what MAKES A WEDDING PHOTOGRAPH NOSTALGIC? (SPOILER: ITS NOT A FILM FILTER)

I think wedding photography is having a nostalgia moment.

And honestly? I think Oasis might have something to do with it.

Stay with me.

Because on the surface, Oasis, wedding photography and nostalgia don’t exactly sound like they belong in the same sentence.

But bear with me.

There is something happening in photography right now. Film is back. Direct flash is back. Grain is back. Blurry photographs are suddenly cool again. People are embracing point-and-shoot cameras, disposable cameras, old-school camcorders and photographs that feel a little less polished and a lot more… real.

And I don’t think it’s because everyone suddenly wants their wedding to look like 1997.

I think we’re craving something much bigger.

We’re craving memories.

Look at Oasis. They disappeared for 15 years. Then they came back. And people absolutely lost their minds.

Not just because they wanted to hear the songs again.

Because suddenly, they were 17 again.

They were back in the pub with their mates. Back in the bedroom listening to the album on repeat. Back in that summer. Back with people they haven’t seen in years.

For some people, it wasn’t just a gig. It was a fucking time machine. And that’s what nostalgia really is.

It’s not necessarily wanting things to look old.

It’s wanting to feel something you haven’t felt for a long time.

And I think that’s exactly why this is showing up in wedding photography.

We’ve spent a long time making weddings look perfect.

And don’t get me wrong. I LOVE a beautiful photograph.

Give me gorgeous light, beautiful composition, a killer dress and a bloody brilliant backdrop and I’m happy as Larry.

But somewhere along the way, wedding photography became very good at making everything look… perfect.

Perfectly posed.

Perfectly lit.

Perfectly edited.

Perfectly curated.

And while those photographs can be absolutely stunning, I’m not convinced they’re always the photographs you’ll care about most in 20 years.

Because when you look back at your wedding, I don’t think you’re going to remember whether your skin was perfectly creamy.

I don’t think you’re going to care whether the photograph was technically flawless.

I don’t think you’re going to remember whether your gallery matched the colour of your Pinterest board.

You’re going to remember how it felt.

The ridiculous amount of champagne.

Your best mate crying during the speeches.

Your dad absolutely losing his shit on the dance floor.

Your mum laughing so hard she snorted.

Your new husband looking at you when he thought nobody was watching.

Your niece running through the middle of the group photograph.

The sweaty hugs.

The blurry dancing.

The person who had one too many.

The bit where everything went slightly wrong and you all laughed about it.

The people who were there.

And, perhaps more importantly, the people who won’t always be there.

That’s the stuff I want to photograph.

Because I don’t want your wedding photographs to simply remind you what your wedding looked like.

I want them to remind you what it felt like to be there.

There’s a reason some of the photographs we treasure most aren’t necessarily the “best” photographs.

They’re the ones that take us somewhere.

The slightly blurry photograph of your friends.

The one where someone has their eyes half closed because they’re laughing.

The one that’s a little wonky.

The photograph of your grandad looking at you.

The one where everyone is moving.

The one that technically shouldn’t work…

…but somehow means everything.

Those photographs become more valuable with time.

Because they aren’t just pictures.

They’re evidence.

Evidence that you were there.

That you were young.

That you loved those people.

That you laughed like that.

That your dad used to dance like that.

That your best mate looked like that.

That your Nan was there.

That this was your life.

And one day, that’s going to mean more than anything.

Which is why I’m not interested in manufacturing nostalgia.

I don’t want to slap a film filter over your wedding and call it nostalgic.

I don’t want every photograph to be grainy and orange because that’s what’s currently cool.

And I definitely don’t want your wedding photographs to look like someone else’s.

What I want is to photograph your actual memories as they’re happening.

The real stuff.

The ridiculous stuff.

The beautiful stuff.

The stuff you didn’t even notice was happening.

I want to give you photographs that feel like you.

Not because they’re perfectly polished.

But because you can look at them years from now and immediately be transported back.

Back to the smell of your flowers.

Back to the noise of the dance floor.

Back to that stupid joke your mate made.

Back to the way your husband looked at you.

Back to the people you love most in the world being in one room.

Back to that exact version of your life.

Maybe that’s why nostalgia is having such a moment.

We’re surrounded by photographs now.

We take hundreds of them.

We post them.

We delete them.

We scroll past them.

We forget about them.

And yet somehow, the photographs that stick with us are still the ones that make us feel something.

The ones that aren’t trying too hard.

The ones that aren’t perfect.

The ones that tell us something about a person, a relationship, a moment in time.

The ones that make us stop and say:

“Oh my God. I remember this.”

And that’s what I want your wedding photographs to do.

Not just today.

Not just when you get your gallery.

Not just when you post your favourites on Instagram.

In 10 years.

In 20.

In 40.

When the dress is long gone.

When the flowers have dried up.

When the venue has changed.

When the playlist makes you ridiculously nostalgic.

When your children are grown up.

When some of the people in these photographs are no longer here.

I want you to open your gallery and suddenly…

you’re back.

You’re 29 again.

Your best mates are beside you.

Your dad is dancing.

Your husband is looking at you.

The sun is going down.

The music is fucking LOUD.

And for a second, you’re right there.

That’s the kind of nostalgia I’m interested in.

Not photographs that look old.

Photographs that become old.

Because your wedding isn’t a photoshoot.

It’s a moment in your life that you’ll never get back.

And that’s exactly why I’m there.

To photograph it properly.