same question: What should we wear for family photos?
And I get it. You’ve finally gotten everyone on the calendar, convinced your partner that family photos are, in fact, necessary, figured out which kid has soccer and which kid has rehearsal and somehow found one hour where everyone can be in the same place.
And now you’re supposed to coordinate five outfits?
No thank you.
So here is my very unstyled guide to getting dressed for fall family photos in Northern Virginia: you do not need to match. You do not need to buy everyone a brand-new outfit. And you definitely do not need to turn your family into a collection of perfectly coordinated beige people.
So, what do you wear for family photos???? Well, you just need to look like yourselves.

If choosing clothes for the entire family makes your brain hurt, start with one outfit.
Usually, I suggest starting with whoever cares the most about what they’re wearing. Maybe that’s you. Maybe it’s your teenager. Maybe it’s your four-year-old who has decided she will only wear the purple dress and frankly has more conviction than the rest of us.
Pick that outfit first and build loosely around it.
You’re looking for colors that work together, not colors that are exactly the same.
Think rust with cream and denim. Olive with warm brown and dusty blue. A floral dress with a few colors that can be pulled into everyone else’s clothes.
Coordinated. Not matched.

Fall is especially forgiving because texture looks so good this time of year.
Denim. Knits. Linen. Corduroy. A chunky sweater. A soft dress. Boots that have actually been worn before.
Layers can be great, too, as long as everyone can still move.
Because that part matters to me.
I’m going to ask you to walk. Sit down. Pick up your kid. Get close. Probably play. Maybe run. Definitely snuggle.
If an outfit only looks good when everyone is standing completely still with perfect posture, it is probably not the outfit for us.
This may be my most important styling advice.
If your kid hates the sweater, don’t make him wear the sweater.
If your daughter wants to wear the boots she loves, let her wear the boots.
If something is itchy, stiff, too tight, constantly falling down, or requires you to tell someone to “be careful” every six seconds, leave it at home.
Comfortable kids are happier kids. Happier kids play. They climb into your lap. They forget about the camera.
And that is where the good stuff happens.

I’m not big on rules, but there are a few things that tend to photograph less beautifully.
Big logos and graphics can pull attention away from faces. Neon colors can reflect onto skin. Super-tight black clothing can lose detail, especially once the light starts getting low.
And everyone wearing the exact same thing tends to make a family photograph feel more like a uniform than a memory.
You don’t need five white shirts and five pairs of jeans.
I promise.
This is the bigger thing I want you to hear.
Your family photographs aren’t supposed to look like somebody else’s family photographs.
Your house doesn’t look like theirs. Your kids aren’t theirs. Your marriage isn’t theirs. Your chaos isn’t theirs.
So don’t spend three weeks trying to recreate someone else’s version of beautiful.
Wear the dress you feel really good in. Let your kid wear the slightly weird thing they love. Put your husband in the shirt he already owns and will actually wear again.
You are allowed to show up as yourselves.

Send me a picture.
Seriously.
Lay a few things on the bed. Take a photo. Text me the options. I will happily tell you which direction I’d go.
I also have a client closet available if we need it, but I never want getting dressed to become the reason family photos feel stressful.
Because twenty years from now, nobody is going to care whether the shade of your sweater perfectly complemented your daughter’s dress.
You’re going to notice how small she was. How your son leaned into you. The way your partner looked at you.
The gap in someone’s teeth. The curls. The hands wrapped around your neck.
This is what love looks like up close.
And that’s the part we’re actually here to photograph.
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