If you’ve been following my photography journey for a while, you know that the forest and the streets have been my studio, and for the longest time, a trusty analog SLR was my paintbrush. But today, I’m standing in the woods with a Nikon F801s (N8008s) in hand, making a confession that feels almost sacrilegious to utter in 2025: I have stopped shooting film.
It wasn’t a sudden decision. It wasn’t a dramatic moment where I threw my developing tank into a river. It was a slow fade. In fact, until I picked up this camera today, it had been nearly two years since I loaded this specific roll of film. There are still 20 shots left.
So, the big question is: Why? Why abandon a medium that is so rich, so tactile, and currently experiencing a massive cultural resurgence? Let’s break down the reality of shooting analog in the current year, and why digital has finally won me back completely.
To understand why I stopped, we have to look at why I started. Back around 2009 or 2010, the digital landscape was different. Sensors were good, but they often felt clinical.
The unique contrast and grain structure of B&W film was the initial hook that digital couldn’t match a decade ago.
I gravitated toward film primarily for the black-and-white aesthetic. There was a grit, a contrast curve, and a “soul” to silver halide crystals that my digital sensors just couldn’t replicate straight out of the camera. I shot roll after roll, experimenting with different stocks, chasing that perfect monochrome tonality.
The process was addictive. It wasn’t just about the image; it was about the machine.
The Gear Acquisition Syndrome (GAS)
Let’s be honest, half the fun of film photography is the mechanical beauty of the cameras. I spent years collecting and testing everything from high-end legends to quirky experiments.
From the legendary Nikon F3 to the consumer-grade bodies, the mechanical engineering of this era is undeniable.
My absolute favorite remains the Nikon F3. As a 35mm platform, it is peak ergonomic design—a perfect blend of professional durability and tactile feedback. I also dabbled with 1950s folding cameras and medium format. There is a specific joy in taking a broken piece of history, fixing the shutter, and seeing it produce an image again.
However, in 2025, that “vintage fix” is no longer exclusive to film. I’ve found that I can satisfy my lust for retro gear by adapting vintage lenses to modern mirrorless bodies, or even revisiting “vintage digital” cameras (like the CCD-sensor DSLRs from the mid-2000s). They offer the haptics and the challenge, without the running costs.
The Friction: The Logistics of Analog in 2025
The romance of the result is often overshadowed by the reality of the process. The reason my film cameras are gathering dust isn’t artistic—it’s logistical.
In 2025, the workflow of film photography has become a hurdle race of friction.
1. The Supply Chain Struggle
First, you have to buy the film. Prices have skyrocketed. Some stocks are perpetually out of stock. You have to hunt for deals, buy in bulk, and then store it.
2. The Freezer Management
My freezer is shared between frozen peas and rolls of Kodak Gold. You store it to keep it fresh, then you have to remember to thaw it. It sounds minor, but it’s mental bandwidth.
3. The Developing (The Fun Part)
Home developing is satisfying science, but it requires precise temperature control and chemical management.
I actually enjoy developing black and white film. It’s chemistry and magic combined. Pouring in the Rodinal, watching the clock, the smell of the fixer—it’s therapeutic. If the process stopped here, I might still be shooting. But the negative isn’t the final product anymore.
4. The Scanning Paradox (The Dealbreaker)
This is the main reason I quit. Once you have your developed negatives, you have to digitize them.
I moved from flatbed scanners to “camera scanning”—using a digital camera with a macro lens to photograph the negatives. It’s faster and produces higher quality than consumer flatbeds. But while doing this, a realization hit me that made me feel incredibly foolish.
The “Scanning Paradox”: Using a $3,000 digital setup to photograph a piece of plastic just to get an image.
Here is the Scanning Paradox:
I am taking a photo. Then I am developing the physical media. Then I am setting up a tripod, a light box, and a digital camera to take a picture of the picture.
It begs the question: Why didn’t I just take the picture with the digital camera in the first place?
By skipping the film step, I save hours of labor. I save the cost of chemicals and film stock. And frankly, with modern raw processing and film emulation presets, the gap in “look” is negligible for 99% of viewers. When I’m holding a heavy DSLR to scan a negative, I’m essentially admitting that digital is the superior capture medium, yet I’m forcing myself through an analog bottleneck for nostalgia’s sake.
The Economics: Is It Worth It?
If you don’t develop at home, the situation is even worse. I don’t have a professional lab nearby. This means mailing my precious negatives (anxiety-inducing) and paying premium prices.
We are talking upwards of 30 Euros ($32 USD) per roll for purchase, development, and high-res scanning.
Imagine going out for a walk, shooting 36 frames, and realizing that walk just cost you $30. It changes how you shoot. It introduces a hesitation—a “scarcity mindset”—that kills creativity. With digital, I can experiment, fail, and try again for free. The backlog of undeveloped film in my fridge is essentially a pile of debt I haven’t paid off yet.
The Verdict: Digital Clarity
Standing here in this beautiful forest, with the light fading (and me realizing I brought ISO 50 film and no tripod—classic film mistake), I realize I’m not missing out.
Older digital cameras, like the Nikon D700 or early Fujifilms, produce files that require very little editing to look “organic.” They have grain, they have character, and they have imperfections.
I’m not saying I will burn my darkroom equipment. I’ll finish the rolls in my freezer… eventually. I’ll develop the mystery rolls that have been sitting there for years. But the era of carrying a film camera as my daily driver is over.
The logistics, the cost, and the sheer time consumption of the hybrid workflow (shoot analog -> scan digital) just doesn’t make sense in a world where digital sensors have become so incredibly capable and soullessly perfect—or delightfully imperfect, depending on which camera you choose.
If you love film, keep shooting. We need people to keep the industry alive. But if you’re feeling the burnout, know that it’s okay to put the film camera down and just enjoy photography again without the friction.
Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you in the next one (probably with a digital camera).
