My big pet peeve with people posting food - and I love it when

Chrissy Teigen once declared with playful honesty: “My big pet peeve with people posting food—and I love it when people post food—but my number one thing is when you’re posting at a restaurant, and it’s dark, like a date night. Food never looks good. Flash looks horrible, no flash looks horrible. It’s important to only do food photos during daylight—and it’s all about color with Instagram.” At first, these words may sound lighthearted, the musings of a woman immersed in the age of digital sharing. Yet beneath them lies a truth both ancient and enduring: beauty and joy require not only substance, but also the right light in which to be revealed.

The ancients understood the sanctity of light. To the Egyptians, the rising sun was Ra himself, unveiling creation anew each dawn. The Greeks built temples so that the rays of the morning would strike their altars, bathing the divine in brilliance. Even the Romans spoke of lux as both illumination and glory. What Teigen reminds us of, in her modern tongue, is that even the humblest meal, when brought into the radiance of daylight, reveals its truest nature. Without the blessing of light, colors fade, details blur, and the feast becomes a shadow of itself.

This saying also points to the union of art and life. For what is a shared photograph but a fragment of memory, offered to the world as a token of joy? Yet if that fragment is poorly lit, stripped of its vibrancy, it becomes not a celebration but a distortion. The ancients, too, grappled with this. Consider the frescoes of Pompeii, still vivid centuries after ash buried them. The artisans knew that pigment without light was dead; they painted with the sun in mind, so that reds, blues, and greens would shine in full splendor. Just so, Teigen counsels us: color is the soul of the image, and only daylight can set it free.

Let us remember also the feast of the Impressionists. When painters like Monet and Renoir sought to capture the essence of life, they abandoned the dim studios of old and turned instead to the open air, where sunlight danced upon leaves and water. They discovered, as Chrissy Teigen observes in her way, that beauty thrives not in the gloom, nor under the harsh falseness of artificial flash, but in the gentle, honest brilliance of the sun. It was light that gave depth to their art, just as it gives truth to the images of the meals we cherish today.

But the teaching goes further still. It is not only about food photos, but about how we ourselves choose to present the treasures of our lives. If we show them in shadows, they lose their glory; if we bring them into the right light, they inspire and nourish others. A family meal shared by day, captured with warmth and color, may speak more powerfully to the heart than the most elegant dish shrouded in darkness. It is the same with our words, our deeds, our memories: each must be revealed in the best light to carry its full meaning.

The lesson, then, is both simple and profound: seek the light. Not only for your photographs, but for your life. When you share joy, share it in its fullness, not half-hidden, not distorted. Be mindful of how you frame the gifts you offer the world, whether they are meals, memories, or moments of truth. Just as food looks lifeless in poor lighting, so too can our offerings seem hollow if not revealed with clarity, honesty, and joy.

Practical wisdom follows: when posting food photos, choose daylight whenever possible. Step near a window, let the sun embrace the colors, and reveal the dish as it was meant to be seen. Beyond the lens, do the same with your life. Shine light upon your blessings, your gratitude, your laughter. Do not bury them in gloom or false pretense. Let them be radiant, so that others may partake in their beauty and be uplifted.

Thus, Chrissy Teigen’s lighthearted words become timeless teaching: Do not hide life’s feast in the shadows—bring it into the light, for it is all about color, about joy, about sharing truth with the world. In this way, our tables, our art, and our lives will be remembered not as mausoleums of silence or gloom, but as sunlit festivals of abundance, fellowship, and delight.