Is an f3.5 aperture big enough? For street photography, I say it’s plenty! I often crank my Leica M8’s ISO to 1250, which gives a cool, film-like grain. Sometimes I shoot at f3.5, sometimes even smaller. On bright daytime streets, f3.5 handles any light just fine.
What’s that? Background blur? Okay, the Leica Elmar 50mm isn’t exactly a bokeh champ at f3.5, but hold up—can you say it lacks depth? That lens has a killer sense of space, something even f2 or f1.2 lenses from other brands can’t always nail for that street vibe. Maybe the Elmar was born for the streets!
When I saw this photo, it hit me why the Leica M8’s black-and-white shots pull me in way more than the M9’s. In my mind, only black-and-white film with a yellow filter could come close. The M8’s black-and-white portraits? They make faces pop with brightness. It’s because there’s no infrared cut-off filter, giving those photos a unique charm—like an invisible spotlight lighting up people’s faces on the street. Pretty awesome, right?
I never snack while strolling because my hands are busy with a camera, not food. What I’m feasting on? Light. Yup, out on the streets, every shadow and glow is my buffet. You savor your tasty bites, and I savor my photography. Street photography? It’s never a chore—it’s a treat!
No matter how much you spend or how fancy a photographer you hire, nothing beats the raw magic of a street photographer’s candid portrait. Why? Because it’s real, it’s pure, and nobody’s putting on a show. It’s like that Taoist idea of “doing nothing” — when you stop trying, everything just flows. The only downside? The person in the photo might never see their own raw truth. But don’t go thinking you’re some one-of-a-kind snowflake either! If you see authenticity in a photo, that’s you staring back — and that guy in the picture? Yeah, that’s you too. Meet street photography, meet the real you.
After shooting a basketball series in JPG-only burst mode, I made a discovery: JPG is more than enough. When we default to RAW (or RAW+JPG), we subconsciously whisper: “I’ll fix it in post.” But is “fixing it later” truly part of photography—or just an excuse to slack off in the moment?
JPG: The Digital Film Experience
For special scenarios like high-contrast landscapes, RAW’s flexibility is invaluable. But for everyday shooting? JPG forces you to commit, like film. No safety net means you focus intensely on exposure, composition, and seizing the moment—the essence of photography. No more hiding behind sliders.
The “Fake Photo” Epidemic
Yes, RAW can transform dull shots into neon-drenched masterpieces. But this feels like digital taxidermy—artificial enhancement that betrays reality. It’s no different from slapping filters on fast food ads: the burger glistens in the photo; IRL, it’s a sad, soggy mess. My rule: Post-processing should reveal truth, not invent it.
The JPG Experiment: Freedom in Constraints
During the basketball games, I shot exclusively in JPG. The result? Liberating simplicity. My only edit was occasional B&W conversion—no exposure tweaks, no shadow recovery. And guess what? The images felt honest.
Sony A7s: The Dark Horse Hero
My 12MP Sony A7s, often overlooked, delivered a revelation: at ISO 6400, JPGs burst with vibrant, film-like color. No wonder DxOMark ranks its high-ISO performance top 5—even today. Sometimes, less (pixels) really is more (character).
The $200 Miracle: Vivitar 135mm f/2.8
Then there’s my thrifted Vivitar 135mm f/2.8. For $20, this “Leica-handfeel” lens stunned me: tack-sharp in dim gym light, rendering colors like a dream. Proof that greatness isn’t defined by price tags.
The Verdict: Shoot Like It Matters
Light is king. Good light = glorious JPGs. Bad light? No RAW wizardry saves a poorly captured moment.
Photography is personal. Your images should reflect your truth, not algorithmic hype.
Try the JPG challenge. For one week, shoot JPG-only. You’ll rediscover the thrill of getting it right—not just “fixable.”
Final thought: RAW has its place. But if you’re using it as a crutch, you’re missing the point. JPG isn’t a compromise—it’s a return to photography’s beating heart: the decisive moment, nailed in-camera.
📸 Your future self (and your hard drive) will thank you.
Let’s settle this debate once and for all—with a mix of history, optics, and a dash of vintage obsession.
The “Afghan Girl” Lens: Myth vs. Reality
The iconic 1984 photograph by Steve McCurry was shot with a Nikon FM2, Nikkor 105mm f/2.5 AI-S lens, and Kodachrome 64 film. This specific AI-S version (released in 1977) features a 5-element/4-group Xenotar-type design, optimized for sharpness, color fidelity, and improved close-range performance with Nikon’s multicoating technology.
But here’s the twist: My beloved Auto-era 105mm f/2.5 (officially AI-converted by Nikon) is not the “Afghan Girl” lens—yet I love it even more.
Why the Auto-to-AI Conversion Matters
In Nikon’s golden era (when Leica was their main rival), Auto lenses were built like tank engines: all-metal construction, buttery focus rings, and optical formulas designed for black-and-white film. However, they lacked compatibility with later Nikon SLRs due to missing aperture indexing (AI).
Nikon’s official AI conversion service (now rare) transformed these classics into hybrid gems:
Mechanical upgrades: Added AI coupling for accurate metering on modern film/digital bodies (like my D700/D800).
Cost efficiency: Back in the day, converted AI lenses cost barely $20–30 more than unmodified Auto versions.
Pure nostalgia: That factory-modified serial number feels like a seal from the Nikon gods.
Auto vs. AI-S: A Tale of Two 105mm Lenses
Let’s break down why my “non-Afghan Girl” Auto-converted lens steals my heart:
1. Optical Soul
Auto (Pre-AI, Sonnar design):
5 elements/3 groups (1959–1971).
Single-coated for softer contrast—perfect for rendering creamy bokeh with a painterly glow.
Lower sharpness at close distances but delivers a “vintage haze” that digital lenses can’t replicate.
AI-S (Xenotar design):
5 elements/4 groups (post-1977).
Multicoated for punchier colors and clinical sharpness (ideal for McCurry’s Kodachrome).
Linear aperture control for seamless shutter-priority modes.
My take: The Auto version’s lower contrast isn’t a flaw—it’s a time machine. Portraits feel like they’re wrapped in 1960s film grain, even when shot digitally.
2. The JPEG Test (Zero Editing)
[Insert your unedited JPEG example here]
Shot wide open at f/2.5, the Auto-converted lens delivers:
Tonal subtlety: Skin tones avoid the “plastic” look of modern lenses.
Bokeh alchemy: Backgrounds melt into watercolor washes, not busy “nervous” swirls.
WB accuracy: Nikon’s vintage coatings handle mixed light like a seasoned film lab technician.
Why Bother with a “Non-Afghan” Lens?
Character over clinical perfection: Modern AI-S/Zeiss lenses are technically superior, but they lack the Auto’s imperfect charm—like preferring a vinyl record’s crackle to a sterile Spotify stream.
DIY history: Using a factory-converted AI lens feels like driving a restomod classic car—vintage soul with modern reliability.
Collector’s thrill: Finding an official Nikon AI-converted lens today is like unearthing a mint-condition first-edition book.
Final Verdict
Is my 105mm f/2.5 the “Afghan Girl” lens? No. Is it better? For my style—yes.
While McCurry needed the AI-S’s precision for Kodachrome’s unforgiving palette, my AI-converted Auto lens gives me something no algorithm can replicate: the joy of shooting through a 60-year-old optical formula, tweaked just enough to dance with digital sensors.
Armed with another relic—Nikon’s 58mm f/1.4 “AUTO” lens—I returned to the asphalt court. Fresh off the Afghan Girl lens’ triumph, I wondered: Could this vintage pancake lens, older than my dad’s mixtapes, handle the chaos of pickup basketball?
The f/1.4 Gamble Let’s get technical (but only for a sentence): Mounting this 58mm on a Sony A7S was like teaching a vinyl turntable to stream TikTok dances. The massive f/1.4 aperture promised buttery bokeh, but manual focusing through an EVF felt like threading a noodle through a keyhole mid-game. Shots were either “Wow, that sweat bead looks like a diamond!” or “Did I accidentally photograph a ghost?” Compared to the 105mm’s surgical precision, this lens rendered scenes like a jazz painting—all mood, no maps.
From Sidelines to Starting Five Then came the plot twist: The 2v3 underdog team, tired of losing, shouted: “Yo, camera guy—get in here!” I hesitated. My basketball résumé includes:
Accidentally dunking on a 6th-grade hoop (it was 7 feet tall).
Once tripping over my own shadow during a layup.
But pride (and peer pressure) won. I swapped the Nikon for a water bottle and became the world’s most confused sixth man.
The Stat Line That Wouldn’t Impress ChatGPT Let’s be clear: My game was less LeBron, more “LeBarelyFunctional.” Highlights included:
3 steals: Achieved by wildly flailing at passes like a caffeinated octopus.
2 assists: Both were accidental passes to the opposing team, rebounded by allies.
1 block: A miracle swat that left me sprawled on the concrete, questioning life choices.
6 shots, 1 make: The lone basket? A desperation heave that banked in off a pigeon’s ghost.
Yet somehow, we won. Turns out, hustling like a raccoon at a dumpster party has its merits.
Post-Game Takeaways
Lens Lessons: The 58mm f/1.4? Gorgeous for static drama—think benchside tension, sneaker tread close-ups. For action? Stick to the 105mm.
Athletic Humility: Nothing kills ego faster than airballing a free throw while teens yell “It’s okay, Uncle!”
Photography ≠ Spectating: Stepping into the frame—literally—reminded me why sports photography thrills: it’s about kinetic energy, not just light.
As I limped home, camera strap denting my shoulder, I realized: Manual focus and pickup basketball have the same core rule—embrace the chaos, forgive the misses, and chase the next shot like it’s your last.
Let’s talk about taking a vintage lens to a modern playground.
Why Not the Obvious Choice? When I decided to photograph a casual half-court basketball game, the “logical” gear choice would’ve been a sleek 70-200mm f/2.8 sports zoom—the kind that whirs like a obedient robot. But here’s the thing: I was literally sitting on the edge of the court. Why lug a telephoto bazooka when an 85mm f/1.8 prime could do the job?
Except… I didn’t own an 85mm f/1.8. Buying one just for this felt like renting a tuxedo to walk my dog. Then I remembered: *Wait, isn’t the “Afghan Girl” lens a 105mm f/2.5?* Yes, that legendary Nikon relic—the one that captured the National Geographic portrait—was gathering dust on my shelf. Sure, f/2.5 isn’t f/1.8, but it’s brighter than f/2.8! Plus, my trusty D700’s ISO performance could handle the rest.
Manual Focus: A Dance, Not a Battle Let’s address the elephant in the gym: manually tracking basketball players sounds about as practical as threading a needle during an earthquake. But here’s my logic:
Embrace the JPG gamble: I switched from RAW to JPG, trusting quantity over perfection. Missed focus? Delete and move on.
Predict, don’t chase: Manual focus forced me to anticipate movements—leaning into shots, pivots, that split-second hang time. It felt less like photography and more like jazz improvisation.
Black-and-White Grit (Zero Filters Needed) Surprise MVP? The lens itself. Wide open at f/2.5, it delivered biting sharpness and contrast that made post-processing feel redundant. Converting shots to black-and-white took one click—no tweaking curves or fighting murky shadows. The tonal depth? Like the difference between a vinyl crackle and a Spotify algorithm.
And let’s be real: hauling a DSLR with this chunky 105mm prime still beats fiddling with a rangefinder patch mid-game. Some call it “vintage hassle”; I call it “forced mindfulness.”
The Real Score Did I miss shots? Absolutely. But the keepers had something no f/1.8 autofocus lens could replicate: texture. Every dribble, every sweat droplet, every strained tendon felt raw—like the images themselves were breathing.
Maybe next time I’ll try that 70-200mm. Or maybe not. Sometimes, “outdated” tools remind us that photography isn’t about control—it’s about conversation.
Some critics claim street photography is outdated—”overdone,” “irrelevant,” and “just a shrine to dusty legends.” They dismiss HCB as a privileged dilettante, reduce Frank to a “hipster cliché,” and sneer: “Why buy photo books? Scroll online!”
But Time Doesn’t Exist, Does It? By their logic, history itself is obsolete—a moldy artifact unworthy of study. Yet to me, the “old” ways of seeing feel endlessly fresh. What’s so groundbreaking about the critics’ beloved “contemporary” or “avant-garde” photography? If anything, their worship of novelty reeks of insecurity. You mock my reverence for classics? I’ll laugh at your cult of ignorance.
Street Photography Isn’t Performance Art Flipping through a photo book—the texture of pages, the thrill of stumbling upon a frame that electrifies your nerves—is a ritual as intimate as losing yourself in a favorite song. It’s not about dissecting techniques or flexing intellectual muscles. If critics mistake this joy for pretentiousness, maybe they’ve forgotten what raw connection feels like. Sure, performance gets stale—it craves shock value. But street photography? It’s never been about the show.
Street Photography Is Photographic History A great street photo acts like a visual time capsule. It jolts you into pondering humanity’s quirks—the fleeting fashions, the quiet rebellions, the collective anxieties baked into an era. Take masks post-2020: imagine a kid in 2077 staring at these images, bewildered by our faces half-hidden. That’s the magic.
Street photography doesn’t just document life—it smuggles questions across generations. And if that’s “outdated,” then let’s stay gloriously behind the times.
