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Why a Photographer Joined Toastmasters (and Lost Her Hat on Stage)

By Marie Feutrier • October 21, 2026
Phoenix headshot photographer Marie Feutrier telling her Tall Tale at Gilbert Toastmasters in a yellow climbing helmet, with a climbing rope at her feet and the club banner beside her

I'm a professional photographer. I know my craft, I love my craft, and when I pick up a camera I feel completely at home. But running a business means you don't get to stay in your comfort zone. You have to learn skills that have nothing to do with the thing you actually love — and you have to learn them in public, imperfectly, sometimes while tangled in a rope.

More on that in a moment.

The Reluctant Volunteer

I'm a member of Gilbert Toastmasters. I joined because I want to be a better communicator: better with clients, better leading a class, and eventually, the real goal, comfortable enough to create video content regularly. I have enormous admiration for people who can step in front of a camera every week and just talk. It looks effortless. It is not effortless.

A few days before our club's Tall Tale contest, they still needed contestants to reach the goal of ten. I volunteered. Not because I was ready. Not because I wanted to. Because I knew it was training, and training doesn't wait until you feel ready.

Here's what I did not do: practice. I especially did not practice with my outfit, which turned out to be a significant oversight.

The Dahu, the Tamagotchi, and the Rope

Marie Feutrier crossing the stage at the Gilbert Toastmasters Tall Tale contest with a yellow climbing rope as a prop

My Tall Tale was about my recent trip to Yosemite. In the tradition of a good tall tale, I embellished slightly. I claimed I had spotted a Dahu, a creature from French Alps mythology: an imaginary mountain goat whose legs are shorter on one side, which is how it stays upright on steep slopes without sliding off. (It cannot, however, turn around. Which is its tragic flaw.)

I brought climbing equipment as a prop. I crossed the stage with the rope draped over my shoulder. That moment, walking across the stage and committing to the bit, gave me a genuine surge of confidence.

Then my hat fell off. And I got tangled in the rope.

I finished 4th out of 10. In a second language. With a prop that fought back.

I had prepared what I thought was a good joke. My only witness to the Dahu sighting, I told the audience, was the Tamagotchi that my fellow Toastmaster Elle had given me for my birthday. Only a handful of people laughed. As it turns out, not everyone knows what a Tamagotchi is. Useful lesson: what feels like a universal reference in your own head is sometimes just a reference.

What I did not expect was what happened after the speech. People came up to me asking about the Dahu. The French Alps mythology had genuinely caught their attention. No trophy, but I had accidentally sparked curiosity about something I love — and that felt like its own kind of win.

The Part That Actually Matters

Marie Feutrier laughing with a fellow Gilbert Toastmasters member after the Tall Tale contest

I'm not impressed with my performance. I know what I could have done better. I know that good speakers practice — a lot — and I didn't.

But the feeling I had afterward reminded me of finishing my taxes. I hate the process. The whole thing is uncomfortable and I would rather be doing almost anything else. But when it's done, I feel like an accomplished business owner who did the difficult job. Not glamorous. Not exciting. Just done, and better for it.

That's what this phase of growth feels like. I don't like not being good at something. But the only way to close the gap is to keep showing up — hat, rope, Tamagotchi joke and all.

I joined Toastmasters because running a photography business requires skills that have nothing to do with photography. The part I love — the camera, the light, the moment of connection with a subject: that comes naturally. The rest is work I have to do anyway.

If you're a small business owner sitting on something you've been avoiding — a skill you know you need, a room you know you should walk into — I'm not going to tell you it's fun. It might be uncomfortable and your hat might fall off.

Do it anyway. You'll be glad when it's done.

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