The bell above the door hadn't stopped ringing for twenty minutes. It was a Saturday afternoon in March 1985, and Harrison Camera on 47th Street was packed with its usual crowd: wedding photographers arguing about lens choices, art students pawing through used equipment bins, tourists asking endless questions about film types, and the regulars who came not to buy anything but simply to belong somewhere that understood their obsession.
Behind the counter, Eddie Kowalski fielded three conversations simultaneously while repairing a light meter, calculating trade-in values, and keeping one eye on the kid in the corner who'd been fondling the same Leica for forty minutes without any intention of buying it. This was normal. This was Saturday at a real camera store.
Eddie had worked at Harrison Camera for 16 years, long enough to watch photography transform from an expensive hobby for serious enthusiasts into something approaching mass culture. He'd seen the rise of automatic cameras, the explosion of color film, and the gradual democratization of equipment that once cost more than cars. But what hadn't changed was the culture of the store itself—the way knowledge flowed between strangers, how expertise was earned and shared, and why photographers kept coming back even when they could buy cheaper elsewhere.
What none of them knew was that they were living through the golden age of something that would disappear almost completely within two decades.
The Social Architecture of Expertise
Camera stores in the 1970s and 80s weren't just retail spaces. They were informal universities where photography knowledge was transferred through daily conversation, casual demonstration, and gradual apprenticeship. The counter at Harrison Camera served as a seminar table where photographers gathered to debate the merits of different film stocks, share stories from weekend shoots, and seek advice on technical challenges. Eddie and the other staff weren't just salespeople—they were curators of knowledge, arbiters of technical disputes, and repositories of practical wisdom that never appeared in camera manuals.
"What do you think about pushing Tri-X to 1600?" a college student asked Eddie while examining a used Nikon.
"Depends what you're shooting," Eddie replied, not looking up from the light meter he was repairing. "Available light in clubs, you'll get away with it. Portraits in decent light, you're asking for trouble. Too much grain in the skin tones."
This was how knowledge traveled in camera stores—not through formal instruction, but through layered conversations where beginners absorbed wisdom from experienced photographers while experts refined their own understanding by explaining techniques to others.
The social hierarchy was elaborate but informal. Regular customers developed reputations based on their expertise with specific camera systems, their photographic specialties, or their ability to solve unusual technical problems. Newcomers were welcomed but expected to listen before speaking, creating natural mentorship relationships that developed over months and years.
Eddie knew every regular customer's equipment history, shooting preferences, and skill level. When Mrs. Chen came in looking for a portrait lens, he didn't show her the most expensive option—he recommended a 105mm f/2.8 that would complement her existing Nikon setup and match her gentle shooting style. When Tony the wedding photographer needed a backup camera body, Eddie steered him toward used equipment that would integrate seamlessly with his existing flash system.
This wasn't just good customer service. It was relationship-based expertise that took years to develop and couldn't be replicated by reading online reviews.
The Economics of Knowledge
Harrison Camera made money through a complex ecosystem of services that supported their expertise-heavy staffing model.
Equipment sales were just one revenue stream. The store also provided equipment repair, film processing, darkroom setup consultation, equipment rental, and technical troubleshooting. This created multiple touchpoints with customers and justified maintaining staff who could spend t20 minutes explaining depth of field calculations to a confused beginner.
The rental department was particularly important to the store's culture. Before consumer cameras became sophisticated and affordable, Harrison maintained an inventory of professional equipment that photographers could rent for specific projects. Wedding photographers rented backup bodies for busy seasons. Art students rented medium format cameras for thesis projects. Hobbyists rented telephoto lenses for once-a-year wildlife trips.
This rental system democratized access to expensive equipment while creating ongoing relationships rather than one-time sales transactions. A photographer who rented a 300mm lens for a weekend might return six months later to purchase it after saving up. The rental experience provided extended test drives that led to more informed buying decisions.
Eddie tracked rental patterns carefully, noting which equipment was in constant demand and which items gathered dust. This data informed purchasing decisions and helped him anticipate customer needs. When autofocus cameras started gaining popularity, rental demand gave him advance warning about which models would become bestsellers.
The store also served as a informal consignment shop where local photographers could sell used equipment to finance upgrades. Eddie evaluated equipment condition, established fair pricing, and matched buyers with sellers. This created a local photography economy where gear circulated within the community rather than being discarded.
The Information Hub
Before the internet, camera stores served as employment exchanges for photography work.
Local businesses seeking photographers contacted stores like Harrison to find qualified professionals. Event organizers, small businesses needing product photography, and individuals planning family portraits all called Eddie first when they needed photographic services.
Eddie maintained informal networks of photographers with different specialties and experience levels. He knew which wedding photographers had openings in their schedules, which commercial photographers specialized in product work, and which portrait photographers worked well with children. This knowledge made him an invaluable connector between photographers and potential clients.
"I need someone to photograph my daughter's wedding in June," a customer might say.
"Talk to Maria Santos," Eddie would respond immediately. "She's done three weddings this month, all gorgeous work. Catholic ceremonies are her specialty. Her portfolio's on the wall behind you—the album with the red cover."
These referrals created pathways for amateur photographers to begin professional work and helped established photographers build their client bases. Eddie's recommendations carried weight because customers trusted his judgment about both technical competence and professional reliability.
The store's bulletin board functioned as a primitive social network where photographers announced services, sought collaborators, and shared opportunities. Photography students found assistantship positions. Established photographers recruited second shooters. Equipment wanted ads connected buyers with sellers.
The Technical Support Ecosystem
Camera stores provided ongoing technical support that extended far beyond initial sales.
Customers returned months or years after purchases with equipment problems, questions about new techniques, and requests for advice on photographic challenges. Eddie diagnosed camera malfunctions by sound, recommended solutions for lighting problems, and troubleshooted darkroom chemistry issues.
This support was comprehensive and personal. Eddie remembered each customer's equipment setup and photographic goals, enabling him to provide increasingly sophisticated recommendations as relationships deepened. When a regular customer expressed interest in macro photography, Eddie didn't just sell them a close-up lens—he explained extension tube calculations, recommended compatible flash equipment, and suggested specific film stocks optimized for high magnification work.
The store's repair services were particularly important to the community. Harrison employed two full-time repair technicians who maintained equipment for local photographers. These technicians understood the quirks of different camera systems and could often repair equipment that other shops would declare unrepairable.
"This old Pentax has been giving me trouble," a customer might say.
"Light meter acting up?" Eddie would ask, taking the camera and listening to the shutter. "These K1000s get sticky mirror dampers after about ten years. Mickey can fix it in 20 minutes for 15 bucks. Want to wait or come back Monday?"
This kind of diagnostic expertise couldn't be googled or crowd-sourced. It required hands-on experience with thousands of cameras and deep understanding of mechanical systems that varied between manufacturers and even individual production runs.
The Apprenticeship System
Working at a camera store was an informal photography apprenticeship that created pathways into professional photography careers.
Store employees learned about equipment through daily handling, absorbed technical knowledge through customer conversations, and developed expertise through constant exposure to photography problems and solutions. Many professional photographers began their careers working in camera stores, gaining comprehensive technical knowledge while building relationships within the local photography community.
Eddie had started as part-time weekend help while studying business in college. Fifteen years later, he knew more about practical photography than many professionals. He could recommend the right film stock for any shooting situation, explain the optical differences between lens designs, and troubleshoot problems with equipment from manufacturers that had been out of business for decades.
The education was continuous and practical. Every customer interaction was a learning opportunity. Every equipment return taught lessons about real-world performance versus manufacturer specifications. Every repair revealed insights about build quality and design choices.
New employees absorbed this knowledge gradually, starting with basic tasks like inventory management and film processing before advancing to customer consultation and equipment evaluation. The progression was natural and merit-based—employees demonstrated competence through successful customer interactions rather than formal testing.
The Demonstration Culture
Camera stores encouraged hands-on equipment testing that created informed purchasing decisions.
Customers could handle multiple camera systems side by side, compare features in detail, and receive demonstrations of equipment capabilities. Eddie regularly conducted informal seminars on topics like meter reading techniques, lens selection criteria, and flash exposure calculations.
"Feel the difference in the mirror damping," Eddie would say, handing a customer two similar SLR cameras. "The Nikon has a softer mirror return, less vibration at slower shutter speeds. The Canon is snappier but you'll get more camera shake at 1/15th second."
The store maintained demo equipment specifically for customer education. Lenses could be tested on customers' own camera bodies. Flash units could be fired repeatedly to check recycling times. Tripods could be loaded with actual cameras to test stability.
This testing culture created customers who understood their equipment thoroughly and could use it more effectively. It also built confidence in purchasing decisions—customers knew exactly what they were buying because they had tested it extensively.
What Big Box Retail Couldn't Replace
When chain stores and online retailers began competing with independent camera shops in the 1990s, they could match prices but couldn't replicate the expertise-driven culture.
Big box employees were trained to sell electronics, not to understand the nuanced differences between camera systems or the specific needs of different types of photography. They could read specification sheets but couldn't explain why a wedding photographer might prefer one flash system over another or how different film stocks would perform in specific lighting conditions.
The personal relationships that independent stores maintained over years or decades were impossible to scale to chain retail operations. No corporate training program could create the depth of local knowledge that Eddie possessed about his customers' equipment histories, photographic goals, and skill development over time.
Online retailers offered convenience and competitive pricing but couldn't provide hands-on testing, immediate technical support, or the collaborative problem-solving that happened naturally in physical stores. The social aspect of photography—the community building and knowledge sharing—was lost entirely in digital commerce.
Most importantly, chain stores and online retailers had no economic incentive to provide extensive pre-sales education or ongoing post-sales support. Their business models were optimized for transaction volume rather than relationship depth.
The Community Functions That Disappeared
When Harrison Camera closed in 1998, the local photography community lost more than a retail location.
The store had served as an unofficial photography club meeting place where professionals and amateurs mixed freely. Wedding photographers met art students, commercial photographers shared techniques with hobbyists, and experienced practitioners mentored newcomers. These social networks had developed over decades and couldn't be easily replicated elsewhere.
The informal employment exchange disappeared, making it harder for photographers to find work and for clients to locate qualified photographers. The technical support network dissolved, leaving photographers to solve problems individually rather than collaboratively.
The institutional memory that Eddie and his colleagues maintained was lost permanently. They had preserved the history of local photography—which professionals had worked for regional newspapers, who specialized in specific types of photography, how the local photography scene had evolved over decades. This knowledge connected current photographers to their regional heritage and provided continuity across generations.
The physical gathering space was irreplaceable. Online forums and social media groups couldn't provide the spontaneous interactions, immediate problem-solving, and hands-on demonstrations that had sustained the store's educational function.
The Psychological Impact
For many photographers, the camera store had been a sanctuary where their obsession was understood and validated.
Photography can be an isolating hobby. Family members and friends often don't understand the technical minutiae that fascinate photographers or the emotional investment they place in equipment choices. Camera stores provided communities of people who cared deeply about the same arcane details.
"You spend this much on a lens?" was a question photographers heard from spouses and friends. But at Harrison Camera, the question was "Which coating does it have, and how's the bokeh at f/2?"
This validation was psychologically important for photographers who felt alone in their passion. The store community provided social proof that their interests were worthwhile and their knowledge was valuable.
The closing of camera stores left many photographers feeling disconnected from larger photography culture. The transition to online communities provided some replacement for technical discussion, but couldn't replicate the immediate, personal validation of face-to-face interaction with fellow enthusiasts.
What We Can Learn From What We Lost
The camera store culture represented a form of creative community organization that modern photographers have struggled to replace.
- Community Building Often Requires Physical Space: Despite the convenience of online interaction, there's something irreplaceable about physical gathering spaces where relationships develop naturally through repeated casual contact.
- Expertise Curation Provides More Value Than Information Access: Having access to infinite information online is less valuable than having access to curated expertise that can filter and contextualize that information for specific needs.
- Long-Term Relationships Create Value That Can't Be Replicated Quickly: The depth of understanding that developed over years of customer relationships enabled service quality that no quick transaction could match.
- Local Context Matters: Photography advice and recommendations must consider local conditions, community dynamics, and regional preferences to be truly useful. Generic guidance often fails to address specific local needs.
- Apprenticeship Models Work: The gradual skill development and knowledge transfer that happened in camera stores created more competent practitioners than formal education programs often produce.
The Modern Search for Community
Today's photography communities exist primarily online, in Facebook groups, Reddit forums, and specialized websites. These digital communities provide access to vast knowledge and global connections, but struggle to replicate the depth and intimacy of physical gathering spaces. Some photographers have tried to recreate camera store culture through photography clubs, workshop groups, and informal meetups. However, these efforts often lack the natural, ongoing interaction that occurred when photographers had regular reasons to visit the same physical location.
The few remaining independent camera stores operate in a completely different economic environment. They survive by specializing in high-end equipment, providing services that online retailers can't match, or serving niche markets that chains ignore. But they serve smaller communities and can't maintain the broad cultural influence that stores like Harrison Camera once had. Interestingly, some modern businesses are experimenting with models that echo camera store culture. Co-working spaces for creatives, maker spaces with photography darkrooms, and hybrid retail/education venues attempt to combine commerce with community building.
The Enduring Legacy
Eddie Kowalski now works as a freelance photography instructor, teaching digital photography workshops to retirees and hobbyists. He often tells his students about the camera store days, when photographers learned through community participation rather than YouTube videos.
"We didn't have the internet," he explains, "so if you wanted to know something, you had to ask someone who knew. And if you knew something, you were expected to share it. That's how the knowledge moved around."
Some of his former customers still call him with technical questions, 25 years after Harrison Camera closed. They trust his judgment more than online reviews or manufacturer specifications because they remember when his advice helped them solve problems and grow as photographers.
The photographs taken by Harrison Camera's community survive in family albums, gallery walls, and historical archives throughout the region. These images represent not just individual artistic achievement but collective knowledge—the accumulated wisdom of a community that learned together, shared freely, and supported each other's creative development.
Understanding what we lost when camera stores disappeared helps identify what aspects of that culture might be worth reconstructing in new forms. The specific business model may be obsolete, but the human needs it served—for community, expertise, mentorship, and belonging—remain as relevant as ever. In our current era of infinite online information and isolated individual learning, there's profound value in remembering how creative communities once organized themselves around physical spaces, personal relationships, and shared expertise.
The bell above Harrison Camera's door stopped ringing permanently in December 1998. But the culture it represented—the belief that photography is better when practiced in community rather than isolation—continues to influence how photographers seek connection, knowledge, and meaning in their work. Some things can't be downloaded, shipped, or streamed. They can only be experienced in person, over time, through relationships that develop gradually in spaces where people gather around shared passions.
That's what we lost when the camera stores disappeared. And that's what we're still trying to find again.
Eddie Kowalski and Harrison Camera are fictional representations.
Wow, this article is really well-written! As a former salesperson, I can totally relate to how photography has lost its shine. Many stores used to offer photography classes and workshops led by camera manufacturers. These workshops were a great way to get people interested in photography.
Thank you so much! Those workshops were such a great part of the culture. How wonderful that you got to experience that world firsthand.
I remember this, but was more of an observer. Me and another guy did the developing and printing at a camera store. We could watch and listen to what was going on from our corner of the store.
I'm not particularly extroverted, so I would have enjoyed that perspective quite a bit.
Great article. I am very fortunate to have a great local camera shop. I visit near weekly and buy all I can there to support them from digital gear to prints to color and black and white film development supplies. If you are ever in central NC, you should stop through. Southeast Camera in Carrboro.
It sounds like they're keeping that community spirit alive. Having a place where you can still get that personal service and expertise is special.
I'm a 78 yr old who remembers well the local camera shops and the positive experiences which you describe. But has it dawned on you that this article would have been nearly identical had you selected literally any product sales store. There are no more stores selling any specific products any longer. Want to talk to knowledgeable staff about a particular drug? The local pharmacist who knew your family and you on site is gone. Walgreens or CVS? Hah! Name the product and you can be pretty sure that Amazon and Costco and the other mega sales outlets have driven the local shops selling it out of business.
I fully agree, however the camera store was a unique environment as far as retail went. I was a little kid at the time and still remember this feeling about those sorts of stores. I believe the reason for this is both the art and hobbyist components.
For example, the local art supply store, the local music store, hobby/craft/modeling store, woodcrafts, computer supply all had similar cultures. Local book shops could be added to that list though many of the big box like Barnes & Noble tried to continue community engagement with various activities. Saturday they are going the way of the dodo as well and replaced by Amazon.
One of the few national retailers to really pop out in terms of the "culture* was Radio Shack. I still miss those stores.
We certainly lost a component of competence when we moved from the local appliance store and even the Sears appliance department to the Best buy/Lowe's/Home Depot model, but people don't get so excited about appliance stores. Maybe a tool store but I cover that up above with woodworking.
Oh my goodness, do I miss the Radio Shack of the 90s. That was my favorite store as a geeky kid.
You make an excellent point, as this really is part of a much broader shift in retail. It's a wider cultural change about how we value expertise versus convenience.
Spot on. For me camera clubs has pretty much replaced the store experience. No, not quite the same, but as close as I'll get.
Camera clubs are a great way to maintain some of that community! Having that regular gathering of people who share the passion definitely helps fill the gap in a way the internet can't.
Regrettably, many esteemed clubs have unfortunately ceased to exist, leaving us with only a handful remaining. The camaraderie, friendships, and knowledge exchange fostered within these clubs were truly cherished.
Hi Devin...
You may want to calm down a little. Did you read the article to its conclusion? If no, here's the final sentence:
"Eddie Kowalski and Harrison Camera are fictional representations."
It’s not written by AI.
You just bet your life savings, and your whole house. You gonna be homeless now? Time to ante up.
Probably because fictional representations can make the writer's point and they don't sue.
That's exactly why!
)
As a former camera store employee from 1975-1980, I can say this brings back great memories. I learned more from the customers than I taught anyone. During those years I had access to all the Camera Reps, NIKON, PENTAX, MINOLTA, BRONICA, FUJI, ROLLEI, & CANON to name a few. I bought a Bronica ETR, Hasselblad, Linhoff Cardin, Nikon F2, Pentax ME, Pentax Super Program, 2 enlargers, tanks, trays, etc.
It shaped my love for photography. Several professional photographers talked me out of making it a full-time career. Instead, I pursued wedding photography on weekends with my Hasselblad / Metz combo, keeping photography as a life-long hobby.
Excellent blogs like yours provide information that I used to get from the camera store. I think it is driving the blogs and YouTube channels today. Maybe being able to return items within 30 days replaces the "touches" from camera store days.
I miss those days... But I did just visit an old fashioned camera store in Gothenburg, Sweden last week. They had a Q3 28 and a Q3 43 that I could see and touch. It was a real experience from the 70's! It was left than a block from the Hasselblad Center. (They had 2 500c's in the case.)
Great article! Thanks!
What an incredible experience you had! Working with all those manufacturer reps and having access to that equipment must have been amazing. And thank you so much for the kind words :)
In the mid-70s, I heard of a camera store in Highland Park, Calif. that offered really great discounts on photography equipment. I made the trip to Burts Camera to find that parking was at least 2 blocks away. When I walked into the store, there were 3 people deep at the camera display cases. The smell of photography permeated the room as you stood next to shelves of various papers, chemicals, and darkroom equipment. The store offered everything from Minox to Linhof, with Durst enlargers on display and bins of various used equipment for the darkroom. I walked out with a new 120 mm lens for the 500c and later went back to buy my Linhof 4x5 with all the whistles and bells. Burt also offered photography contests and photoshoots which only fueled more sales.
Now all of this is just a memory and a loss to the photographic landscape.
I remember Guitar Center being like that when I was a kid. I walked into one recently, and the difference was stark and honestly, quite sad.
Community is such an important aspect of growth as a photographer.
I remember having conversations about how I was learning and what I could learn differently when I went to pick up more film etc.
We've given all of that away for slightly cheaper equipment and uniform IG profiles.
IF only we'd known better.
I hope that now that we do know better that we eventually swing back in that direction, at least a bit.
Fun memories of working at Duffy's Camera Shop while I was in Art School. We had an Eddie that would show up shortly after opening with pipe in hand, and he smoked it all day long. Eddie had been injured in a manufacturing accident and had lost one foot. With the settlement money... probably a lot less than it should have been, he bought every Canon gadget available. He wore his Canon F-1's, three or four of them, all with the high speed motor drives, like grandma wore her pearls... everywhere! Plus a camera bag full of lenses, all Canon mount lenses and filters. etc. To my knowledge he never put film through the cameras, they were simply adornments. And then there was Charlie the repair guy and two or three veteran pals. All would hang around most of the day and gossip like a women's Bible Study group. Fun memories. Jack, the camera store owner died and the inventory was sold off. That's the last camera store I was ever in. The camera stores life crossed over into the beginning of the interweb, e-Bay, B&H, Adorama etc. The local specialist store couldn't compete with them. Sad.
I love those stories. My dad owned a gas station when I was a kid, and I spent a lot of time building relationships with the same sort of characters. I didn't realize it in my youth, but those little daily conversations provided a lot of meaningful social interactions.
What a fantastic article about the loss of what photography meant to people. I started taking photographs when my Grandmother bought me a camera when I was twelve. It used 120 film and was entirely plastic, including the lens, but it gave me an itch that is still with me today, at 74.
Thank you, Dave! That's so lovely about your grandmother; my mom was the one who got me into photography.
Still a strong place for the camera store in today's environment. Having worked behind the counter for over 7 years, I miss our local store. They closed due to landlord issues, and the building was sold to an urgent care clinic. Stores that change with the times are thriving! Well written, as always, Alex!
Thanks, Justin! It's encouraging to hear from someone who experienced that world firsthand. You're absolutely right that the stores that survive are the ones that adapt while keeping that community spirit alive. Sorry to hear about your local store, though; landlord issues have killed a few of my favorite businesses too, sadly.
So glad we have two great camera stores in Columbus, Ohio. Midwest Photo is fantastic, with generally great stock for almost everything. World of Photography is also excellent, focusing on used gear, but also with some new stock as well. I have split my photography budget between the two of them for the past decade+. I only go to the big online retailers for items that aren't readily available there, or if they are out of stock locally. This is a fairly rare occurrence.
I love Midwest Photo. Columbus is such a fantastic city in so many way; it's about time I make another drive down!
Oh Wow... I really enjoyed the article, it brought me fond memories. Back in 2017 I worked in Silvio's Photoworks in Hawthorne, Ca. This store was like a Harrison's. With a bunch of very knowledgable people always trying to help customers and provide that personal approach. I learned a lot while working there and I miss all of that,... sales, film development, framing, repairs, demos, classes, etc. It made me sad when I found out Silvio's closed its doors. Although they have now a warehouse and continue to provide sales both in site and online, I believe that the magic of going to a store to see the equipment and chat first hand with experts it's being lost little by little. Great read!
Silvio's sounds like it was exactly the kind of place I was writing about. It's bittersweet to hear they've moved to a warehouse model. That's certainly better than closing entirely, but you're right that the magic of that in-person interaction is hard to replace.
My memories of retail camera shops of the 80's and 90's and not so rosy. The same brand tribalism existed in the brick-and-mortar world and simply migrated to the internet. I recall largely having to fend for myself when shopping in camera stores that wouldn't give a young person the time of day. Salespeople only seemed interested in you if you appeared ready to buy a new camera. Meanwhile I was spending more money on consumables like film, paper and chemicals each year than most so-called photographers would spend on a camera once every 10 years. So to whom should more attention have been given?
I was happily buying from mail order stores using the ads in the back of photo magazines long before the internet existed. Today I still buy from some of those same businesses online. This nostalgia for retail is pervasive among people who never actually dealt with it. Do I "miss" the good ol' days of paying $30 for the one hammer stocked at the tiny local hardware store? Nope. Choosing among 10 different $10 hammers online works for me.
I'm sorry you had such negative experiences... I wish you had come in one of the 2 places I worked. You'd have been welcomed. We would have spent hours, day after day, helping you compare features and capabilities of all the major brands!
We were always careful to be courteous to everyone that came in. If we weren't Mr Anderson would correct us. I was so excited about photography then, that anyone who would talk got talked to.
Just echoing what Kenneth and Nathan said. That's the last experience you should have had, and I'm so sorry you experienced that! I was quite blessed to grow up with friendlier local businesses.
We have a couple of shops in Minneapolis and I still buy my big-ticket items (bodies and lenses) from one of them. I've also bought bags locally because I like to check them out in person instead of trying to visualize everything. I only go to Amazon for piddly little stuff or unusual accessories that stores won't stock.
When I go in, I don't bend their ears but we might chat for a few moments. I like the idea that I could easily return something if there was a problem - that happened once. Sort of sad that we no longer need supplies, like film and paper, so no reason to visit between major purchases, which are far apart.
Amazon is turning to cr@p. I no longer want to deal with them for anything of value.
B&H is excellent to deal with. Honest folks, and they almost always have film and paper and chems that I need.
It's nice to have the option to chat, even if it's just a brief interaction, isn't it? I agree with Nathan regarding B&H. If you're ever in NYC, make a trip to their store; it's such a unique and fun experience.
"Historical Fiction." Fair enough. Great article! Reminds me a bit of the home computer culture of the early 80s.
I grew up on the tail end of that computer culture, but oh my goodness, did I enjoy it.
This is a brilliant article, really a cut above - and seems informed by academic sociology ( "the Social Architecture of Expertise" is kind of a giveaway) . Academics like Norbert Elias have studied how the professions developed, the way that knowledge is embedded, without anyone consciously deciding "let's do it this way"
So yes, a nostalgic reflection on the world where as an annoying teen I pestered Mario Hirsch about the virtues (and cost !) of the Contax RTS . . . and also a catalogue of what's been lost, both in expertise and experience.
Thank you, Alexander! Those patient conversations between experienced practitioners and enthusiastic newcomers were such an essential part of how photographic knowledge was transmitted and really, how the love of the hobby and profession was passed from generation to generation.