Framed

I was in my mid-twenties, just entering circles that were considered important and relevant, attending high-level conferences, closed-door sessions, and the like, when someone who loved me gave me a piece of advice that I didn't think much of at the time.

“Be careful who you end up with in a picture frame,” he said.

Back then, it sounded very dramatic, the kind of thing your parents might say when they think you’re moving too fast through life. I certainly didn’t think much of it.

Years later, I understood exactly what he meant. I began noticing faces from old photographs, taken at conferences, receptions, “historic” moments, only this time reappearing in headlines, court cases, and public scandals. Some had been judges, prosecutors, or ministers. Others were senior international officials who once set the tone of “good governance” in the post-conflict Balkans, before moving on to another war-torn country and repeating the cycle.

They were people who decided how our societies should function, who deserved funding, who were an ally, who wasn’t. Together, they governed big and small segments of our everyday lives, defining what justice looked like, how democracy should be rebuilt, and who was deserving of trust.

And yet, years later, many of them ended up in the disgraceful footnotes of history. Some for corruption, others for moral hypocrisy or hiding in some rabbit hole when their voice was so much needed, some simply for failing so spectacularly at what they once lectured others about. Looking back at those old photos, I realised how right that advice had been. “Be careful who you end up with in a picture frame.”

That memory came back to me one spring in Germany, a few years ago, during what was promoted as a high-level conference on the Western Balkans. In truth, it was little more than a polite exchange of ideas, three panels with predictable talking points, and the same faces making the same promises. Nothing transformative. Nothing that would be remembered.

Except for the photo sessions.

During one of the coffee breaks, I noticed a group of Balkan politicians hovering near the door, waiting for senior U.S. officials to finish their conversations. The moment one of them stepped aside, the Bosnians pounced, one by one, asking for a photo. The Serbians and Albanians followed. Jackets straightened, smiles rehearsed, one must admit, the choreography was perfect.

I watched with quiet amusement. It felt absurd, almost touching in its desperation. Why did they want those photos so badly? A day later, my social media feed was flooded with triumphant posts:

“Important bilateral meetings in Germany.”

“Firm support for my political efforts.”

“Strong partnerships reaffirmed.”

Really? All from a thirty-second encounter at the coffee machine? Wow.

It was a masterclass in transformation, how a quick snapshot becomes a narrative of legitimacy. A photo that lasted seconds became a claim to political relevance. Because in my world, the world of think tanks, policy forums, and international organisations, this ritual is universal. Being photographed next to power has become a form of currency. The closer you stand, the more you’re worth.

The photo is both proof of access and validation of existence. It says, I was there. Even when “there” means standing beside someone who wouldn’t remember your name by lunchtime. You may not have influence, but you have evidence that you brushed against it.

And social media turned this ritual into a profession. On LinkedIn and X, the caption is always the same: ‘Honoured to have met…” Networking becomes performance, and visibility replaces actual achievement.

I’ve seen people chase those moments as if their lives depend on it, and professionally, who knows, maybe they do.

And when I scroll through my own photos, I regret not having more of the people I genuinely admired, those I met during meetings with ministers, prime ministers, and presidents, who always understood and articulated things far better than their bosses. The project managers, assistants, and drivers, doing fieldwork that was nothing short of miraculous at the time, while their directors couldn’t even pronounce the countries they were posted in.

I should have taken those photos. But that’s how self-branding sneaks in disguised as participation and framed as impact.

This habit isn’t unique to politics or the NGO world. Not at all. It’s part of a broader addiction or validation through proximity. Yet the more we depend on borrowed importance, the more we hollow out our own.

I haven’t seen the man who gave me that advice for more than a decade, but I think of it quite often: “Be careful who you end up with in a picture frame.” Because one day, the frame might stay, but the meaning will change. What once looked like success may age into embarrassment. Some of those faces you once stood beside might become symbols of everything you fought against.