It’s a trick question.
You can’t answer it unless someone shows you the string.
Or at least tells you something about it.
The same thing applies to cameras.
I’m usually halfway through a sandwich when it happens.
My cameras are sitting on the table because there is absolutely no chance I’m leaving thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment in the car.
That’s apparently the universal signal for:
“Free photography consultation while eating.”
It never fails.
“Nice cameras.”
“Thanks.”
“You a photographer?”
Now, there are at least a thousand answers to that question bouncing around in my head.
“No. I collect expensive binoculars.”
“No, I just enjoy carrying thirty pounds of equipment to improve my posture.”
“Actually, I’m training for the Camera Olympics.”
Instead, I choose adulthood.
“Yes, I am.”
Then comes the question.
Every.
Single.
Time.
“You know… I’d like to get a nice camera. What would you recommend?”
And just like that, we’re back to the piece of string.
I know absolutely nothing about this person.
So I ask the obvious question.
“What do you like to photograph?”
A long pause.
Forehead wrinkles.
Eyes drift toward the ceiling as though the answer might be written there.
“Oh… I don’t know.”
Another pause.
“Stuff, I guess.”
Stuff.
That’s the entire photographic genre.
Not birds.
Not sports.
Not grandchildren.
Not landscapes.
Not travel.
Stuff.
I’m now considering hiding my cameras under the table before ordering lunch.
Instead, I smile.
“Well… almost every camera made today is excellent at photographing stuff.”
He laughs.
“I mean, I want a really good camera.”
“Oh.”
“That’s easy.”
“I’d go to Hunt’s Photo in Providence. Every camera they sell is excellent, and the people there will ask you the right questions before recommending anything.”
He nods approvingly.
“Are they expensive?”
At that point I silently prayed for strength.
Compared to what?
A disposable camera?
A Honda Civic?
A kidney transplant?
Again…
How long is a piece of string?
So I ask another question.
“What’s your budget?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I don’t really have one.”
Ladies and gentlemen…
When someone says they don’t have a budget…
…they absolutely have a budget.
Usually around $400.
They just don’t know it yet.
I explain that cameras range from a few hundred dollars to well over ten thousand before you even start talking about lenses.
His eyes get wide.
“Ten thousand?”
“Oh yes.”
“And that’s before you discover that photographers have a fascinating medical condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We convince ourselves that every new lens will make us a better photographer.”
He laughed.
I didn’t.
Because it’s true.
If you’ve ever seen one of us standing in chest waders with an 800mm lens the size of a bazooka balanced on a tripod that costs more than your first car…
…you’re not witnessing rational financial behavior.
You’re witnessing a support group that hasn’t admitted it has a problem.
That’s about the time I usually mention my friend and mentor, Don Toothaker.
Don has forgotten more about photography than I’ll ever know.
I’ve been fortunate to learn from him for years, and one of the greatest lessons he teaches has nothing to do with cameras.
He teaches people to ask better questions.
Not…
“What’s the best camera?”
But…
“What do you want your camera to help you do?”
That’s a completely different conversation.
Because the right camera for a Yellowstone wolf photographer isn’t the right camera for someone photographing grandchildren blowing out birthday candles.
And neither of those is ideal for hummingbirds, weddings, football games, or your wife’s prize-winning petunias.
Different strings.
Different lengths.
Different answers.
By now my sandwich is cold.
The stranger thanks me.
“I guess I have some thinking to do.”
“You do.”
“And don’t buy a camera until you’ve answered one question.”
“What’s that?”
“What makes your heart stop when you see it?”
Birds?
Wildlife?
Travel?
Family?
Landscapes?
Race cars?
The moon?
Because once you know that…
The camera almost picks itself.
He smiled, thanked me again, and walked away.
I finally picked up what was left of my sandwich.
Cold.
Soggy.
And somehow…
Delicious.
Because if one more person discovers the joy that photography has brought into my life, it was worth every interrupted lunch.
Although…
I may start carrying a tablecloth.
Just big enough…
…to hide the cameras.
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