The Insecurities
On Calling Myself a Photographer*
A quick story
In 2017, after quitting my job in fashion and making a career shift to photography and production, I took a four-month course on visual language in photography. I was invited to join the course as a former student of the university, otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to afford it.
One of the students was a retired man who, after amassing a fortune (I assume), had bought himself all the Canon gear a beginner photographer could only dream of. He would come to class with a suitcase full of equipment but admitted he had no idea how to use it. He even hurt his back trying to carry it and couldn’t attend half the course. His final project was a little sad—he had also bought a printer and kept showing us stacks of prints of nothing in particular. The teachers didn’t consider it a strong project, and he got so upset that he started yelling at them for not recognising the quality of his pictures. (I won’t get into the toxic masculinity of it all.) Another student, a wealthy kid from Indonesia, had also bought himself top-tier Canon gear and couldn’t figure the camera out (I ended up borrowing it for professional gigs that would pop up here and there.)
Oh gear!
I find gear to be the biggest trap for insecure photographers like me. It wasn’t until I heard the phrase, “Don’t forget that your camera was the biggest hit five years ago,” that I started to put things into perspective—especially in these times, when there’s a new technological improvement every year, making last year’s gear seem outdated.
If you’re not confident in your work, you’ll always blame your gear. There are too many industries that prey on us “not being enough” and the photography industry is one of them, convincing us that the next piece of equipment will finally take our work to the next level—when in reality, only working on the craft will do that, no matter the tools. It’s a challenging thought, I know, because it shifts the pressure onto you and your talent.
For years, I shot with a so-called “cute little” APS-C camera that, at some point, made me feel like less of a photographer for not being able to afford a full frame. What’s worse is that channels, Substacks, and blogs pushing this mindset get the highest engagement and sponsorships from brands. It feeds the beast of insecurity, convincing us that we need new gear for our work to be better, fuller, or whatever we tell ourselves.
It has taken a lot for me to stop caring about gear, to see the industry for what it is (an industry), and to find my voice with my camera—a Fujifilm XT2 that used to be all the rage in its day. Oh, and my 50mm prime lens—the sharpest nifty-fifty that always delivers what I want to capture. (And will never give me back problems.)
You’re afraid you don’t have a social media following.
As creatives, comparing our work to others is incredibly damaging. But the promise of limitless growth, breaking free from a 9-to-5, and making passive income is an attractive one. I’ve wasted way too many hours worrying about my social media grid and following—I still do! Remember those industries that prey on insecurity? Here’s the infinite scroll, keeping us hooked, producing content for a platform that creates the illusion of success. Some people did become successful and are doing well, this is not a criticism towards them, but most of us tried, got exhausted, lowered our self-esteem and saw little results.
The “stats” and “analytics” are great for professional data analysts, but they can be soul-crushing for artists. We were never meant to look at them in such detail—the heartbreak of an unfollow, a negative comment (ugh), or worse, complete silence. We’ve forgotten about the real humans who genuinely connect with our work, who might even want to talk to us and meet us in person.
With all the changes in social media algorithms, I’m starting to believe my work has a better chance of being seen and appreciated in a small local café or restaurant. No barista looking for zines, postcards, or wall art will run a questionnaire on how many followers I have, and what camera or editing software I use.
Last, but by no means least: Perfectionism.
Creativity and perfectionism are a terrible match.
After working in the fashion industry (talk about a picture-perfect industry), my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I didn’t allow myself to make a single mistake—even when I was just starting out in photography—because, in fashion, mistakes aren’t allowed.
Austin Kleon wrote “Show Your Work”, a book I still haven’t been able to finish because I get paralysed by perfectionism. Share my messy process?! Share my imperfections with the world?! So many people have told me—mostly therapists, “That’s where real connection happens, it’s what makes us human.” And, of course, in my head, I cynically respond, “Great. Kumbaya.”
No one ever told me how many bad pictures I’d have to take before I started seeing some decent ones. It’s discouraging. Only now, after almost eight years, am I starting to feel confident enough to post SOME of my pictures.
I understand that my photography isn’t picture-perfect by industry standards, and maybe that makes me more of a hobbyist or a storyteller. But I also think there are some incredibly talented hobbyists and not-so-talented professional photographers out there. The accessibility of cameras and the internet has created that discrepancy.
These insecurities are a matter of perspective—of not letting the loud voices and the industry bring us down.
What matters is building the confidence to put work and compelling thoughts out there, so when someone looks at a picture, they don’t ask what camera and lens was used—but why we decided to tell that story and capture that moment.
*Calling myself a photographer is hard because I’m a multi-hyphenate creative and I like to use photography alongside other art forms. I also made a career change in my late twenties and have worked professionally since then but I still feel a lot of imposter syndrome.
Hi friends!
As I figure Substack out, it looks like posting just one newsletter on Wednesdays, works better with my schedule.
If you are new here—hi and welcome! You can start by reading my welcome post here.
Fever Dreams was my last newsletter.
The previous Travel Plans edition was about sleeping inside Sumatra’s rainforest. Go check it out!
The image in this newsletter is from 2020 in Lake Toba, Sumatra, Indonesia.
Let’s connect on Instagram for Substack updates and travel photography! You’ll find me at @anansuetravel
Take care of yourself and see you in the next one!
Ana.
Substacks that echoed my feelings:
Beyond the Grain—Instagram is Dead by Emily Strav
Notes on Things—Insecure Photograhpers by Dee Rosa
Assata Unfiltered—The Cost of Convenience by Nubia Assata
100%. There are always going to be people who believe themselves to be better, and there are always going to be people who are better. I try - not always successfully - to compare myself only to myself and the photographic and writing journey that I'm on. I'm improving every year, and really that's the metric that's important.
I love how honestly you shared your thoughts here. I feel like so many of us secretly wrestle with these same insecurities. Reading your words felt like a comforting chat with a friend who's brave enough to say what's really going on. Thanks for opening up this conversation; it's so needed!