Dealing with [Pho]Mo

A new-and-improved version of every item in your gear kit comes out every day and social media algorithms make sure you know about it. How do you deal with PhoMo, the modern photographer's own special brand of FOMO - fear of missing out?
Photographer Fear of Missing Out

I have a problem. An addiction of sorts. It’s not the most embarrassing condition, it’s barely frowned upon and sometimes it even pays for itself. You may have guessed it. I am an incorrigible camera gear hoarder. The fear of missing out on the next technical marvel is all too real for many photographers. Marketing geniuses – they have to be if they get me every time, don’t they? – have me forking out that hard-earned cash more often than I’d like to admit.

Strangulation
I know I’m hardly alone in this – it really is so easy to fall prey to the thought of the shiny new thing making you that much better. Sometimes it’s worth it. My recent jump to a mirrorless system makes me feel like an awed time traveler straight out of the middle ages. Other times… I have nightmares about the multitude of cables under my bed becoming sentient just long enough to strangle me. Unfortunately, the real strangulation victim in this whole process is my creative output. Looking to the next accessory has me looking away from the contents of my next project. It keeps me from filling in the gaps in my skill set and it seduces me to continually place form over content. Possibility over reality.

Rehab
I’ve come up with a few strategies to break the habit and bring myself back to the essence of being an artist. Am I always successful? “Sure”, I lie, as I hastily close those 37 shopping tabs and video reviews in my browser. Just remember, kids, do as I say, not as I do.

Go manual
This is technically still “hoarding lite”, but I am a proponent of gently weaning yourself off. Using manual lenses is an excellent way to rekindle the relationship with your camera. There are some very affordable manual third-party lenses out there. You are also one adaptor away from delving into the world of vintage lenses. Just a month ago I found a vintage Canon 50mm lens in a thrift store for a whopping… 3 dollars. And that’s 3 dollars Canadian. The thrill of the hunt for bargain vintage glass shares much of the excitement and pay-off of gear hoarding, but at a much lower cost. The catch is that after the hunt, it’s time to shift your undivided attention back to your camera for this technique to work.

Comfort zone
On a recent trip to Paris, caught in a heat wave, I decided my evaporating body was only capable of dragging around one very, very light lens. A tiny tilt-shift Lensbaby which I had purchased a decade earlier and which, quite frankly, hardly ever left my bag.
I repressed my fears by telling them that this was Paris, every centimètre of the city of light had already been captured on film or sensor. I might as well take a creative risk. For every failed photo, there are 25 postcards waiting in the wings.
The initial stress caused by manoeuvring the front of the bending lens in the right direction, and then manually focusing, soon turned into exhilarating fun. Missing shots didn’t matter as much as the sensation of mastering a new skill. The world transformed by a simple pressing of an eye to a viewfinder.
Odd macro, pinhole, and tilt-shift lenses can bring back that initial fun of looking through a lens and seeing the world in a different way. The same can happen when you take your new vintage lens and experiment. Rub some Vaseline on the glass for a soft look. Or go completely wild and tinker with what’s inside. Break your routine and hightail it out of that comfort zone.

Knock Knock
When I still find myself overwhelmed by the choice anxiety of technical possibilities, I know the aforementioned techniques were probably an elaborate procrastination scheme. What I really need to do is consult that still small voice. Does my work reflect what I want to see in the world? It’s not always the easiest question to answer, but it helps me shift my focus from wanting to try every new technique, to wanting to tell my story with the gear I already own. Sometimes just looking at your early work, which may not have been technically perfect, will remind you why you picked up a camera in the first place. So make a habit out of knocking on your own door, and who knows, maybe you will be surprised by who you find.

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