Paris on Film

Welcome to Roll Call, a series where I revisit film rolls I’ve shot over the years and reflect on what they taught me. Some are gems, some are disasters, and plenty fall somewhere in between

First, let’s take a look at the roll of film that started it all — my love for film photography, my attachment to Kodak Gold, and the realization that untouched images can feel just as perfect as overly planned ones.

It was 2019, my third trip to Paris. I was with my best friend Brittany and we had no idea there was a global pandemic ahead. On a whim, Brit brought her fathers old film camera. I’m not sure what it was exactly, but it was a big bulky thing. Something we lugged around and when we asked strangers to snap photos of us with it, they mistook it for a digital SLR and snapped multiple shots with no idea of the scarcity of film.

Admittedly, I didn’t take every frame in this roll. Brit and I passed the camera back and forth all week long, cataloging our trip with abandon. Little did we know that these would be such precious memories of freedom just months later.

I remember opening the scans from Indie Film Lab — pastel-hued memories unfolding on my screen. We couldn’t believe our luck. How did we look so happy, so at ease, in a way no iPhone ever seemed to capture? Even Paris itself looked effortlessly perfect, just as we remembered.

Now they live in a small flip book on my coffee table — a tangible reminder of joy, serendipity, and a shift in my creative perspective.

Since 2019, I’ve collected film cameras of all shapes and sizes. The hardest choice — and the question I’m asked most often — is which one to use. Each has its specialty, but the cliché holds: the best camera is the one in your hand.

No amount of gear or planning can guarantee that a photograph feels the way the moment did. At best, you catch a glimpse of it. But I’ve found that film — especially with a camera I know well — comes closest to translating how it really felt.