Stolen Identity
By: Jeff Karp
Tags: Identity, Creativity, Social Media, Photography, Art

Six months have passed since my personal belongings were stolen. There are still so many daily reminders of my unfortunate encounter. I have new passwords, phone numbers, and account logins to remember. I continue to unlearn the muscle memory once required for holding my smartphone just right to activate the facial recognition cameras. The replacement computer in my pocket uses my fingerprint to access my private data, a surprisingly helpful feature in today’s world of masks and social distancing protocols. The wallet I purchased still has its new leather smell. It is now filled with new credit cards showing updated branding and color schemes that cause me to pause each time before using them. A new driver’s license card documents the extent of my weight gain during quarantine. I am adjusting to the reality that my belongings are different now.

I have recounted the details of my assault and robbery a few dozen times so far. I’ve shared it verbally and in writing with family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances, law enforcement, and, to my dismay, too many customer service associates tasked with resetting my personal information in their company’s computer systems. Each conversation pokes at my healing psychological wounds and reminds me I feel different now.

Photo by Jeff Karp | Minneapolis | ©2019

I have come to realize that I am a victim of identity theft in two ways at the hands of my assailants. In stealing my personal belongings packed full of private data, account credentials, and biometric markers, they stole the means by which I authenticate my identity. More troubling however for my emotional health and creative well-being, the surprising and unprovoked chain of events that summer afternoon stole the means by which I define my identity.

Outside of time spent with my family and working my day job, I have been obsessed with photography both as a content consumer and a creator for the past four years. I have been someone who has planned my weeks around sunny days in Minneapolis to ensure the conditions were best for my visual style. I‘ve shared new work and engaged daily with the street photography community on Instagram. I’ve nurtured friendships with professional photographers and enthusiasts from every part of the globe. I’ve even set up a website and a business entity for my photography. In recent months, I’d become comfortable adding the word photographer to my social media bios and even my professional curriculum vitae. After investment of significant time, energy, and resources, I had embraced my identity as a Minneapolis-based street photographer.

When the thieves attacked me without warning or provocation, this identity was also stolen in the process. I lost my naive sense of safety and trust in the unwritten social contracts made between strangers in public. Analytical comparisons of risks and benefits along with creativity-crushing angst has taken their place. I have not returned to my playground of light and shadows. In fact, I have essentially stopped taking photographs beyond my neighborhood. I hesitate to bring my only remaining camera with me when leaving the house for fear it will also be stolen or at least draw interest from strangers when my attention is directed elsewhere.

It has been disheartening to see how deeply my street photography gear, routines, and choice of locations for photo walks had shaped my identity. I‘m sad about the loss of my favorite camera as I saw it being my street photography companion for several more years to come. I also can’t replace the 16 years of memories metaphorically contained in my stolen baseball hat which I wore routinely when doing street photography. I dearly miss the sense of creative flow and stress release I felt when taking pictures quietly on the streets of Minneapolis while my street photography playlist coursed through my headphones. I haven’t listened to that music in weeks as now it only serves as a reminder of what has been taken from me. It is upsetting to see how much Minneapolis has been changed by the COVID-19 pandemic and the killing of George Floyd on our streets. Everything about my street photography is different now. While I am not happy about it, I have finally reached a sense of acceptance about this whole ordeal.

Photo by Jeff Karp | Minneapolis | ©2019

Looking to the future, I am glad to have decisions to make about the road forward for my photographic journey in 2021. Do I continue street photography in new ways or in new places? Do I try taking portraits or learning how to do food photography? Do I embrace the challenge and different opportunities made available by drone or film photography? Perhaps, I should take a much needed hiatus from photography all together to reboot the system. I don’t know the right answer today or even the timeline when I will know it for sure. That said, as a survivor of identity theft, I am happy to make this decision on my terms as having the power to choose my future identity makes all the difference.