Why Professional Artists Often Have The Worst Gear

Today, I’d like to explore a question that comes to mind often whenever I get a chance to meet my film and photography heroes.

The other day I was having lunch with a composer friend of mine, and we were trading origin stories the way you do when you are networking. While recounting his story of coming up the ranks working with some of the biggest names in movie scoring today, he happened to mention one of the oddities that stuck out to him. Specifically, it seemed to him that the better the composer was, the older and more ragged their recording setup tended to be. Not to the point of being ineffective, obviously. These masters were still pumping out beautiful melody after beautiful melody. It’s just that they saw very little value in spending money or effort on equipment when they could be spending that time writing music.

As he recounted his story, the theme struck home. I’m not a musician. I can neither sing, dance, nor play a musical instrument. But I am fortunate enough to have very well-established mentors in both the filmmaking and photography community, and one of the things they seem to all have in common is a surprisingly genuine lack of knowledge about the newest technology. That’s not to say they don’t like to chat gear. All photo- and film-oriented people have at least some level of gear lust. But I’m always amused when they start talking about some new camera they just heard about, which I, as someone who writes for Fstoppers, realize is a camera that came out five years ago and has since been replaced by two newer models. Or they’ll be super excited about a camera feature they just heard about but be thoroughly unaware that cameras have been able to do that for the last three generations.

Now, to be fair, the people I’m talking about are in a position, in many cases, to have teams that worry about their gear for them by this point. But beyond that, there is a greater philosophy at work that has helped change my thinking over the years. When you are a professional, your job is to create the best art on behalf of your clients that you can muster. Your job is not to buy equipment. Should client demands or your own artistic ambitions require you to upgrade to access a specific function you absolutely cannot fulfill with your current equipment, then, by all means, do some shopping. But your clients are hiring you for how you see the world, not because of your ability to use a credit card and buy the latest gear.

So really, it should come as no surprise that I come across so many masters of their craft that couldn’t tell the difference between this year’s model and the one from a decade ago. It’s not a sign of lack of interest. Rather, it’s a signal that those artists have correctly identified the role of gear in the process of creating art. It’s a tool—nothing else. It doesn’t define who you are as an artist. It doesn’t determine whether your art is good or bad. It is simply a means to an end.

Now, I know that many reading this article will find that advice infuriating. Marketers have done a brilliant job of talking us into thinking that we are defined by the logo emblazoned on the front of our kit. Just look at the comment sections under any article or video proclaiming that this camera or that one is the best. People take to the defense of their brand of choice as if it were a blood feud and their side is the only one with a rightful claim to the throne. But I’m not here to tell you that one particular brand is overvalued versus another. Rather, my gripe is with the entire belief that gear determines your destiny.

I speak from experience. When I look back at my professional career, I have very few regrets. I set a plan in the beginning, and I’ve found the discipline to follow it. I’ve tried to do my best to pivot with the ebbs and flows of the industry while staying true to my artistic voice. I’ve made some mistakes. A lot of them, in fact. But all in all, the choices I’ve made—even the bad ones—have all been ones that I can accept.

My biggest regret, however, is that I have spent way too much time and way, way, way too much money on buying (and thinking about buying) new equipment. This is not to say that I regret any specific purchase. There are some specific ones I regret, which those who read me regularly might know but that I won’t recount here. Instead, I regret not understanding sooner the negative impact focusing too much on gear could have on my business.

There’s the financial impact, of course. Math is math. And the more you spend, the less profit you make. Profit equals revenue minus expenses. And you can literally spend your way out of business, even if you do have an impressive client list. So keeping your expenses low, especially as an independent artist, is crucial to being able to stay in business long term. Pissing away money on new gear might make you the most popular person in your photographer friend group, but the vast majority of it is little more than a temporary ego boost. Again, that’s not to say that every purchase I’ve made has filled me with regret. But rather, in the grand scheme of things, the only purchases that I would still remake in hindsight are the ones that could truly be deemed “investments.”

There’s a definite difference between an investment and a purchase. Let me explain. Webster defines an investment as “the outlay of money, typically for income or profit.” In other words, you are spending money to make money. So any gear investments should be made directly by asking the question of whether this tool is going to make me money. What will be the net impact financially? Will the amount of money I generate with the tool exceed the cost of obtaining it?

Of course, even this easy-to-understand rule of thumb can be manipulated in our own head when we really want something and try to convince ourselves that we need it. Think of how many times you’ve bought a new camera with a feature you don’t currently use but convince yourself that you would use it if you only had it. Then, once you get the new camera with the new feature, you continue to do things in the old ways using the old features anyway. So now you may have objectively upgraded your gear, but you have in no way upgraded your art. All you have accomplished is to spend more money and reduce your profit margin. By the way, I say “you,” but I’ve made this mistake so many times that I should really be saying “me.”

An easy way to get around that is a new rule that I’ve taken on board over time: wait until you have at least three jobs that require that new camera feature. Jobs that literally cannot be serviced using your current equipment. Rent the new gear during those first three jobs, if necessary. But don’t make any purchases yet. Once you’ve had three jobs that absolutely require that new feature (or have signed contracts for three upcoming jobs requiring it), then it probably makes sense to invest in the new equipment. It’s proven itself to be a feature you need (as opposed to just want). And you have proven that you can charge for the service provided by having that feature. Those first three jobs might even prepay for the new equipment rather than you putting it on your credit card in hopes jobs will come along where the feature will be needed.

Another solid way to assess whether an investment will be profitable is whether or not you plan to rent out your gear. I have a number of cinematographer friends who have invested massive sums of money into top-flight cinema cameras—the best money can buy. But if you are going to make that into an investment rather than just a vanity purchase, you need to figure out how you are going to recoup those costs. In the case of my friends, that recoupment usually comes in the form of gear rentals. Some will list their gear on sites like ShareGrid and rent directly to other filmmakers. Those rental fees help them recoup the upfront costs of the equipment while still having the gear available for their own use.

Some friends will make a gear purchase but then have the gear itself live on consignment at a formal rental house. Essentially, the rental house rents out your gear for you, takes care of it as if it were their own, and you get a percentage. But, similarly to ShareGrid, you still get to access your own gear when necessary.

Of course, if you are working enough, you can rent your own gear to your own productions as a part of your overall bid. There are a million and one ways to work it. But the point is that you need to take a moment to figure out how you are going to directly recoup the money you spend up front. That’s the difference between an investment and a purchase. It also helps to explain why so many established artists spend so little money on upgrading gear. If it’s not going to add to the bottom line, then it's likely not a smart investment.

Now, it should be mentioned that there can be investments that don’t have such a clear financial return that can still be worth the money. Take, for example, purchasing a faster computer that objectively cuts your exporting time in half. Time is money. So there could be a quantitative increase in your productivity by purchasing a new computer. Or, for instance, a couple of years ago I bought two very massive and very expensive crank stands for my movie lights. Yes, I can rent these to my own productions and recoup as part of the bid. But the real benefit was that I tore my rotator cuff a couple of years ago, and lifting light stands is not nearly as much fun as it used to be. So for me, having a crank stand to get my lights elevated without incurring more medical bills from the physical therapist is worth every penny. So it is possible to “profit” in other ways besides money in/money out. But you can still think about new gear acquisitions through the same lens. What am I getting versus what am I spending?

Now, I know a lot of you reading this may not be working professionals and thus feel this advice doesn’t apply to you. And that’s fair. If photography is merely a hobby, then by all means, whip out your credit card whenever your budget allows. But for those professionals out there, it is worth it to remind ourselves that being a “pro” means that you are running a business. Every penny saved is another penny to keep your business alive through the lean months, to provide fiscal investments when your business needs to grow, or to give you the necessary capital required to take a chance on a new venture.

The reason all those master artists I mentioned earlier in the essay spend so little time worrying about having the latest and greatest equipment isn’t because they aren’t serious about their art. It’s because they are too busy building and sustaining successful careers.