There is one image in Mumbai-based photographer Megha Singha’s I Love My Friends, But They’re Killing Me that immediately reminded me of Addison Rae’s single Fame is a Gun. In it, Singha’s subject, Nandini, lies on bright pink bedsheets imprinted with the Swarovski logo, holding a tripod, balancing a plastic gun between her legs. The gun, which replaces the phone on the tripod, points to the subject’s head as she poses for a picture. There is no room for subtlety in this observation as both Singha’s project and Rae’s song are deeply concerned with this all-consuming, sometimes destructive pursuit of beauty and fame. The pop star sings of knowing how fame would be the only thing “that could mend her broken heart”, confessing unabashedly how hungry she is to be a star. I wouldn’t be surprised if the young women in these portraits, who have achieved micro-celebrity status as influencers, reality TV stars, and aspiring actresses, are just as drawn to the world she sings about.

Surprisingly, the song was not an inspiration to the photographer, who says, in this particular instance, it was the artist Rebecca Horn’s installation titled Room of Mutual Destruction, featuring a gun facing a mirror, and the poster for Michelangelo Antonio’s 1966 film Blow Up that made it to the moodboard. Guns have been a recurring prop in her work, appearing heavily in past projects. For Singha, there are many associations from childhood. She recalls toy guns and moments of play in her early childhood, when she put on dramatic performances for her family, which involved acting as if she were injured. “These images are inspired by how play and performance can collide into one,” Singha explains over email.

Singha emphasises that performance is central to this work, catalysed by her interest in how beauty is performed on and off the internet. “My mum is extremely cool and has always been interested in new beauty trends, so when Kim Kardashian got her famous vampire facial, she somehow convinced the dermatologists in the town of Jorhat, where she lives, to explore it locally,” Singha recounts. This particular experience sparked curiosity about the globalisation of beauty culture. “I was so fascinated by how something that originated in celebrity culture seeped into a small town in India, and was constantly thinking of ways I could approach it through photography.”

The photographer spent a lot of time researching this culture and the girls who participated in the performance of beauty online. “I spent most of 2024 understanding this world, talking to the girls and getting to know them as I didn’t want my own preconceptions, good or bad, to influence the images,” she shares. Singha explains that the photographs are not a critique of this culture but rather an exploration of how it manifests across geographies and socioeconomic backgrounds, shaping ideas of femininity and desire in the process.

The portraits, shot on 35mm film with a direct flash, feature Singha’s subjects lounging in their bedrooms and living rooms, sprawled over a velvet armchair or posing by a cluttered desk. The use of the domestic space was crucial for the photographer to create a sense of intimacy. Singha was equally drawn to these interiors because they reflected a different side of the country, more truthful to her own reality and shaped by global visual culture and consumerism. “I wanted to move away from certain narratives and tropes that people expect of a photograph shot in India,” she says. Instead, she relied on the objects she found in the subject bedrooms, such as the Playboy posters, Swarovski bedsheets and red-light therapy machines, to reflect this symbiotic, global economy of images and aspiration. 

Stylist Rupangi Grover, who worked closely with Singha, had a similar approach to styling this project, which involved fostering intimacy through playing dress up, conversation and spending time together in their domestic spaces. “I found myself pulling pieces from their mothers’ wardrobes, looking through childhood photographs pinned to bedroom walls, and rummaging through jewellery boxes and beauty drawers”, Grover tells Dazed, explaining how the final looks in the series combine pieces from her own collection, some handpicked from contemporary Indian designers and the girls’ own wardrobes. “A lot of the styling leans into softness, sheerness, lace, lingerie, and hand-crocheted elements, which introduced a DIY sensibility while adding a layer of complexity to familiar ideas of femininity and sexiness.”

Despite the freedom these women access through their online fame, Singha points out how they are still negotiating familial and gendered expectations. “One girl who comes from a conservative background gave us permission to take her photographs but insisted we do it at a time when her father wasn’t around, as he would not approve of it even though he has a framed selfie of her in the living room,” she says. Singha also shares, without going into specifics, how another girl was similarly punished as a teenager for going against rules of femininity tied to modesty and tradition. “I am excited to explore this tension further through this series – maybe I will go to my hometown in northeast India, or smaller towns, to see the story through a new lens. [It could] reveal new ways of looking at femininity and aspiration in the country”    

Megha Singha’s I Love My Friends, But They’re Killing Me was shortlisted for the 2026 Aperture Portfolio Prize.