Why do we love film photos?
We live in a time of high quality, high definition, FaceTune, and bursts of thousands of photos. My camera roll contains 7,000 happy memories I cannot force myself to delete, no matter how much my phone harasses me about my dwindling storage. I’ve always been sentimental, like keeping my plane ticket to California from sophomore year or the audition number that got me cut last September. I have a hard time throwing away the earring that lost its match and can never decide which emails are irrelevant enough to trash.
Because of this trait, I have found myself in possession of film cameras. Many. Disposables, waterproof disposables, reusables, and a couple that are older than me that my mom found last summer. Don’t forget the light blue Polaroid.
I often forget to keep these cameras on me and feel pressured to use them when the time is just right. Kind of defeats the purpose, right? I’ve mastered the art of candid photos and have familiarized myself with what angles to use and not to use, but film remains an enigma to me.
I suppose there is no right time to whip out the disposable camera from CVS. It’s no different than pulling out your phone, really. However, with film, there are no retakes. You can’t see the photo until after it’s developed. It may have turned out bad. Or it may have developed improperly, or maybe you never get it developed. Ever. And that memory is tucked safely in the film roll for eternity.
It’s a stressful process that makes me wonder: what is so charming about film photos. What makes a picture worthy of being captured on film? One step further, why do we want to be captured on film?
Is it pure vanity? There’s something special in the fact that each photo was one-take—If we look good, that must make us photogenic. The way grain covers up imperfections, and the tint of developed photos magically transports you back into the 1990s. It’s a recipe for nostalgic success.
There’s something so innocent captured in each film photo. Knowing years before you, the photographers and their muses went through the same questioning of “Is this the shot?” before committing to the shot. Understanding that when that picture of your parents was taken, they didn’t have to worry about social media and relationship posting etiquette. The photo served no other purpose than to immortalize a memory, more so than posting on Instagram or uploading to VSCO.
I love looking at old pictures of my parents, the ones that make memory boxes burst at every corner. It’s mind-boggling to realize they lived an entire life before you, just like you are right now, before whatever your future holds. And I think it’s so sweet when history repeats itself. For example, there’s a photo of my mom in her old kitchen, wearing acid-wash jeans and a scrunchie on her wrist. She’s always said my fashion choices remind her of herself, between the Nike Cortez in my closet and the dozen pairs of Levi’s I have stowed away in my dresser. Trendsetting runs in the family, apparently.
Taking photos on film cameras makes the moment feel more real. It sucks you out of your home screen, away from the notification bubbles and useless pop culture news you don’t need to read, and places you in the present.
Film cameras are for camp. Summer camp, whimsical memories, unfiltered and uninhibited fun. Popsicles, guitars, campfires with s’mores, the docks. Laughter, face masks, inside jokes with your cabin. Making sure to hug everyone extra tight.
Film cameras are for getting ready with your friends. Crowding around the bathroom mirror, asking each other to curl their hair, and listening to music from Victorious and Big Time Rush. Doing temporary tattoos, putting glitter on your face, talking about people you like.
Film cameras are for backstage before a show. With skin so hot from warming up, being in costume, and opening-night anxiety, the nerves in your hands bubble in your palms like boiling water. Mirror pictures, spotting your friends in the audience, and words of affirmation all around.
Film captures the moments you are too scared to lose, the ones that deserve more than occupying a square in your endless camera roll.
After recently breaking my phone, I’ve established a greater understanding and appreciation for the clunky cameras my parents used to carry around. Nothing excites me more than whipping out my burgundy Nikon camera that I was gifted in middle school. The simple joy of capturing my friends being silly or my pets being cute fills the void left by my malfunctioning cellular device. One may call me a screenager; I consider myself a memory-catcher. And a screenager, shamelessly.
So, finally, what is it about film? I think it’s all of the above. Film is nostalgic, innocent, unedited, and unfiltered magic in a photo. Film is deliberate and intentional, something more than the third Snapchat to be added to your story that no one will look at for more than five seconds.
Film is an extension of your brain, your memories, and everything that makes your heart sing. That's what it "is" about film.
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