The Game Is Already Lost

Not long ago at all, (in fact, in this blogpost from last week), I wrote about my frustration with influencers mistaking themselves for traditional photographers. I criticized how they, driven by the need for constant content, favored impactful yet generic images while failing to recognize their place in the medium. But now, I realize I was the blind one. I assumed influencers—despite their growing sway over photography—were still a marginal force. Reassessing the state of affairs, I’m forced to a painful conclusion: the game is already lost. Influencers aren’t just part of the industry; they are the new standard, and everyone is playing by their rules and by staying silent, we are all complicit in shifting photography away from craft toward easy, marketable aesthetics. Worse still, this isn’t a passing phase.

For the general public, photography now exists through the lens of social media. They consume images the same way they consume everything else—fast, disposable, and forgettable. It’s all about what works for the algorithm. Depth doesn’t matter. Intent doesn’t matter. Stories don’t matter. The algorithm doesn’t reward effort, nuance, or originality. It rewards consistency, trends, and whatever makes people pause their scrolling for half a second. Aesthetic trends cycle so quickly that even those who chase them can barely keep up.

What about aspiring photographers, especially younger ones? They take their cues from what they see, both in content and practices. They assume that what gets the most likes is what’s worth emulating. To them, follower count and engagement are markers of quality and reputability. They’re growing up in a landscape where their first exposure to photography isn’t through books, exhibitions, or meaningful projects—it’s through reels, viral edits, and the promise that if they follow the right formula (which often includes some variation of the “buy my presets” snake oil), they too can gain followers, sponsorships, and a curated aesthetic.

The truth however is evidently bleaker; the algorithms don’t favor depth. They favor engagement, and engagement favors what is easy to consume. What is easy to consume? Exotic destinations shot from unexpected angles. Niche subjects that cater to specific communities. Cars, planes, trains, birds, cameras, half-naked girls—whatever gets clicks. Social media is designed to recognize what kind of subject-centric consumer you are, and the photography that thrives is the one that fits neatly into that system which in turn makes the construction of any sort of visual narration all but impossible.

I try to push back against the misconceptions and lapses in judgement stemming from these dire circumstances in the communities I’m part of, but it’s an uphill battle. Show someone a carefully composed, emotionally resonant image, and they’ll glance at it before scrolling to the next over-saturated, formulaic Instagram landscape. The dopamine rush of engagement is more compelling than the slow burn of developing an eye for well-thought-out photography.

What's up with the brands?

Photography brands don’t seem to care about photographers anymore. They care about influencers—the faces with the most engagement, the ones who move the most product. It’s not about photography; it’s about visibility. The craft, the dedication, the pursuit of something meaningful? That’s old news. What matters now is reach.

Modern marketing has led camera brands into a trap: they aren’t just listening to influencers; they’re shaping their entire strategy around them. On the surface, it makes sense—these individuals have massive reach and can generate instant buzz. But there’s a problem: for some companies, photography itself has become secondary to brand identity. The goal isn’t to serve working photographers or serious enthusiasts but to create products that generate hype, reinforce a lifestyle image, and appeal to consumers who buy into the idea of photography rather than the craft. Specs and functionality still exist, but they take a backseat to marketing-driven desirability. The result? A market where purchasing decisions are driven less by needs and more by perception—where owning the “right” camera matters more than knowing how to use it.

Bottom line: they cater to the market as it is, not as we wish it to be. The numbers tell them influencers move units, so that’s where the money goes. There’s no incentive to champion “photography that matters.” Why bother, when clickbait sells better?

What’s Left for Us?

Maybe the answer is accepting that photography as an art form will never again be mainstream in the way it once was. Maybe we are in the same position painters found themselves in when photography’s first commercial applications reshaped the art world. Maybe we’re simply caught in the churn, struggling to reinvent ourselves and reaffirm what matters.

Perhaps, moving forward, real photography exists in smaller circles—among those who create because they need to, not because the algorithm rewards them. Among those who print their work, make books, and share within communities that value the image more than the metrics attached to it.

I don’t know if this trend can be reversed. I doubt it. But if photography is going to mean anything in the future, it will be because a handful of people refuse to let it be swallowed whole by social media. That’s all we have left. Look at film photography. It was all but declared dead a decade and a half ago, yet here we are—film is experiencing a quiet resurgence. Not because it’s easy, not because it gets likes—though as with anything, it is a subject that also falls victim to social media trends—but I'd like to think it is also coming back because people value the process. They want the tactility, the patience, the unpredictability. They want their medium to be tangible and removed from digital spaces. Maybe that's where we—disillusioned digital photographers—could be headed: a return to something slower, more deliberate. Not mainstream, not mass-market, but meaningful.

I’d love to end this with an uplifting note, but I don’t have one. The best I can offer is this: if you care about photography beyond social media trends, keep shooting for yourself. Keep looking at work that challenges you. Make prints, make books, buy prints, buy books. Invest time in learning from the old masters. Engage with the people who still believe in the craft through like-minded communities online or away from phones and computers.

Just don’t expect the rest of the world to care.

At least not until we find a way to bring balance to this new normal. While we know the images that matter aren’t the ones with the most engagement, we also have to make sure they endure. They have to cut through the digital noise, the unending stream of mediocrity that neither our brains nor AI can truly sift through. We have to find ways to ensure that the images that matter are found, seen and that they last—outliving trends, outliving algorithms, and outliving us.

If you believe an image is worth more than the attention it briefly commands, know you are not alone.