The "Parent Paparazzi" Trap

dr. Kristijan Musek Lešnik
Oct 20, 2025
3 min read

Updated: Oct 21, 2025

What starts as one proud snapshot of the school play often escalates into a full-blown documentary series with multiple camera angles, whispered stage directions, and a soundtrack of parents hissing “Shhh, I’m filming!” louder than the actual performance.

“Kids need us present in the moment, not just behind the lens.”

Parents with phones at school events are the modern paparazzi — desperate for the perfect shot of their child’s five-second line in the holiday play. But in trying to capture the memory, we sometimes forget to live it. This chapter explores why we become the Parent Paparazzi, how it backfires, and how to step out from behind the lens without losing the memories.

Mistake: Filming every recital, play, or spelling bee as if it’s Sundance Film Festival.

THE ISSUE

It’s Friday night in the elementary school auditorium. The lights dim. The curtain rises. And instantly — a wall of iPhones appears.

Your child, dressed as “Tree #3,” peers out nervously at the crowd… only to see a glowing sea of screens where smiling faces should be.

Meanwhile, you’re holding your phone aloft at an angle so awkward it doubles as arm-day at the gym. You whisper, “Shhh, I’m filming!” and miss the very moment you wanted to capture.

Welcome to the age of the Parent Paparazzi: where every school play, recorder concert, or spelling bee is treated like a red-carpet premiere.

WHY PARENTS DO THIS

We turn into paparazzi when our kids are on stage:

Because childhood feels fleeting. We’re terrified of forgetting, so we record everything.
Because technology makes it easy. Our phones beg us to hit record.
Because social media raises the stakes. If it’s not on Facebook Live, did it even happen?
Because everyone else is doing it. One parent films, then ten parents film. Herd mentality.
Because memory feels fragile. We treat videos like insurance against time.

HOW THIS HARMS KIDS (AND PARENTS)

Being too focused on capturing moments instead on experiencing them can lead to:

Divided attention. Kids want your eyes, not just your footage.
Performance pressure. “Don’t mess up — this is going online.”
Loss of connection. Eye contact matters more than megapixels.
Perfectionism. Childhood mistakes get immortalized.
Memory distortion. We remember the video, not the experience.
Reduced joy. Events feel like media productions, not celebrations.

AVOIDING THE TRAP

The good news: you can keep memories without becoming Spielberg of the School Cafeteria.

Record One Moment, Then Stop. Film the solo or the big line. Then put the phone away. Your child will notice you watching — not just filming.
Let the “Official Cameraman” Handle It. Most schools have one parent who records and shares everything. Let them be the documentary crew. You just clap.
Use Your Eyes as the Camera. Soak in the squeaky shoes, wobbly smiles, and crooked halos. Brains store better memories than iCloud.
Embrace Imperfection. If you film, keep the sneezes, the stagehand bloopers, even the crooked halo. That’s the charm — not the cinematic polish.
Alternate With Your Partner. One parent films, the other watches. That way at least one pair of eyes is always on stage.
Share Selectively. Ask yourself: does the internet really need my child’s “Hot Cross Buns”? Grandma, maybe. Instagram, maybe not.
Model Presence. If we want kids to know how to enjoy concerts and games without a screen glued to their face, we need to show them how it’s done.
Make the Tradition About the Event, Not the Recording. Celebrate with ice cream afterward — not a family film review.

THE PAYOFF

When you step out from behind the lens, your child sees your smile, your claps, your pride — not just a glowing rectangle. And the footage in your head (the nervous pause, the triumphant bow, the silly stage bloopers) will last longer than anything stored on your phone.

Years from now, your child won’t remember the high-definition footage you posted online. They’ll remember looking out at the audience and seeing you — really seeing you — cheering them on. Because school plays aren’t Sundance. They’re fleeting, messy, joyful glimpses of childhood. The best way to preserve them isn’t through perfect video files.

It’s through warm imperfect, human presence.