Grey Shades of Pretension

Fifty Shades of Pretension: Using the Leica M11 Monochrome Like It's an Analog Camera in Hong Kong

The Leica M11 Monochrome isn't just a camera; it's a lifestyle choice. It's the digital equivalent of walking into a coffee shop, ordering a fancy espresso, and loudly proclaiming you only drink single-origin beans because you're too refined for milk. But as I wandered through the chaos of Hong Kong, I decided to embrace the absurdity and use it like an analog camera. That's right: LCD screen covered, settings locked in, and shooting with a mix of blind faith and nostalgia. You can do this with any camera. But where's the fun in that?

Hong Kong: The Ultimate Monochrome Playground

Hong Kong is a visual assault on the senses. Neon lights buzz against a backdrop of smoggy skies. Street vendors shout out their wares, creating an auditory wallpaper of Cantonese chaos. And then there's me, armed with a Leica M11 Monochrome and a smug sense of self-satisfaction. Shooting monochrome here felt ironic and appropriate—a city famous for its riot of color reduced to shades of gray.

But let's be honest: the M11 Monochrome didn't magically make me a better photographer. It did, however, make me *look* like one. There I was, the archetypal Leica-wielding snob, strolling through Mong Kok, looking for light and shadow like a grayscale Jedi. The streets didn't care about my expensive gear, but I'd convinced myself they should. Every click of the shutter felt like a deliberate act of homage to the monochrome masters of yore, even if my subjects were just everyday pedestrians or noodle carts.

The challenge of capturing Hong Kong in monochrome wasn't just technical but philosophical. How do you distill a city so alive with color into grayscale? It demanded more than just pressing a button—it required seeing the world differently. Neon signs transformed into glowing orbs of light and shadow. Chaotic markets became studies in texture and form. Each image carried a layer of irony, a subtle joke about the colorful city rendered in stark, unforgiving shades of gray.

Fancying Myself an Analog Purist

The first step in turning the M11 Monochrome into an analog camera was to ditch the LCD screen. I slapped on a leather half-case that covered the display entirely. There was no chimping, no checking. Every click of the shutter was a leap of faith. Next, I set the camera to manual mode, dialed in my ISO, aperture, and shutter speed as if the exposure triangle were a holy trinity, and committed to those settings like my life depended on it.

Was it necessary? Not at all. Was it satisfying? Absolutely. Every shot felt like a deliberate rebellion against the convenience of the digital age. Who needs histograms when you have gut instinct? Some shots were overexposed, but isn't that just part of the analog charm? (That's what I told myself while grimacing at blown-out highlights.) More than once, I wondered if I was achieving art or just indulging in self-inflicted difficulty.

This self-imposed constraint added a layer of drama to my photography. It wasn't just about capturing images but proving I could do so without modern crutches. Each click was a gamble, and each resulting image felt like winning a small lottery of creative validation. It's the kind of photographic philosophy that's half Zen and half masochism.

Zone Focusing: My Savior in the Chaos

Let's talk zone focusing. In a city where everything moves at hyper-speed, autofocus is as helpful as a fork in a noodle shop. Pre-focusing the lens at two meters and setting the aperture to f/8 turned my Leica into a point-and-shoot with a PhD. No more fumbling with focus rings while a split-second moment slips away. Whether it was a cat lounging on a motorbike, a vendor juggling lychees, or a dramatic interplay of shadow and light on a rainy street, I was ready.

Of course, mastering zone focusing took practice. My first attempts were… let's call them "experimental." Estimating distances was more complicated than it looked, and for the first hour, everything I shot was either slightly blurry or entirely out of focus. But with time, I got better. I'd eyeball a subject, click the shutter, and nail the focus—most of the time. The process was both humbling and exhilarating. It became a game of calculated risks, and when I got it right, the results felt like tiny victories against the chaos of the streets.

Zone focusing isn't just a technique; it's a mindset. It forces you to embrace imperfection and trust your instincts. Sure, autofocus might have been easier, but where's the challenge? Plus, nothing beats the satisfaction of capturing a fleeting moment without relying on your camera's brain to do the work. It's the photographic equivalent of catching a fly with chopsticks—impractical but oh-so-gratifying.

Tips for Street Photography: Hong Kong Edition

Street photography in Hong Kong is a contact sport. It's chaotic, unpredictable, and full of surprises. Here's what I learned while dodging noodle carts and chasing shadows:

1. Pack Light and Dress Right

A 35mm lens is all you need. Anything more, and you'll spend half your time switching gear instead of taking photos. Also, wear comfortable shoes. Hong Kong's streets are unforgiving, and the last thing you want is to limp through Kowloon with blistered feet. Trust me, you'll be happier carrying less gear and more curiosity. Leave the heavy camera bag at home—your back will thank you after a full day of walking and snapping. Lightweight, breathable clothing is also necessary; Hong Kong's humidity doesn't play around.

2. Find Beauty in the Mundane  

Street photography is about seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary. A taxi reflected in a puddle, a vendor stacking oranges, or a stray dog basking in a sunbeam—these moments tell a story. And if someone catches you staring at a dumpster for too long? Just say, "It's for art," and walk away confidently. Look beyond the obvious and seek juxtapositions or fleeting human expressions that reveal the city's soul. Pay attention to how people interact with their environment—sometimes, the smallest gestures tell the most significant stories. For example, the delicate hands of a vendor counting change or a momentary glance between strangers can capture universality.

3. Embrace Minimalism  

Leave the tripod at home. Trust me, you don't want to be *that* person setting up a mini studio in the middle of a crowded market. Keep your setup simple and focus on what matters: capturing the essence of the scene. The fewer barriers between you and spontaneity, the better. A lightweight camera strap or wrist strap can also keep your gear secure without getting in your way. Minimalism isn't just about gear—it's about mindset. Approach each scene, and you'll find your shots more impactful.

4. Be Invisible  

The best street photographers blend into their surroundings. Avoid bright colors and loud behavior. The goal is to capture life unfiltered, and that's hard to do when you're drawing attention to yourself. Channel your inner chameleon and move through the crowd unnoticed. This is especially important in Hong Kong, where people are always on the move and distractions abound. Practice your timing and movements to make your presence as subtle as possible—sometimes, waiting in one spot is better than chasing after a scene. Remember, patience is your ally.

5. Shoot First, Apologize Later  

Sometimes, you'll catch someone's eye mid-shot. When that happens, smile, nod, and say, "It's for art." Most people will shrug it off. If they don't, silhouettes and reflections are your best friends. Anonymity can save the day and add a layer of mystique to your images. Respect is key—never invade someone's space or privacy, but don't hesitate to capture moments when you're sure it's harmless. Always be ready to explain your intentions if confronted. When in doubt, find humor in the awkwardness—a little levity can diffuse most situations.

The Irony of Monochrome in a Technicolor World

Here's the thing: the Leica M11 Monochrome isn't necessary to shoot in black and white. Any camera, even a smartphone, can do the job. What the M11 offers is an experience—a chance to slow down, embrace the limitations of monochrome, and see the world differently. But let's not kid ourselves. The camera's price tag alone screams pretension. I mean, why strip away color in one of the most vibrantly colorful cities in the world? Because it's absurd, and that's the point.

Using monochrome in Hong Kong's kaleidoscope of colors is both a challenge and a statement. It forces you to see beyond the obvious and focus on form, light, and emotion. It's about finding the universal truths that transcend color, even if those truths sometimes include a tricycle parked in dramatic shadows. By removing the distraction of color, I paid closer attention to composition, contrast, and the subtle interplay of light and shadow. This shift in focus made even the most mundane scenes feel profound.

Post-Processing: From Meh to Masterpiece

After a long day of shooting, I dumped my images into Capture One. Editing monochrome photos is like sculpting—you're not adding but subtracting, chiseling away at the excess to reveal the essence. With a few tweaks to contrast and exposure, my shots went from "meh" to "moody masterpiece."

One shot of a noodle vendor under a dim streetlight became a study in chiaroscuro. A rain-soaked alley turned into a cinematic frame worthy of a noir film. Post-processing is where the magic happens, where mundane scenes transform into something more significant. It's also where you spend hours questioning every artistic choice you've ever made.

But editing wasn't just about technical adjustments; it was a meditative exercise. It gave me time to reflect on what worked and didn't, honing my eye for future shoots. Each slider adjustment felt like fine-tuning a symphony of light and shadow. The process wasn't just about improving individual images; it was about understanding each photo's narrative within the broader story of the day.

Lessons Learned: Zen and the Art of Street Photography

Using the M11 Monochrome like an analog camera wasn't just about nostalgia but mindfulness. There was no instant feedback, no do-overs. Each shot forced me to slow down and indeed observe my surroundings. It wasn't always easy, but it was always rewarding.

I learned to embrace imperfection, trust my instincts, and find beauty in Hong Kong's everyday chaos. It reminded me that photography isn't about the gear—it's about the stories we tell and the moments we preserve. The M11 Monochrome was just a tool; the real magic came from being present and paying attention.

In the end, it's not about the camera. Whether you're shooting with a high-end Leica, a beat-up DSLR, or a smartphone, the principles are the same: find good light, tell a story, and embrace the chaos. Hong Kong's streets don't care about your gear; they're waiting for you to capture their soul.

So grab a camera—any camera—and hit the streets. Embrace the absurd, chase the light, and remember: sometimes, the best stories are told in fifty shades of gray.