Why vintage optics and the analogue feel triumph over technical performance
For decades, the camera industry has been locked in an exhausting race toward technical perfection. We’ve been sold megapixels, edge-to-edge clinical sharpness, and autofocus systems so advanced they nail the shot before the photographer even has a chance to think. But in reaching this point of optical flawlessness, we’ve managed to lose something irreplaceable: the soul.
It’s fascinating to watch the current trend of unearthing vintage gear. What were once dismissed as optical defects are now the most sought-after qualities. Personally, I’ve been on this path for over ten years—long before the vintage boom hit the mainstream. Today, I use lenses from the 1960s and 70s for nearly all my work. There is simply no substitute for the way they render an image.
When perfection only becomes bearable by "ruining" it
Modern lenses are designed by computers to eliminate every possible aberration. The result is often so clinical and harsh that it feels unnatural to the human eye. We’ve reached a point where photographers buy high-end optics worth thousands, only to immediately slap an Ultra Haze or Black Mist filter on the front just to make the image look somewhat tolerable.
Why not go straight to the source? In vintage glass, that softness, the subtle light bleeds, and the organic contrast are built-in characteristics, not bolt-on effects. A 60s metal-bodied lens doesn’t try to show off; it renders the world in a way that feels like a memory the very moment the shutter clicks.
Film as the teacher, glass as the tool
This craving for an authentic feel is rooted in the era of film. Even though I work largely digitally, my mindset remains analogue. Film has taught me that photography is at its best when it isn't a mathematically precise record, but rather an interpretation of a moment.
Using vintage optics is a way to bring that filmic soul and softness into a modern workflow. It strips away the "hardness" of the digital world and makes an image more approachable. When skin textures aren't highlighted with microscopic precision, but are instead rendered gracefully and beautifully, it creates a sense of calm that no amount of post-processing can truly replicate.
Safety and presence
Photography is my way of existing, but it’s also a service profession. My work is based on safer space principles, and surprisingly, my choice of gear plays a major role in this.
When you strip away technical performance and clinical coldness, you make room for humanity. Often, simply mentioning that the lens I’m using is from 1963 helps a client relax and be themselves. They know the result will be natural and soft. Vintage optics ensure that the images convey the genuine atmosphere of the moment without stiffness or artificial sharpness. (And don't worry—I do still have those sharp modern lenses, should you actually want them for some reason ;)
Summary
Choosing vintage gear isn't about retreating into the past; it’s a conscious decision in favour of quality and emotion. It’s a protest against digital over-processing. The optics of the 1960s and 70s offer an organic beauty that today’s plastic, soulless lenses can’t match—no matter how many filters you try to hide them behind.
When you choose a photographer who has spent over a decade refining this style, you aren’t just buying photos. You’re buying a vision that dares to let go of technical perfection to find something far more valuable: authenticity.
Featuring @anna.nova.official
The author is a photographer & graphic designer who has been at the forefront of vintage trends for over a decade.