This past weekend Meghan bought a nice new digital camera. I am, notably, not a photographer, given that I failed photography in college for cheating. However, when we were talking about buying a nice camera, I thought it was a great idea. We moved to a new place, we’re about to have a kid, it would be nice for her to pick up a new hobby and take some good pictures of it all!

The surface-level foil to that thought is that phones these days are excellent cameras. Not to get all technical like Freddy talking stocks – aperture, exposure, shutter speed, I could go on and on – but the iPhone camera with any number of filter apps can take some amazing pictures and videos. Hell, the new camera even has an app to access all the photos from your phone! We’ve added an extra step with this camera. So why then, for us amateur photographers, do we need a digital camera if a phone is probably just as good?

That is a good question! One that I’ve been lightly pondering for a few days. Here are the few reasons I can come up with:

• There’s a lacking authenticity when pictures are taken with a phone. I don’t know if that’s because I’ve worked myself into hating smart phones over the last few years, but it feels… icky in a way opposite to the camera feeling genuine.
• Often times, after taking a picture on a phone, it’s immediately followed by an action; sending a snap, posting a story on Instagram, etc. that feels inherently disconnected from the moment.
• When someone has their phone in their hand, you don’t always know if they’re taking a picture. It’s annoying when you find out someone was filming or taking pictures and you didn’t realize.

Okay. After half-ass thinking for a few days, those are the main reasons I came up with. HOWEVER. I am now going to ask ChatGPT to formulate my thoughts more clearly as it fantastically did with my music post from a bit ago.

Using a camera instead of a phone feels like reclaiming space from the noise. A phone is always on, always connected, always tempting you to swipe to the next thing. It’s a device of interruption as much as it is one of convenience. So when you pick it up to take a photo, you’re not just capturing a moment—you’re dragging that moment into the same stream of distractions where texts, doomscrolling, and to-do lists live. It dilutes the experience.

But a dedicated camera? It doesn’t have an agenda. It’s quiet. Focused. It asks you to slow down, think about the frame, notice the light, maybe even crouch or move around for the right angle. That act of slowing down turns taking a photo into a small ritual, rather than a reflex.

There’s also something symbolic about holding a camera. It’s like saying, “This matters. I’m present for this.” Not just snapping for proof that you were there, but really trying to see the world more carefully, more thoughtfully. Even if the photo ends up looking the same, the intent behind it feels more honest.

And in a world where everything feels immediate and disposable, there’s something oddly grounding about carrying a tool made for one purpose—and choosing to use it.

Is this a 10/10 response? Not quite, maybe a 7 or an 8, but it captures the essence of what I’m talking about.

I asked it to steelman the opposite argument, that phones are actually good, as it agreed the way I framed the question to it was biasing. I wasn’t going to post it since I’m an activist but fuck it, why not. I find it less compelling, though it obviously makes some good points.

A smartphone is not just a tool of convenience—it’s a democratizer of creativity. It puts an incredibly powerful camera into the pocket of nearly every person on the planet. And not just a camera, but one that’s intelligently optimized to help people capture beautiful, meaningful images without needing to understand aperture, ISO, or white balance.

It doesn’t ask for permission or planning—it’s just there, ready when life happens. That kind of accessibility encourages spontaneous creativity. It turns everyday people into photographers—not because they spent years learning manual settings, but because the technology has made great photography frictionless.

And far from being inauthentic, smartphones can actually help you stay more connected to the moment. You’re not fiddling with dials or hauling gear. You’re in the moment, and the moment is documented. The power of smartphones isn’t just their convenience—it’s their ubiquity, their ability to remove barriers between experience and expression.

And the idea that using a smartphone is somehow “less authentic” can be exclusionary. It risks gatekeeping creativity behind the idea of “proper tools.” If a smartphone lets someone capture joy, grief, beauty, or surprise—and share it—it’s done its job as well as any Leica.