Every photographer remembers their first real client job — the one that throws you in at the deep end and quietly asks, “so, can you really do this?” For me, that moment happened at Gentlemen’s League Barbershop, a sharp, modern space that buzzed with energy and style.
The exterior of Gentlemen’s League Barbershop — a classic façade with a modern edge, captured on a bright September afternoon.
I arrived feeling nervous but determined. Three hours of shooting stretched ahead, and before I could even take a breath, I was in the thick of it — clippers buzzing, laughter echoing off mirrors, reflections bouncing light in every direction. The place was alive in that way creative spaces often are, full of movement and unpredictability.
It was chaos — beautiful, unpredictable chaos — and I was somewhere in the middle, trying to balance composition, lighting, and instinct. I worried I was in people’s way, that I wasn’t fast enough, that maybe I didn’t belong there at all. When the shoot wrapped, I walked out feeling deflated, convinced I hadn’t done enough.
Stepping inside, the energy was already in full swing — clippers buzzing, conversation flowing, and that unmistakable rhythm of a barbershop mid-hustle.
But later that night, when I opened the files on my computer, everything changed. I expected a mess; instead, I found moments. There were flaws, sure — the occasional blur, reflections that crept into the frame — but those imperfections carried life. I saw laughter caught mid-frame, quiet pauses, and one particular shot of our model for the day, Nathan, in the mirror that still makes me proud. That photo felt cinematic — the kind of image that breathes.
One of my favourite frames from the shoot — Nathan caught mid-focus in the mirror, a quiet reflection of craft and concentration. Sometimes the best moments are the ones that happen between the noise.
That’s when it hit me: photography isn’t about being flawless. It’s about feeling what’s in front of you. Sometimes the shot you think you’ve ruined turns out to be the one that tells the truth.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓
Then came the editing — a marathon of patience, discovery, and quiet self-doubt. Hundreds of shots, each one demanding something slightly different. The perfectionist in me argued with the artist. Should I fix that shadow? Should I crop tighter? Should I even keep this one?
The tools of the trade — lined up and ready. There’s something quietly powerful about this moment before the first cut, where precision meets ritual.
I learned more from this edit than I have from any tutorial. How reflections behave. How glass demands respect. How moving a light by just an inch can turn disaster into drama. I also learned that no edit can save what wasn’t right at the moment of capture — and that’s okay. It’s part of learning.
By the time I’d finished, I’d built a collection that told the story I’d been too anxious to see at first — a story about people, craft, and atmosphere. Not perfect, but human.
Focus, trust, and a steady hand — the quiet choreography that turns routine into art.
𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑
I’m incredibly thankful to Sharon and the team at Gentlemen’s League for trusting me with this shoot. They were patient, kind, and open-minded — even when I was clearly still finding my footing. Their energy shaped the shoot as much as my lens did.
Gentle fades, warm smiles, and a wagging tail — proof that good vibes come with fur, too. 🐾
This experience taught me more than technical lessons — it reminded me what creative growth actually feels like. It’s uncomfortable. It’s uncertain. But it’s also exhilarating. I now understand how to plan lighting more strategically, how to anticipate movement, and how to adapt when everything feels out of control.
Most importantly, I learned to trust my own eye.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄
When I look at these photos now, I see more than a job. I see a turning point — the moment I stopped waiting to feel “ready” and just did it.
“Good hair, good mood.” Simple words, but the truest kind of self-care — walk in weary, walk out lighter.
Maybe they’re not perfect. Maybe they’re not slick enough for glossy magazines. But they’re mine — raw, real, and full of character.
If this project helps even one more business discover my work, or inspires another new photographer to push past that voice of self-doubt, then it’s already done its job.
It’s been a long, nerve-wracking, deeply rewarding journey putting this all together — and I can’t wait to see where it leads next.
Studio DJC 
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