💸 The Best I Can Buy vs. The Best I Can Make

I could afford the best. The latest bodies, the sharpest lenses, the cleanest files. But lately, I’ve been asking myself: would it really make my images any better?

Not sharper—better.

There’s a difference.

I’ve spent years building a practice around legacy gear. Cameras with high mileage, lenses with quirks, tools that carry history in their wear. My D810 has over 330,000 shutter actuations. My D700 feels like a handshake with the past. These aren’t status symbols—they’re collaborators. They’ve taught me to trust my eye, not my specs.

The temptation to upgrade is always there. New gear promises speed, precision, and dynamic range. But I’ve come to realise that what I need most isn’t more capability—it’s more clarity. More intention. More presence.

Would a new lens make me see differently? Maybe. But would it make me care more deeply about what I’m seeing? Unlikely.

I don’t shoot to impress—I shoot to understand. To witness. To remember. And for that, the gear I already have is enough. Not perfect, but enough.

There’s a kind of creative liberation in resisting the upgrade cycle. It forces me to ask harder questions: What am I really chasing? Is it image quality—or emotional truth? Is it technical control—or narrative depth?

I’m not against new gear. I just don’t want it to become a shortcut. Or worse, a distraction.

So I keep shooting with what I have. Not because I can’t afford better—but because I’m learning to define “better” on my own terms.