Before the Algorithm
On old cameras, slow creativity, and returning to the hobbies that shaped us.
Before the Algorithm
I found my old 8mm camera the other week (again).
It had been sitting in a cupboard for years. Heavy. Mechanical. Slightly awkward in the hand.
When I powered it up and played back the tapes, I stepped into another version of myself.
Sixteen. Seventeen.
Filming everything.
Friends in fields.
Badly framed skate attempts.
Long, unnecessary tracking shots of nothing in particular.
There was no audience.
No upload button.
No analytics.
Just the urge to film.
I made a short film about this last year — you can watch it here.
Watching that footage back, I noticed something.
The shots were slower.
Not because I was trying to be cinematic.
But because I had to be.
Film cost money.
Tapes ran out.
Editing was physical.
You thought before you pressed record.
You stayed present while you were recording.
You couldn’t just capture everything and sort it out later.
It struck me that I wasn’t trying to build a channel.
I wasn’t trying to “be a creator.”
I was just fascinated.
By movement.
By faces.
By moments.
And somewhere along the way, I forgot that this was how it started.
There’s something powerful about revisiting the hobbies you had before they had to justify themselves.
Before they needed an outcome.
Before they needed to become something.
Some passions don’t disappear.
They just wait.
Digging out that camera didn’t make me wish I’d uploaded those videos to a platform that didn’t exist yet.
It reminded me that the instinct was always there.
The instinct to observe.
To frame.
To tell stories.
Slowly.
We often talk about growth in terms of new skills.
But sometimes growth is simply remembering what you already loved.
And picking it back up.
Rob
🕋 Dig into the archive