When Leica introduced the M2 in 1958, it wasn’t just a camera – it was a manifesto. Designed as the “poor man’s M3,” it quietly became the ultimate storyteller’s tool. Journalists, soldiers, and street photographers embraced it not for its prestige, but for its raw utility. The genius of the M2? It embraced imperfection. No motor drives, no light meters, just a brass-and-glass vessel for stolen moments. As Garry Winogrand quipped: “Photography is about finding out what can happen in the frame.” The M2’s 0.72x viewfinder became the oracle of that frame.
Every century, a few objects are born that transcend utility-the Stradivarius violin, the Rolex Oyster, the Leica M3. Introduced in 1954, this brass-and-glass marvel didn’t just capture light; it crystallized the very soul of analog photography. While later M models chased convenience (the M4’s quick load, the M6’s meter), none could match the M3’s uncompromising craftsmanship. As Henri Cartier-Bresson explained: “The M3 became an extension of my eye. Today, it remains the gold standard for purists who believe cameras should be heirlooms, not gadgets.
When the Leica M8 debuted in 2006, it was already an anachronism. With an APS-H sensor (27×18mm) and 10.2MP resolution, it lagged behind Canon’s 2005 12.8MP full-frame 5D. Nineteen years later, in an era where $2,500 buys a 60MP mirrorless powerhouse, this German digital oddity should make no sense. Yet here I am, still grinning every time I press its brass shutter button.
The M8 isn’t a tool – it’s a manifesto. It dares you to ask: What if joy mattered more than specs?
Let me tell you about my little photography buddy – this Minolta 100-200mm f4.5 lens. It’s not the fanciest piece of equipment out there, but man, does it have character!
The Surprise Performer
I bought this lens used for $30 and thought I’d only use it occasionally, but it turned out to be my go-to lens for landscapes. The 200mm range is like putting binoculars on a camera. It turned out to be my go-to lens for landscapes. 200mm is like gluing a pair of binoculars to your camera. At the lake last month, it captured details the eye could never see! The maximum aperture of f4.5 isn’t super bright, but it keeps the lens tight and works well in daylight.
It is impossible not to shoot, but it is equally futile to shoot without studying. Flipping through photo books isn’t about mining for answers – it’s about letting your mind tango with the streets. Quantity breeds quality; street photography thrives on the pendulum swing between relentless shooting and voracious viewing. As the volume swells, epiphanies drip like developer in a darkroom.
“Snapping” oversimplifies the craft, but its complexity dissolves when you carry a dog-eared notebook in your pocket. Flip it like a DJ scratches vinyl-not to imitate the masters, but to let each frame hum like a melody. Every photo is a song waiting to be remixed. Borrow the chorus, riff on the bridge, but always hum your own tune. After all, even cover bands stumble upon new grooves when the streetlights flicker to life.
Let’s get one thing straight: the Contax G system is the cool uncle of the camera world. It’s sleek, it’s stylish, and it’s got that “I was ahead of my time” vibe. The Biogon 28mm f/2.8? It’s the star of the show—a lens so good, it makes you wonder why Contax ever went out of business.
Sure, the G system is a relic of the film era, but with adapters and a bit of luck, this little gem can shine in the digital age. Is it perfect? No. Is it ridiculously good for the price? Absolutely.
Build Quality: “Porsche-Designed, Not Leica-Copied”
Specs:
Weight: 180g (or “featherlight” in lens-speak).
Materials: Metal, glass, and a dash of German engineering.
Aesthetic: Sleek, minimalist, and just a little bit smug.
The Biogon 28mm f/2.8 is what happens when Contax says, “Let’s make a Leica killer… but with autofocus.” It’s compact, well-balanced, and built to last longer than your average hipster’s beard.
Pro Tip: If your lens doesn’t make you feel like a secret agent, you’re holding it wrong.
By someone who just spent 45 minutes unfolding this thing in public
Introduction: When Your Camera Is Also a Fashion Statement
Let’s be honest: most cameras are about as stylish as a pair of Crocs. The Voigtländer Bessa II? It’s the James Bond of folding cameras—sleek, suave, and guaranteed to make bystanders whisper, “What is that thing?”
This isn’t just a camera. It’s a mechanical origami masterpiece, a 6×9 film beast folded into something smaller than your Instagram ego. Want to shoot medium format without looking like you’re carrying a toaster oven? Meet the Bessa II: the camera that says, “I’m here to take photos… and steal your soul with my vintage charm.”
Design: “Is That a Camera or a Luxury Handbag?”
Specs:
Weight: 900g (or “lightweight” for something made of solid brass and existential dread).
Materials: Leather stitched by elves, metal forged by dwarves.
Party Trick: A collapsible leather handle that transforms from “sleek strip” to “I’m-ready-for-my-closeup-Mr.-DeMille” grip.
The Bessa II is what happens when Germans and Austrians collaborate on a steampunk project. Folded, it’s slimmer than a Leica M3 with a Summicron. Unfolded, it’s a bellows-powered time machine that screams, “I shoot film and own a monocle.”
Pro Tip: If your camera doesn’t double as a conversation starter, you’re doing life wrong.
The Unfolding Ritual: A Mechanical Ballet
Press the hidden button on the base. Click. The lens door pops open like a shy mollusk. Gently push the front standard forward. Snap. The bellows expand like a mechanical accordion. Suddenly, you’re holding a 6×9 monstrosity that makes your iPhone look like a Post-it note.
No other camera unfolds with this much drama. It’s like Indiana Jones swapping his whip for a tripod.
Voigtländer Bessa II
The Heliar Lens: Magic in a Brass Tube
Specs:
Focal Length: 105mm f/3.5 (the “Heliar” version, because obviously).
Bokeh: Creamier than a Viennese pastry. At f/4, backgrounds melt like butter in a sauna.
The Heliar lens isn’t just optics—it’s alchemy. Shoot portraits, and your subjects will ask, “Why do I look like a Renaissance painting?” (Answer: Because Voigtländer sold their souls to the devil for this glass.)
Alternatives:
Skopar version: For budget-conscious wizards.
Apo-Lanthar: Radioactive and ridiculously expensive. Perfect for Bond villains.
The Viewfinder: A Lesson in Humility
The Bessa II’s rangefinder is… quaint. Think “a yellow postage stamp viewed through a keyhole.” It’s dim, tiny, and about as user-friendly as a Rubik’s Cube. Glasses wearers? Good luck.
But here’s the hack: pre-focus before unfolding. Sneakily frame your subject, snap the bellows open, and fire. It’s like photography mixed with espionage.
Street Cred: When the Camera Becomes the Star
Take the Bessa II outdoors, and prepare for attention. Strangers will stop. Old men will reminisce about their “glory days.” Pigeons will pose.
Last week, a Beijing grandpa parked his bike to lecture me on his 1970s darkroom exploits. I got zero photos but gained a life coach.
Street Photography Rule #1: If your camera isn’t attracting more stares than your subjects, upgrade to something louder.
The “6×9 Problem”: Eight Shots, Infinite Patience
Fact: A 120 roll gives you 8 frames. That’s right—eight. In a world where iPhone users shoot 200 selfies before breakfast, the Bessa II is a zen master.
Each click costs $3 and 10 minutes of existential contemplation. Miss the shot? Too bad. The universe whispers, “Git gud, scrub.”
Pro Move: Unfold the Bessa II slowly. The theatrics buy you time to think, “Do I really want to photograph this?”
Bessa II vs. Fuji GF670: A Sibling Rivalry
The Fuji GF670 (aka “Voigtländer Bessa III”) is the Bessa II’s tech-savvy cousin. It’s lighter, has a brighter viewfinder, and won’t embarrass you at a startup meetup. But it’s also… sterile.
GF670 Pros:
Electronic shutter.
Sharp enough to cut reality.
GF670 Cons:
Lacks soul.
Makes you look like a dentist.
The Bessa II? It’s all analog swagger.
Final Verdict: For People Who Enjoy Difficulty
The Voigtländer Bessa II isn’t a camera. It’s a mechanical flex, a middle finger to convenience. It’s folding-unfolding ballet. It’s eight shots of deliberate genius. It’s the reason your Instagram followers think you’re a time traveler.
Is it practical? No. Is it perfect? Absolutely not. Is it the coolest folding camera ever made? Abso-freaking-lutely.
Rating: 5/5 stars (and 5/5 awkward public interactions).
Now go forth and unfold responsibly. Or just carry it as a purse. We don’t care. 📸✨
They say every Leica owner keeps a Rolleiflex at home, gathering dust like an old love letter. I’m no twin-lens fanatic, but I get it—there’s something about these square-eyed boxes that lingers. My Rolleiflex 3.5 MX-EVS isn’t the fanciest of its kind. It’s the last of the non-interchangeable focus screen models, a budget relic with no meter, picked up cheap from a forgotten shelf.
Design & Build: A Mechanical Poem
The MX-EVS sits heavy in your hands, a brick of German steel and glass from the early ’50s. It’s all manual, all mechanical—no bells, no whistles—just the way I like it, echoing the Leica M3’s stubborn simplicity. Early models wore white plastic like a shy debutante, but mine’s cloaked in black paint, chipped at the edges, whispering tales of a life before me. The Tessar lens, a 75mm f/3.5, stares up from its twin perch, unassuming yet precise. Rolleiflex moved to Zeiss and Schneider glass later, but this one? It’s raw, honest, built to last—like a typewriter that still clacks in a digital age.
Features: The Art of Less
This isn’t a camera that spoon-feeds you. No built-in meter means you’re on your own, guessing exposure like a drifter reading the sky. The film counter’s automatic, though—a small marvel that clicks with every frame of 120 film, a nod to German ingenuity. The waist-level viewfinder flips open like a secret hatch, revealing a world flipped left-to-right. It’s disorienting at first, a mirror to somewhere else, but that’s the charm—you’re not just shooting; you’re dreaming in reverse.
Performance: Street Shadows and Square Frames
I took the MX-EVS to the streets, chasing echoes of Robert Doisneau and Vivian Maier—masters who saw poetry in the mundane through a Rolleiflex. There’s a story from the ’50s: Henri Cartier-Bresson praised the Leica’s agility in one paper, and the next day, Doisneau countered with the Rolleiflex’s knack for candid grace. I see why. Peering down into that glowing square, reality bends—left becomes right, and time slows. The Tessar lens paints shallow depth and creamy bokeh, turning strangers into soft-edged legends.
But 120 film threw me off. Coming from 135, my “sunny 16” guesses overexposed half my rolls—bright blurs instead of crisp tales. It’s four times the size of 35mm, a beast to scan but a gift in detail. Portraits shine here—square compositions frame faces like old photographs in a family album. Still, I’ve sidelined it lately; my impatience doesn’t match its rhythm.
Pros & Cons: A Love with Limits
Pros:
Gorgeous square shots with dreamy bokeh—perfect for portraits.
Built like a tank, a survivor from 1951.
That flipped viewfinder—it’s a portal to another world.
Cons:
No meter means exposure’s a gamble (and I’m a lousy card player).
120 film’s a learning curve—pricey and unforgiving.
Slow to shoot; it’s a thinker, not a sprinter.
Conclusion: A Letter to the Past
The Rolleiflex 3.5 MX-EVS isn’t for everyone. It’s not sleek like a Leica or loud like a Nikon. It’s a quiet companion, a twin-lens ghost that asks you to pause, to feel the weight of each click. I’ve got a Chinese Orient 120—a Tessar knockoff—that mimics it well enough, and the world’s full of Rolleiflex copies. But this one’s mine, a worn treasure I’ll keep, even if it mostly guards my shelf now.
Wenders might say every photo is a letter to someone gone. With this camera, I’m writing to the streets—Doisneau’s Paris, Maier’s Chicago—hoping the light answers back. Pick up a Doisneau book, let it sink in, and maybe you’ll see why I can’t let this Rolleiflex go.
Tech Specs:
Lens: 75mm f/3.5 Tessar (4 elements, 3 groups)
Shutter: Compur-Rapid, 1s to 1/500s
Film: 120 (12 shots per roll)
Weight: ~900g
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(A review crafted like a Sunday morning stroll—leisurely paced yet full of quiet revelations)
The Forgotten Pathfinder
In an age where cameras evolve faster than TikTok trends, the Contax G1 emerges like a weathered paperback on a digital library shelf—unassuming, undervalued, yet brimming with stories waiting to be told. This titanium-clad relic (1994–2001) weighs less than a barista’s latte art pitcher (460g) and costs less than a smartphone lens protector (250–250–300 in 2025 USD). While others chase megapixels, the G1 asks: “What if the best camera isn’t the newest, but the one that never demands an upgrade?”
contax g1
Design: Bauhaus Meets Butterfly
Titanium Truth: Not a veneer like Leica’s “luxury” coatings, but full-metal honesty. The brushed finish feels like a poet’s well-worn notebook.
Ergonomic Whisper: Curves softer than a Parisian bistro chair, fitting Asian hands like a calligrapher’s brush. Even winter can’t frost its plastic grips—a small mercy for gloveless shooters.
Size Sorcery: 28% smaller than its sibling G2, yet somehow roomier than a Tokyo capsule hotel.
Optical Democracy
Zeiss’ Quiet Revolution Before “cinematic” became a YouTube filter buzzword, the G1 democratized pro optics. Its trio of lenses (28mm/45mm/90mm) delivered Hollywood-grade rendering at student film budgets. Today, they still outclass 90% of modern mirrorless glass—like finding a vintage Rolex at a flea market.
Auto-Focus Quirks Yes, it hesitates in dim light. But so do we when faced with life’s unscripted moments. The G1’s occasional refusal to shoot? Not a flaw—a Zen master’s lesson in mindfulness.
Generational Face-Off
Feature
Contax G1 (1994)
Leica M6 (1984–2002)
Price (2025 USD)
250–250–300
3,500–3,500–4,500
Weight
460g (light as regret)
585g (heavy as legacy)
Shutter
1/2000s (sunlit freedom)
1/1000s (eternal twilight)
Film Rescue
Auto-rewind saves mistakes
Manual crank saves pride
Soul
Tokyo salaryman’s secret escape
German engineer’s lifelong companion
The Joyful Contradictions
Autofoxus in a Manual World: Faster than 2012’s Fuji X-Pro1, yet slow enough to make you see
LCD “Watercolor” Displays: Leaking pixels become abstract art—a built-in reminder that imperfection breeds character
Green vs White Label: Choose between supporting rare 21mm lenses (green) or embracing minimalist purity (white). Either way, you win.
contax g1
Who Should Buy This?
✓ Film Rebels: Tired of hipsters’ Pentax K1000 clones ✓ Digital Nomads: Seeking a tactile antidote to screen fatigue ✓ Leica Skeptics: Who suspect the Emperor’s rangefinder has no clothes ✓ Practical Romantics: Believing love letters should be handwritten, not AI-generated
The Tai Chi Revelation
Here lies the G1’s secret—a yin-yang balance Western engineers still struggle to replicate:
Titanium toughness vs plastic pragmatism
Autofocus convenience vs manual mindfulness
1990s tech vs timeless aesthetics
Like practicing tai chi in a subway station, it finds calm within chaos.
Final Verdict: The Anti-GAS Antidote
For the price of three streaming subscriptions (250–250–300), you escape:
The upgrade treadmill’s hollow promises
Pixel-peeping paranoia
The weight of “pro gear” expectations
What you gain:
A mechanical haiku writer
28/45/90mm lenses sharper than nostalgia
Proof that joy needs no Wi-Fi connection
Epilogue: The Camera That Laughs Last
We photograph to cheat time—yet chase gear that becomes obsolete before our film even develops. The G1, with its titanium bones and analog heart, mocks this paradox. In its viewfinder, life isn’t measured in FPS or dynamic range, but in the courage to press the shutter when it truly matters.
Pro Tips:
Film Hack: Load expired stock—its latitude forgives the G1’s metering quirks
G2 Temptation: Resist. The price gap buys 50 rolls of Portra
Ultimate Flex: Pair with Contax T2—pocket the difference vs buying a Leica CM
Rating: ⌛️⌛️⌛️⌛️◻️ (4/5 for tech fetishists) 🌅🌅🌅🌅🌅 (5/5 for sunset chasers)
“The real ‘Killer App’ isn’t in your phone—it’s the camera that outlives your need to prove anything.”
