No. I'm the Person Who Makes People Look as They Are.

PhotographyStory

"Are you the man who makes people look good?" a person once asked me.
And honesty, through the lens of a camera as I've discovered, is right at the heart of great photography.

This article is a reminiscence about my beginnings of photography, the power of sincerity, and how one old-school film camera affected not only my visual sensibility but also my way of photographing humans. If you're a photographer—or simply someone who appreciates the raw, unpolished beauty of human life—I think you'll be able to relate.

The Camera That Started It All
In 1998, we did not have cloud backups, smartphones, or digital cameras. We had roll film, patience, moment, and things that could not be reviewed instantly after pressing the shutter.

My first real camera was a Canon AE-1 Program, which was given to me by my Uncle Philip. It wasn't just a machine; it was a ticket to the world through a viewfinder. It came with a 50mm f/1.8 lens—a tried-and-true "nifty fifty" that taught me more about light, distance, and man than any text book was capable of.

That lens was perfect. Not too wide to distort, not too tight to distance. It welcomed me in, asked me to come close, to get to know, to listen, to wait. And that might've been the first real lesson in portraiture.

I chased around taking whatever I pleased like a headless chicken, for the thrill of it but without any idea of composition. But slowly, I started to question:

What makes a decent picture?
What constitutes a real picture?
What caused a portrait to say something about the subject?

And more to the point: What gave a photograph integrity?

What Makes a Photo Honest?
Photography is the strange art of lying and telling the truth at the same time. A manipulated angle, a flattering light, a forced smile—all create the story. But when you remove all that and just let someone be, then the picture becomes something more than an image—it becomes a testament.

I don't make people look good.
I make people look real.

That is:

Wrinkles aren't airbrushed.
Hair can be unmanageable.
Eyes aren't necessarily sparkling—sometimes they're tired, thinking, or a little sad.
Backgrounds aren't blurred into oblivion. They are retained, for they are related to the subject, as well.

That's where the magic happens—not in Photoshop, but in trust. When your subject is trusting enough to let you see them for who they are, that's when you have a true picture.

The Power of One: Shooting Without Flash
Shooting without flash was one of the first challenges I undertook. Flash, in film days, was clunky, unpredictable, and prone to cheat. It forced the scene into artificial light, stripping its personality.

I preferred to use available light—the sun through a window, the color of an evening, or the moody shadows on an overcast day.

Shooting in the absence of a flash taught me patiently to observe, wait for the moment and make the most of the surroundings. It taught me to slow down and, in slowing down, taught me to be in the moment, not technically but emotionally.

When your only light source is what is available in the world, every take is a small act of gratitude. You value seeing light not just its intensity, but how it drops gently, how it travels in particular directions, and the manner in which it moves on skin and objects.

Environmental Portraiture: When the Background Speaks
In this tale, I'm referring to portraiture—photographing the individual as the only subject. However, once you place an individual in front of your camera, context becomes relevant.

An individual is never merely a face. They are their environment. They are the cup on their desk. The books that they've read. The garden that they care for. The way that the light catches their kitchen table in the morning.

We call this environmental portraiture, and I'll be covering it more in my next column.

But for now, let me highlight how powerful an average portrait can be—when it's shot with honesty, without strobing lights or fabricated settings.

Lessons From the Darkroom (and Life)
Those early days with the Canon AE-1P did teach me a few things—lessons that still guide me today:

1. Wait for the Moment
   Digital makes us impatient. Film taught me patience. You had 24 or 36 exposures—each had to be a good one. It was worth it to wait for the moment to feel right rather than shooting recklessly.

2. Don't Over-Direct
   "Look here. Smile. Chin down. Eyes up." We've all heard it. But the best portraits were when I said nothing at all—just let the person simply be in the shot, naturally.

3. Respect the Subject
   This is enormous. You're not taking a picture—you're being given a moment. Always treat it that way. Be gentle. Move with empathy. The work will reflect that energy.

4. Perfection Is Overrated
   That stray lock of hair? That rumpled shirt? That's life. The more I embraced the flaws, the more powerful my portraits became.

5. The Background Is Never Neutral
   Every item within the picture has a story behind it. A good photographer observes all of it, not just the subject's face.

Who We Really Are, Through a Lens
I am often asked what is the hardest part of photographing portraits.

It isn't the light. It isn't the aperture. It isn't even the gear.

It's being willing to be real. Both sides of the lens.

As photographers, we tend to stay behind the camera. It is safer that way. But in order to create true portraits, we need to connect with people, not simply pose them.

We need to:

Ask good questions.
Be vulnerable too.
Tell stories, listen deeply, and build trust.

Because portraits are relationships—temporary ones, perhaps, but authentic ones.

In a World of Filters, Be Honest
We live in a culture obsessed with "looking good." Instagram filters, apps that transform us into supermodels, airbrushed models—these have reminded us to forget just how beautiful real life is.

But photography can be something other than part of that deception.

Photography can remind us of:

The lines around the eyes that tell us of years of laughter.
The tired eyes of a new mother.
The quiet strength of one who has weathered storms.
The messy, glorious, unfiltered humanity in every face.

This is my level of work.

What I've Learned from Taking Photographs of People
Having taken hundreds of portraits, these are the things that I have come to understand with every cell of my being:

Everybody is photogenic when they're themselves.
You don't need massive equipment to take meaningful photographs. You need attention, intention, and compassion.
The most beautiful photographs are felt, not just seen.
You can't fake a connection. If the image appears natural, it's because a real moment took place between the subject and photographer.

My Tips for Emerging Portrait Photographers
If you're just starting out, here's what I'd tell you:

Master light as a language. Know how light behaves at different times of day.
Photograph your friends, your family members, your neighbors. Don't wait around for models. The real people around you are your best instructors.
Stop asking people to smile. Ask them to breathe. Then shoot.
Don't be afraid of the shadows. They establish mood, mystery, and depth.
Print your photos. There's no better way to remember what photography's all about than holding a photo in your hand.

The Beauty of Film, the Spirit of Digital
Even though I shoot digital now most of the time, I still retain the film lessons.

Film also showed me discipline, intention, and humility.

It showed me that photography isn't convenient. It's about relation.

And while my Canon AE-1P now sits more on a shelf than in my backpack, it will forever be the beginning of my tale.

Looking Ahead: Environmental Portraiture
Here, I wrote about photographing people as they are—without flash, without artificiality. But human beings are never solitary.

Where they reside, what surrounds them, and how they occupy that space is their narrative.

In my next article, I will be talking about environmental portraiture—a photographic genre that brings together the subject and his world in a harmonious whole. It's not loneliness but context. I will talk about how we are able to tell a more comprehensive story with just one photograph—one that includes setting, mood, and presence.

Final Words: More Than a Picture
To those who've inquired, "Are you the man who makes people look good?"—my response remains the same:

No. I'm the one who makes people look like they are.

Because looking good is temporary.

But being real? That's forever.

Thanks for reading. If this story touched a chord with you or reminded you of your first camera or your first real photo, I'd love to hear from you. Leave a comment or send me an email. Let's keep celebrating the power of real photography in a world that so desperately needs it.