What if the camera isn't the problem after all?

Most women I photograph don’t arrive saying, “I can’t wait to be in front of the camera.”

More often, they say something like:

“I hate having my photo taken.”

“I never look like myself.”

“I’m not photogenic.”

“I’ll be awkward.”

“I won’t know what to do.”

And honestly? I understand.

Being photographed can feel exposing. Suddenly you’re aware of your face, your body, your smile, your hands, the way you’re standing, the way you’re being seen.

It can feel like the camera is the problem.

But I don’t think it is.

I think the problem is often the experience we’ve had around being photographed.

The rushed photos.

The awkward posing.

The feeling of being judged.

Being told to “just relax” when nothing about the situation feels relaxing.

No wonder so many women avoid it.

But what if photography didn’t have to feel like that?

What if it could feel slower? Kinder? More like a conversation than a performance?

What if the camera wasn’t there to catch you out, but to help you see yourself differently?

That’s the part of photography I love the most.

Not just taking a nice photo, but changing the experience of being photographed — because that experience can change how a woman sees herself.

You don’t need to arrive feeling confident.

You don’t need to know how to pose.

You don’t need to become someone louder, smoother, more polished or more “camera-ready”.

You just need to feel safe enough to stop performing.

Because the best photographs don’t happen when someone is trying really hard to look confident.

They happen when something begins to settle.

When she stops holding herself so tightly.

When she realises she doesn’t have to get it “right”.

When she starts to recognise herself in the image.

That’s when the photograph starts to mean something.

Sometimes, it’s the moment a woman looks at a photo and says:

“Oh. That’s actually me.”

Not a forced version.

Not an over-posed version.

Not a version that looks like everyone else.

Just her.

Present, visible, and more herself than she expected.

That’s why I believe the camera isn’t the problem.

The camera can make you feel self-conscious, of course it can.

But it can also help you see yourself differently.

It can help you see what other people often see in you already.

Your presence.

Your warmth.

Your strength.

Your confidence — even if it doesn’t feel loud.

Because confidence isn’t binary.

A woman can be confident in life and still hate being photographed.

She can run a business, lead a team, raise a family, speak in rooms, make big decisions — and still feel uncomfortable when a camera is pointed at her.

That doesn’t make her vain.

It doesn’t make her insecure.

It makes her human.

And that’s where photography can become powerful.

Not because it magically fixes everything.

But because the right experience can offer a different kind of evidence.

A photograph that makes you think, "yes — that's me."

So no, I don’t think the camera is the problem.

I think when photography feels gentle, relaxed and collaborative, the camera can become part of something much more positive.

You don’t need to feel confident in front of the camera. That’s not the starting point — that’s what we gently work towards.