I'd never had my portrait executed until I joined The News & Observer in 1996. Back then the paper used drawings of its columnists. The excitement of being immortalized by the artist's eye quickly gave way to queasy dismay when I saw the Amber Alert result: I wouldn't let that guy within 100 feet of my children, I thought, looking at that smirking, beady-eyed character above the caption J. Peder Zane.

Ouch.

Fortunately, I soon learned there was a flip side to this coin. Everywhere I went, readers told me, "You look a lot better than your picture."

Admittedly, the bar was mighty low; no one was confusing me with George Clooney. Still, the power of low expectations was clear. The real-life me offered a pleasant surprise; he's not so scary. The contrast between my picture and face was so great I probably got extra style points -- the Russian judge says 7.4!

True, the thousands of readers I never met still assumed that hideous drawing was moi. But I thought about that only during my dark nights. To the folks I met in the light of day, my portrait was a plus that made them and me feel better.

Taking myself out of the picture for a (short) moment, I wondered: Have we all been wrong all these years, primping, pruning and grooming to look our very best before the camera's shutter or the painter's brush? When it comes to pictures of ourselves, is it better to look bad than beautiful?

These questions surfaced as I read the recent N&O stories about Patsy Christian. She's the director of the Central Regional Hospital in Butner who funneled $572 intended for patients to a subordinate for a portrait of herself to be hung in the hospital.

Forget the legal and ethical concerns, all I could think about were the stunning differences between the painting of Christian and her photograph. Where my artist was downright cruel, hers was remarkably generous (note to self: if you ever have a subordinate, have him paint your portrait).

Between the gilt frame's edges, the normal signs of age and other imperfections vanished. The small bags under Christian's eyes and the mild lines on her face captured by the merciless camera had been smoothed away through the artist's forgiving strokes. Her teeth were pearly white; her dark hair thick and perfectly coiffed.

The result is not a portrait of Christian so much as an idealized version of her -- the woman, perhaps, of her own dreams.

I don't mean to single out Christian. The history of art can be seen as one long exercise in glamorization. A survey of Greek, Roman, medieval or Renaissance art suggests that only ripped dudes and smokin' babes made history. Alexander the Great is depicted as a killer Calvin Klein model; the Virgin Mary almost always has lustrous skin and eyes that Bette Davis might envy. Speaking of virgins, just try finding a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I that includes the pock marks left on her face by smallpox.

Christian's portrait, then, is part of a long tradition of flattery. However, this practice has taken on new dimensions thanks to two technological breakthroughs -- Photoshop and Google.

For most of history, only the wealthy commissioned portraits. The invention of the camera in the mid-19th century democratized the game. The average Joe or Josephine could now become a graven image but without the retouching techniques painters applied. They could gussy themselves up -- take a bath, comb their hair, apply some makeup and wear their Sunday best. Their photographer could employ some gauzy filters and other primitive tricks of the trade. But in the end, they were going to look like, well, themselves.

Thanks to Photoshop, we can all look like Patsy Christian. And, according to local wedding photographers, that's what we want. "I always whiten their teeth and sometimes the eyes," said Amanda Dengler, who owns Studio 310 Photography in Smithfield. "I'll soften the wrinkles, blemishes and moles and smooth out the arms and the chest areas next to the top of arms that can look funny when women are in fancy dresses."

No one, she said, has ever complained, you lightened the mole on my nose too much, or my birthmark is much more prominent than that.

"My goal," Dengler said, "is to help people look their best while always looking like themselves."

Who wouldn't want that? Who doesn't want to look their best? I'm only suggesting that Photoshop and other programs can lead to Patsy Christian excess. And when the gap between appearance and reality is too great, people notice.

I do.

Sometimes when I'm bored, I look at the dust jacket photos of authors. If the shot looks suspiciously perfect, I hit Google images to see what they really look like. Usually, it isn't pretty.

On the plus side, most folks probably have better things to do with their free time than I do. For them, these authors will remain Renaissance visions of loveliness, uncompromised by the facts of face.

Me, I'd rather give people something to look forward to.