The Analog Phoenix

Around 2010, photography faced an extinction-level disruption.Smartphones didn’t just disrupt cameras — they eliminated the need for them. Global camera shipments collapsed. Convenience won. Specs became table stakes. Photography became instant, effortless, disposable.

Most camera brands tried to out-compute the phone.
Two brands chose a different fight.

Leica and Fujifilm didn’t survive by competing on utility.
They survived by shifting the conversation to identity.

Different crises. The same realization.

Leica: the crisis of relevance

Leica was nearly bankrupt in the early 2000s. Its mechanical rangefinders were slow, expensive, and technologically “obsolete.” Early digital attempts diluted the brand.

The pivot came when Leica stopped apologizing for what it was.

Instead of chasing electronics, Leica reframed itself as a luxury artifact — closer to a mechanical Swiss watch than a consumer gadget. Not something you upgrade every two years, but something you live with, age with, and pass down.

Leica leaned into friction:

• Manual focus that demands attention
• Weight, resistance, patina
• A process that slows you down

The difficulty is the point. Owning a Leica signals intention. Taste. A refusal to optimize everything.

It’s not about taking more photos.
It’s about how you take them — and who you are when you do.

Fujifilm: the crisis of substance

Fujifilm’s threat was more brutal. Film - its core business, vanished almost overnight.

Unlike Kodak, Fujifilm didn’t cling to nostalgia alone. Under Shigetaka Komori, it diversified aggressively into healthcare, cosmetics, and pharmaceuticals. That financial stability gave its camera division something rare: freedom.

Freedom to stop chasing volume.
Freedom to build niche products with soul.

Fujifilm’s strategic insight was precise: People didn’t miss film processing.
They missed film feeling.

So Fujifilm digitized its greatest intangible asset - color science.
‍Film Simulations weren’t filters; they were decades of chemical knowledge translated into digital profiles. Paired with tactile dials and retro forms, Fujifilm made cameras that felt intentional again.

This resonated deeply with Millennials and Gen Z:

• Exhausted by hyper-real, over-processed images
• Craving imperfection, texture, mood
• Wanting photos that feel finished without living inside editing apps

Fujifilm didn’t sell specs. It sold aesthetic identity, made accessible.

P.S.: I have written more about Analog as a strategic move. Here’s the link to it.

From utility to identity

Smartphones made photography invisible.
Leica and Fujifilm made it deliberate again.

They reintroduced:

• Friction
• Ritual
• Physicality
• Choice

And in doing so, they tapped into something psychological:
In a world of infinite images, process becomes meaning.

Leica offers the identity of process — mastery, restraint, permanence.
Fujifilm offers the identity of aesthetic — mood, memory, authorship.

One occupies the penthouse.
The other democratizes the feeling.

Both understood the same truth:

You don’t beat digital by being more digital.
You win by building better objects.

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This is why mechanical cameras still thrive in a computational world.
Not despite the smartphone — but because of it.

Because when everything is optimized, friction becomes luxury.
And when images are infinite, how you see matters again.

If you’re building products today - especially physical ones - this isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about identity design.

Utility gets replaced with changing times in a fast paced world. Meaning doesn’t.