Why is it So Hard to Call Yourself a Photographer?

I’m a photographer, I say out loud. But inside, I feel like a fraud…

Not too long ago, I came across an incredible slideshow of images taken by someone who had “owned a camera” for a few years. The images were shared by Leica or Fujifilm, accompanied by a caption from the creator.

In it, they wrote that they wouldn’t dare call themselves a photographer because they never studied photography.

I wanted to scream.

Here was someone creating breathtaking images, yet refusing to claim the title of photographer simply because they didn’t go to school for it.

Absurd. Infuriating. Frustrating.

This person owned a camera, actively created, and even shared their work with the world—yet still didn’t feel worthy of the title. And I get it… Because I’ve been there too.

If I’m being honest, I still struggle with it sometimes.

I didn’t go to school for photography and my job title isn’t “Photographer”.

But I have actively taken pictures for over half of my life. In fact, I’ve used a camera longer than some people who have a degree in photography.

So why have I hesitated to say, “I’m a photographer”?

Recommended read: What is a 365-Day Photo Project and Is It Right For You?

What determines if we allow ourselves to claim an identity?

Think about it. There are titles we embrace without question, and others we reject, even when they fit.

I’ve been running since seventh grade. Long ago in grade school, I ran year-round. I never hesitated to call myself a runner. Now, at 32, I still run—though not currently, thanks to an injury. But if someone asked, “Are you a runner?” I’d say yes, without hesitation. I’ve run two ultramarathons this year alone. Even if my entire identity isn’t built around running anymore, I still claim it. I am a runner.

But when it comes to swimming? A different story. When I trained for two half Ironmans, I swam three times a week. More than I ran each week. Yet I would’ve never called myself a swimmer.

The same goes for writing. I have been writing every day for years—journaling, academic work, blog posts. Writing is a skill I actively work to improve. But if someone asked if I was a writer? I’d hesitate. Why?

What is it that makes us comfortable with some labels but not others?

Is it how long we’ve done something? How often? Fear? Imposter syndrome? Our beliefs?

I don’t know.

I do know that even though I have owned a camera since middle school—a neon green point-and-shoot—I started questioning whether I could call myself a photographer when I moved across the country for college. I was studying science, chasing a career in healthcare. And somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that “successful” people didn’t waste time on hobbies like photography.

I don’t know if someone told me that outright or if I made it up myself. Either way, I internalized it. And it held me back from fully embracing photography for years.

But that belief didn’t make me any less of a photographer. It just made me a photographer in hiding.

Getting back to photography wasn’t easy. It was slow. Painful. But with time, I started questioning the beliefs that held me back. I started wondering…

What actually qualifies someone to claim a creative identity?

Is it how often we do it? No. Some published authors only write when inspiration strikes. Others write daily. They’re all still writers.

Do we need external validation? No. Van Gogh wasn’t famous in his lifetime. But that didn’t make him any less of an artist. Creating is what made him an artist. Not recognition.

Do we need formal education? Absolutely not. Many of the greatest musicians, photographers, and writers never studied their craft in school. And in today’s world, we can teach ourselves almost anything with curiosity and a Wi-Fi connection.

Do we need to make money from it? No. Many of your favorite creators spent years making art before they were paid for it. Many still work day jobs while creating on the side.

Being a writer, painter, or musician isn’t about making a living from it. It’s about doing it.

Are we afraid we’re not good enough? That someone will challenge us? That we’ll be judged?

Good is subjective, you know.

I’ve walked through museums and stared at art that made me think, “How is this even here?” But someone else might look at that same piece and be moved to tears.

That’s the thing about art—it doesn’t have to be good to be meaningful.

If I’m being honest, I don’t always think my photos are good. But I don’t care anymore. Because I love making them. And that’s all that matters.

So, if you create—if you write, paint, make music, take photos—then claim it.

You don’t need permission. You don’t need validation. You don’t need a degree, a paycheck, or a title.

You just need to do it.

So yes, I am a photographer. And if you take photos, you are too.