Walk into any camera store in 2025—or scroll through the endless listings online—and you’ll be hit with gear lust from every angle. There are mirrorless flagships with eye-tracking autofocus that can pick out a squirrel’s whiskers at half a mile. There are medium format monsters with enough resolution to print a billboard the size of a football field. There are even luxury cameras that seem designed more as jewelry than as tools. And if you have the money, you can absolutely spend $50,000 on a setup that promises the world.
But here’s the catch: you don’t need to.
Photography isn’t about whether your sensor has 100 megapixels or whether your camera can shoot 30 frames per second. In fact, in 2025, the camera itself might be the least important part of the whole equation.
If you think back to 2008, cameras like the Canon 5D Mark II or Nikon D700 were considered cutting-edge. The 5D II introduced full-frame HD video recording—something that blew everyone’s minds at the time. The Nikon D90 did the same for APS-C shooters. Back then, if you wanted clean low-light images, accurate autofocus, and decent resolution, you really did need one of those big, expensive DSLRs.
Today? Those same cameras are “old,” their price tags slashed to a few hundred dollars on the used market. Yet they’re still more than capable of producing professional-level work. Put a 2008-era DSLR in the right hands, and no one scrolling Instagram or even flipping through a photo book will know (or care) that it’s “outdated.” I mean, think about it. Was there something that changed in what makes a good photo? With the thought that “you can’t make a good image unless you buy this new camera”, then I guess no photo taken before 2020 is really good at all, right?
"Welcome Home" - Olympus e-3 - 2010
Then there are cell phones. The cameras tucked inside today’s smartphones would’ve felt like science fiction even in the early 2010s–and that’s not even that long ago! Computational photography now fills in the gaps where optics or hardware might fall short. HDR blending, night modes, AI sharpening and noise reduction—it’s all done instantly on a device that fits in your pocket.
Photo taken with a Google Pixel 9
I’ve seen photographers shoot entire projects on phones that would’ve required thousands of dollars of gear a decade ago. And while a phone won’t give you the flexibility of interchangeable lenses or the depth control of a large sensor, it can still produce work that feels polished and emotional. In fact, some of the most powerful images being made today are done on devices that people also use to text their friends or order takeout. I know there is a lot of love and hate discussion on whether or not we should use our phones to capture photographs. I mean, are you really a photographer then? I find it kind of odd that you can go out, create a pinhole camera from a shoebox, and that is considered to be more “photography” than using your phone camera. I mean, I get it, but come on, really? There’s that saying that goes something like “the best camera is the one you have with you” or something like that. I’m too lazy to Google it. Damn…what a 2025 thing to say.
Think, too, about the early days of mirrorless. The Sony NEX series (my NEX-7 is one of my favorite cameras I own and still shoot with today), the Panasonic GF1, the Olympus PEN digital line—small, quirky, sometimes frustrating to use, but revolutionary in their own way. Those cameras might feel clunky compared to the sleek mirrorless bodies of today, but if you go back and look at images taken with them, the difference isn’t what you’d expect. You don’t see “limitations.” You see photographs that still hold up. Again, would you even know if someone didn’t tell you? Probably not.
Photo taken with an IR-converted Sony NEX-7
The same goes for compact point-and-shoots. That Canon PowerShot your parents used on vacations? The Fuji X10 you might’ve forgotten about in a drawer? Those little machines can still capture sharp, colorful, perfectly usable photographs. Sure, they might not have the dynamic range of modern sensors, but they can capture a moment in a way that matters far more than technical perfection.
And then there’s film—something that, against all odds, has clawed its way back into popularity. You can find old 35mm and medium format cameras at thrift stores, flea markets, or even for free if you ask around. Sometimes they come with a story, passed down from someone’s grandfather or pulled out of a dusty box in an attic.
Film isn’t about convenience. It’s not about megapixels, AI focus tracking, 5,000,000 auto-focus points and a tilt screen that can disconnect from the camera to make your morning coffee for you. It’s about slowing down, thinking about each frame, and embracing the imperfections. The nostalgic look—the grain, the colors, the subtle softness—has become so sought after that entire industries have popped up trying to digitally replicate it. Lightroom presets, VSCO filters, custom LUTs, as well as camera brands leaning more and more into it—all of them exist because people want that imperfect, analog charm.
Fuji GFX 50s
Minolta X-700 with Cinestill 800t 35mm film
The funny part? You can just pick up a cheap old film camera and get the real thing. But I get it. Film gets expensive, and it sucks up a lot of time. I admit that I also love being able to get certain looks with my digital images, especially with my Fuji, but I also still love to shoot film, and feel that, at least for me, nothing can truly replace the real thing.
Minolta Autopak 460 tx with Lomography Tiger 200 110 film
So why doesn’t it matter if you spend $50,000 or $50 on a camera? Because the differences between those price points are less important than ever in 2025.
A $50,000 camera might offer insane specs, but those specs are often overkill unless you’re shooting for very specific purposes—giant commercial prints, scientific documentation, cinema-level video production, wedding photography. For 99% of photographers, the extra megapixels or the extra stops of dynamic range, or shooting 30fps RAW photos don’t change the outcome in a meaningful way.
A $50 camera—whether it’s an old DSLR, a pawn shop point-and-shoot, or a thrifted film body—still captures light. It still allows you to frame a scene, tell a story, and create an image that moves people. If the light is right, then the image will shine all by itself.
Photo taken on the Google Pixel 9
What separates a good photograph from a forgettable one isn’t the sharpness of the lens or the number of focus points. It’s the vision of the person holding the camera.
There’s also been an increasing danger in focusing too much on gear. You start chasing specs instead of moments. You convince yourself that you’ll take better photos once you get that new lens or that new body. You spend more time reading reviews or watching endless Youtube videos than actually getting out and shooting.
Meanwhile, someone else is out there with a ten-year-old DSLR, a disposable film camera or even a camera from the 40s that was picked out from the trash—making images that feel alive.
Photography has always been about seeing. About noticing. About shaping light and shadow into something that resonates. The gear helps, yes, given the situation, but it doesn’t define the outcome.
Photo taken on an Olympus Stylus 770 SW
One thing that often gets lost in the obsession with equipment is the simple joy of taking pictures. Remember being a kid with a disposable camera? Half the shots were crooked or out of focus, but they felt magical because they were yours.
That same sense of fun should still be at the heart of photography today. Whether you’re shooting with a phone, a decade-old DSLR, or a high-end mirrorless, the act of exploring with a camera in hand should feel playful.
When you stop worrying about whether your lens resolves corner-to-corner sharpness at f/1.4 and instead focus on the experience—the walk through a city at night, the stillness of a foggy morning, the laughter of friends—you make better photographs. Not because they’re technically perfect, but because they carry meaning.
Photo taken on Olympus e-3
I mean, yeah, I own a couple fairly expensive cameras for when I do commercial work such as weddings. But sometimes when I’m out having fun shooting, I’ll toss an adapter and a cheap old film lens I got for 20 dollars onto them just to get that bit of an imperfect, nostalgic look. Why? Because it’s fun.
The resurgence of film is proof of all of this. If photography were purely about technical superiority, film would’ve been left in the dust. Digital cameras surpass film in resolution, dynamic range, ISO performance—you name it.
Yet people are shooting film in record numbers. Not because it’s “better,” but because it’s fun. Because it has a vibe. Because it makes them feel connected to the act of photography in a way megapixels never could. It makes you slow down, take your time, and live in the moment rather than through your screen. There’s nothing like that feeling of seeing your images after a week, or even a month after you shot them. They feel fresh, and you have a different appreciation for them. Even with my digital images, I’ll often let them sit for a couple of weeks before I review them all. Your mindset can be entirely different about what you like or don’t like.
We’re also living in a time when access has never been wider. Almost everyone carries a camera in their pocket every day. You don’t need to invest in a system or a kit to get started. You just need curiosity.
Photo taken on Google Pixel 9
This means more voices, more perspectives, more experimentation. And it means the weight of having “the best gear” doesn’t really hold the power it once did.
So in the end, whether you spend fifty bucks on a yard-sale film camera or fifty thousand on the latest flagship, you’re still chasing the same thing: moments that mean something. The real difference lies in how you use what’s in your hands.
The obsession with gear can distract from that. But once you let go of the idea that you “need” the best, photography becomes lighter. Freer. More fun.
And that’s what photography should be.
And just to really hammer it for what…the third time or something. I’m not saying gear never matters–it can, depending on the job or situation at hand. You’ll know when it does. If you know, you know. If you don’t, then you probably don’t need it yet.
