My old DSLR and film cameras have mojo. And that’s a fact!

I’ll admit it, I’m a bit superstitious. Y’know, no passing on the stairs, no walking underneath a ladder, and certainly no opening up an umbrella indoors. And that extends to my cameras, too.

You see, I’ve used a lot of cameras in my time, and I’m adamant that some of them have more ‘mojo’ than others. That’s right, a mystical-and-magical quality that makes one camera’s identical innards produce better photos than another.

I know, I know, I’m making no sense whatsoever. Or am I? I mean, I don’t actually believe mojo has anything to do with the quality of the digital or analog end product. One Nikon Z6 III RAW file is another Z6 III RAW file, is another, is another.

But I do believe that photographers build a relationship with their cameras, and that familiarity and comfort make for better images. Heck, if you’ve been driving a 2009 Ford F-Series for the past 15 years, it probably feels like an extension of your home in a way no other car could. And a good camera is no different.

I still have my trusty old Nikon D800 at home. And while I pick up my Nikon Z8 much more often, it’ll take a good few years before I build the same kind of relationship. Sure, the Nikon D800 is an old DSLR now. It’s slow, it's clunky, but I’ll be damned if it ain’t the most comfortable darn camera I’ve ever used.

Every bump, scratch, and bit of baked-in mud tells a story. I’ve worn away the grip, inadvertently polished my most-used buttons, and I still can’t get that flippin’ sunscreen out of the leatherette. We’ve been through thick and thin together, me and that camera. You can’t tell me it doesn’t have mojo, man!

Can you believe it? My Nikon Z8 is the first camera I’ve ever bought new, and I hate how pristine it is and how I mollycoddle it! Of course, the upshot is that over the years, every ding and scratch will be mine and mine alone.

But mojo is one of the reasons I love buying secondhand gear. My latest camera purchase was a Nikon FM and, while it’s in very good condition for a decades-old device, it’s still seen its fair share of action. Sometimes when I hold it, I think of the stories it could tell.

Maybe it belonged to a mother or father who documented their young family. Perhaps it was a photographer’s first serious camera, or maybe it belonged to a seasoned pro. Has it been abroad or on any adventures? What genre was it predominantly used for? I guess I’ll never know, but that all adds to its mystical-and-magical quality.

Classic film cameras like the Nikon FM are particularly cool, since they’re never really out of fashion. In many ways, I’m just a custodian until it passes on to its next owner. Maybe that’ll be one of my children, grandchildren, or another photography enthusiast. Regardless, I’m sure it’ll live on long past the lifespan of its shutter. Even if it just sits on a shelf somewhere to be admired.

So, the next time you pick up your favorite camera – perhaps it's your only camera – think about what you’ve been through together. And if you’re going to buy one of the best mirrorless cameras, think about the adventures you’re going to have with it. Whether it be now or in the future, have a blast instilling it with your unique brand of mojo.

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