Thirty-eight years ago, I flew across the country to San Francisco in order to interview for the job I currently have. It was my first time in an airplane, my first time in California, and my first time west of West Virginia. I was in town for two days, then took the train back, spending three days looking out the window and talking endlessly about myself to total strangers at dinner.

Today, the world looks pretty much the same as it did in 1985. There are subtle differences, but nothing compared to what anyone back then might have expected of “the year 2023.” You could take a time machine back to 1985 and walk down Market Street in the clothes you have on right now, and nobody would give you a second look.

But people and technology are different, and here’s one illustration: I have no photos from that first visit. Here was the biggest journey I’d ever taken — here was a trip to one of the most photogenic cities in the world — and there I was, during one of the most pivotal weeks of my life, and I have no photographic record of it. Nothing.

If I were 26 and something like that happened to me now, I’d have hundreds of pictures — selfies all over San Francisco, and then pictures of Salt Lake City, Denver and Chicago — plus images of all the lovely patient people who suffered through my blabbering about myself in the train’s lounge and dining cars.

But we just didn’t take many pictures back then. Most of us didn’t even own a camera, and when someone tried to take a picture of us, we’d freeze up. At the very least, we’dpretendto freeze up, not wanting to look like some preening egomaniac.

What a difference from today.

This summer I was in Europe, where I saw lots of people taking pictures in front of various landmarks. As recently as 15 years ago, people were shy in such situations. They’d stand in front of, say, the Eiffel Tower or the Rialto Bridge with sheepish expressions that were, depending on the person, either signs of genuine humility or of a tasteful determination to imitate it.

But today, everybody under 40 — not to mention lots of others over 40 — is Derek Zoolander. Everyone isdoing “blue steel.”

For those who are not familiar with the reference, Derek Zoolander is a character played by Ben Stiller in his 2001 film “Zoolander,” a comedy about an empty-headed fashion model whose most famous smoldering glare is known as “blue steel.” Fifteen years later, Stiller directed and starred in “Zoolander 2,” and by that time Derek had patented a second signature look that he called “Magnum.”

“Zoolander 2” was even funnier than the original, but it bombed at the box office, and it has taken me until now to figure out why. When “Zoolander” was released, only a ludicrously vain person would look into the camera in the way that a fashion model does. But by 2016, facial expressions like “blue steel” were the norm, and thus, “Zoolander 2” had no power to surprise us. Zoolander mode had taken over the world.

Today, young women in particular are channeling their inner Zoolander. Notice how, as soon as someone lifts a camera, they turn to the side, look over their shoulder and try to bore a hole through the lens with their eyes. In an earlier generation, such a gaze would be insanely suggestive, a virtual parody of lust. But I see girls posing like that in pictures taken by their mothers. And the second the picture is taken, they go back to being their normal selves.

Pictures used to be history. Now they’re a marketing tool. On the more rare occasions people took pictures 30 years ago, it was for some later point in time, to preserve something for the future, possibly the distant future. Today people take pictures to post on social media, acting as publicists to illustrate the latest news about themselves.

Why take pictures with your grandchildren in mind, when your grandchildren will be too busy taking their own pictures? Instead, many of us are posing with strangers and followers in mind, guarding against the possibility of their cold judgment by putting on a confident, self-protective mask.

Reach Mick LaSalle: mlasalle@sfchronicle.com