After finding myself in yet another strange new world last week, I began to reflect on the future of photography and steps necessary to protect the profession we love.
The other night I went to a promotional event for a well known fitness brand. Not the biggest name in the market, but large enough to afford some rather posh retail space in higher rent districts of major cities for their stores to thrive. A growing company with an upscale product. Perusing the shelf, I noticed a pair of sweatpants coming in at a healthy $130.
How I was invited is somewhat unbeknownst to me. I am a commercial fitness and activewear photographer. I’ve been banging on this particular company’s metaphorical door for a couple years now. Sending promos pieces and cold calls in their direction. I like the brand and would love an assignment. But this particular invite wasn’t to fulfill a brief. I was strictly there as a guest.
They were offering a free fitness class and mini-reception at one of their stores in an upstairs fitness studio that I didn’t even know existed. Being both a fitness fanatic and a cheap bastard, the offer of free sweat generation was too much to pass by. I also figured it might be a good time to do a bit of networking, unintentionally intentionally dropping my own name and photographic specialty into every conversation just in case it might somehow make its way into the right set of ears.
I didn’t really know what to expect and the invite was a bit vague. But it was a Thursday night, and my internet (and thus Netflix) was on the blink, so my remaining options were digging into my DVD collection or going out for a bit of adventure. I chose the latter.