Fashion and Slow Time: When Shoots Become Pure Gesture
Date: November 27, 2024
A different way of being on set
Film-based fashion photography is never frantic. It refuses the anxious rhythm of digital production, where thousands of images are generated in minutes and immediately discarded. Instead, it creates a space where you’re allowed—almost required—to slow down. To look carefully. To listen fully. To wait for something real to happen rather than forcing it.
When I work with film, the act of pressing the shutter isn’t a constant click. It’s a final gesture, the tip of a long moment of attention. Each frame carries weight, because there are only so many of them. Every shot is a choice, a commitment, almost a small confession of what I found meaningful in that instant.
With this slower pace, something else happens too: the relationship with the person in front of the lens changes. It becomes deeper, more attentive, more human. There’s a sense of shared responsibility for the moment—an understanding that we’re not trying to manufacture perfection, but to witness something truthful. The absence of digital urgency allows space for a quieter kind of intimacy, one where the subject feels seen instead of managed.
Graflex Speed Graphic 4x5 + 4x5 Graflok back - 1944 Kodak Aero Ektar 178mm f 2.5 WWII Usaf reconnaissance lens
Kodak Tmax 400 in Xtol 1+1 @20° x 11'00" - Patterson Tank + Mod54 reel - Fidelity Elite 4x5 chassis - Scan from neg - © Niccolò Barone - All rights reserved
The stillness that reveals intention
In this stillness, the gestures matter more. A gaze that lingers for half a second longer. A breath that shifts the pose just enough to reveal vulnerability. A hand that relaxes instead of performing tension. These micro-movements become the heart of the image. They’re not staged—they emerge naturally, almost subconsciously.
Working with film makes me more present. It forces me to be deliberate not only in how I shoot, but in how I relate. I find myself talking less and observing more. I notice how the light touches the model’s face, how their posture shifts with emotion, how silence often brings out a more authentic expression than direction ever could.
There’s a moment—every photographer who shoots film knows it—when everything aligns. It’s subtle, often silent. A tiny spark of truth appears between the photographer and the subject. And because you’re not caught in the rush of shooting 20 frames per second, you can actually feel it. You can honor it. You can let it breathe.
That moment becomes the shot. Not one of hundreds. The one that matters.
Pentax 67II - SMC Takumar 105mm - Kodak Tmax 400 film Processed in Xtol (1:1 @ 24°) standard
Scan from neg - © Niccolò Barone - All rights reserved
A different kind of collaboration
This approach creates a different atmosphere on set. People speak softer. Movements are slower. The stylist, the makeup artist, the assistants—all become part of an ecosystem that respects time instead of fighting it. There’s a collective awareness that each frame is precious, and that the goal isn’t quantity but depth.
Models sense the shift immediately. They understand they’re not being machine-gunned by a camera but engaged in a conversation. Many tell me they feel safer, more comfortable, more respected. There’s a sense of being photographed with rather than at. When a person feels that, they open up. They allow themselves to exist in a more genuine way, without the performance that digital environments often encourage.
This is not nostalgia. It’s not about rejecting technology for the sake of aesthetics. It’s about choosing a method that aligns with what I want to express: presence, intention, and sincerity.
The discipline of waiting
Shooting film teaches patience in a world that tries to erase it. It teaches trust—in the subject, in the moment, in the craft itself. You don’t see the results instantly. You don’t correct or fix or retouch in real time. You wait. You carry the images with you, like unspoken possibilities, until the negatives come back.
That waiting shapes your vision. It makes you more thoughtful. You stop obsessing over immediate perfection and start focusing on whether the moment felt honest. When the scans arrive, you often find that the imperfect frames—the ones slightly out of focus, or caught mid-gesture—hold more truth than anything polished.
Film reminds me that beauty isn’t always clean, or sharp, or symmetrical. Sometimes it’s in the grain that softens a harsh expression, in the blur that captures movement, in the unexpected shadow that adds emotion. These accidents aren’t flaws; they’re part of the language of film, part of what makes it alive.
Pentax 67II - SMC Takumar 105mm - Portra 400 iso - film Processed in C-41 standard
Scan from neg - © Niccolò Barone - All rights reserved
Why I keep choosing film
This is why, after years of working in the industry, I keep choosing film. Not because it’s trendy, and not because I reject the convenience of digital tools. I choose it because film gives back truth.
Not a polished, hyper-retouched version of truth—but a sincere, tangible, human one. A truth with texture, imperfection, and soul.
In an environment where speed is celebrated, I’ve learned to cherish slowness. In a culture obsessed with quantity, I’ve chosen quality of attention. And in a world overflowing with images, I’m still searching for those rare moments where a subject forgets the camera and simply exists.
Film allows that to happen. It asks for presence. It offers honesty.
And that is something I never want to lose.
Pentax 67II - SMC Takumar 105mm - Portra 400 iso - film Processed in C-41 standard
Scan from neg - © Niccolò Barone - All rights reserved