Here’s the thing most people don’t realise about being a photographer. Most times someone steps in front of my camera, I’m meeting a stranger and asking them to trust me completely.
They don’t know me. They might have seen my work online or followed me on Instagram, but in person, I’m just some bloke with a camera saying, “Right, let’s make some magic.”
It’s a strange kind of job when you think about it.
At the start of almost every shoot, people tell me the same thing: “I hate having my photo taken.” Sometimes it’s said with a laugh, sometimes with real dread. My job is to take that fear and turn it into something good.
I’m part photographer, part therapist, part stand-up comedian. I have to read the room instantly and work out who this person really is beneath the nervous smile.
Some people need reassurance. Some need silence. Some need me to crack a joke so bad that it distracts them from thinking about their chin.
Within minutes, I can tell how to get the best from someone. That’s the art of it. Cameras are easy. People are complicated.
Photographing strangers means I get to glimpse lives I’d never otherwise cross paths with.
One day, I’m photographing a CEO in a glass office, the next I’m knee-deep in grass shooting an artist in the woods.
I’ve shot teachers, athletes, gardeners, actors, and accountants. Everyone arrives with their own story, their own energy, and their own version of “I’m not photogenic.”
There’s a moment that happens in almost every session. I can’t plan it or force it, but I know it when I see it.
Something shifts. The shoulders drop, the face softens, and the eyes stop looking at me like I’m judging them. It’s the moment they forget they’re being photographed.
That’s when the real person appears, and that’s when the best photos happen.
People sometimes think photographers just press buttons, but most of the job is psychology.
You’re trying to make someone comfortable in a situation that feels deeply unnatural. You’re trying to help them see themselves in a way they didn’t think possible. You’re building trust at the speed of light.
And yes, sometimes it’s awkward.
Sometimes people show up in clothes they hate or start overthinking every movement. Sometimes I trip over a light stand, or a curious dog joins the shot. But that’s part of it.
The awkwardness is often where the good stuff hides. If you can laugh through it, you end up with something real.
People often ask if I get nervous photographing strangers. The truth is, not anymore.
I’ve been doing this long enough to know that everyone feels the same way. Nervous, unsure, a bit self-critical. We’re all human. My job is to take all that self-doubt and quietly dismantle it, one click at a time.
What surprises most people is how personal the process becomes. You start off as strangers, but by the end of the shoot, you’ve shared something honest.
I’ve had people tell me they finally see themselves as confident, or that they feel beautiful for the first time in years. I’ve seen tears, laughter, and every expression in between. That’s what makes it worth it.
So, what’s it really like to photograph strangers for a living? It’s unpredictable, funny, and occasionally muddy.
It’s part performance, part intuition, part therapy session.
It’s about building connections with people you’ve never met and helping them walk away feeling seen.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Every face, every story, every bit of awkward laughter adds to this big, messy collage of what it means to be human.
And somehow, in between all of that, I get to press a button and freeze it forever.
If that sounds like the kind of experience you’d actually enjoy, come and find me.
