In an era of computational photography, the Leica MP (2003-present) stands as a mechanical haiku—unapologetically analog, stubbornly silent. Designed not for the crowd but for the coven of purists, it whispers: “Film is not dead; it’s just selective.”
Design: Minimalism as Dogma
1. The Black Paint Enigma
MP’s matte-black finish—thinner than M3’s wartime lacquer—ages like a samurai’s armor. Brassing emerges not as decay, but as a map of journeys. Chrome versions? Eternal youth in a stainless steel sarcophagus.
2. Shutter Dial Tai Chi
The compact speed dial (1s-1/1000s) arranges numbers in yin-yang symmetry. Rotate clockwise to slow time, counterclockwise to hasten it—a tactile waltz even M3 purists envy.
3. Skin Deep
Leatherette: Fine-grained calfskin, echoing MP’s unadorned top plate. No garish logos, just “Ernst Leitz Wetzlar” in ghostly script.
Battery-Free Zen: Mechanical shutter thrives sans electricity; the meter (borrowed from M6) hums on two SR44s.
Born in 1984, the Leica M6 was the brand’s first “everyman” rangefinder. Gone were the brass top plates of the M3/M4; in came zinc alloy, plastic counters, and TTL metering. Purists howled, but photographers voted with their wallets – 20 years of production (1984-2003) cemented its status as Leica’s best-selling M. The genius of the M6? It made the unattainable attainable by wrapping professional-grade optics in a blue-collar shell.
Born in 1967, the Leica M4 was the Swiss Army knife of rangefinders. It combined the elegance of the M3 with the practicality of the M2 and boasted the fastest film loading system in Leica history. But today it’s neither the most desirable (M3) nor the most accessible (M6). Instead, the M4 occupies an iconic middle ground – a tool for those who crave mechanical perfection with a dash of heresy.
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.
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. 📸✨
