Become a Good Photographer, Step One: Define Soup

A convoluted way to get to the point

There is a scene in the animated series Archer where everybody is stuck in the elevator. Krieger, the mad scientist, is holding a Thermos bottle. Someone asks him: is that soup in there? And he answers in an enigmatic way: define "soup".

Krieger with his "soup"

That scene is one of the funniest scenes in the whole series. It's a bottle episode, and those tend to be the best ones of any series (think Rear Window and its references in The Simpsons, Castle, Father Brown, Leverage, Monk, and plenty others).

This is exactly what photographers should do before they can even contemplate getting anywhere in their craft: define "soup" "good".

I don't pretend to be a good photographer. After years behind the lens, I'm still looking for my voice, still experimenting with styles and genres like interchangeable personalities. But here's one of the things doing scientific research taught me: if you don't clearly define your endpoint, you can't chart your path, and therefore you won't get there.

That's the essence of any worthwhile pursuit. You research, you test, you iterate. Photography follows that process, though the industry would have you believe otherwise, because hardware. Walk into any camera shop or scroll through any photography social platform, and you'll be bombarded with gear recommendations, technique tutorials, and composition rules. All useful to a certain extent, but they're addressing the wrong question first.

The real first step to becoming a good photographer has nothing to do with f-stops or the rule of thirds, or even film vs digital. It's this: define what "good" actually means to you.

The first step of your journey should be to define what the endpoint is. If you don't clearly know where you want to be, you can't possibly find your way there. This sounds absurdly simple, but watch how most photographers completely miss that step. They chase an undefined target, wondering why they feel perpetually dissatisfied despite improving technically. The problem isn't their skills. It's that they're optimising for someone else's definition of "good".

"Good" might mean racking up likes on Instagram, that dopamine hit of social validation that keeps you posting. There's nothing inherently wrong with this. If your joy comes from connecting with an audience and creating content that resonates widely, that's a legitimate path. The commercial photographers who've built empires on social media didn't stumble there accidentally.

Alternatively, "good" might mean steady commissions. Here, success is measured in hard currency and repeat clients. The wedding photographer who books solid throughout the season, the corporate headshot specialist with a waiting list, the product photographer who charges premium rates because their images sell products. This definition demands different skills: reliability, client management, and the ability to deliver consistently within constraints.

For others, "good" means being in demand within a specific niche. The wedding photographer I mentioned earlier represents one version, but the concert photographer who gets backstage access, or the sports photographer whose images define how we remember key moments, are also successes. This path requires not just technical skill but relationship building and often, considerable persistence in breaking into closed circles.

Then there's a fizzier definition: "good" as personal satisfaction. Success is measured by whether the process and results bring genuine pleasure. Photographers might never sell a print or gain recognition, but they've mastered something as valuable: creating work that fulfils them personally. This path often produces the most distinctive voices because it's unconstrained by external expectations.

Finally, "good" can be peer recognition. Being acknowledged by other photographers, winning awards, having your work studied or referenced. This definition typically demands the highest technical and artistic standards, though it can also trap you in echo chambers of insider taste.

These definitions often conflict: the Instagram-famous photographer might be dismissed by peers; the commercially successful wedding photographer might find the work creatively stifling; the artist pursuing personal vision might struggle financially. Understanding these issues isn't pessimistic, it's strategic.

I've seen photographers exhaust themselves trying to excel across all these dimensions simultaneously. They post constantly for social media while pursuing gallery representation while building a commercial client base. The result is usually mediocrity across all fronts because each definition demands different approaches, different priorities, different compromises.

This doesn't mean you can't evolve or combine approaches over time. But clarity about your primary definition of "good" allows you to make deliberate choices about where to invest your energy. The photographer chasing peer recognition will spend time studying historical work and experimenting with unconventional techniques. The one building a commercial practice will focus on client relations and dependability.

What strikes me most is how rarely photographers discuss this openly. Perhaps because admitting you're optimising for likes or money feels less noble than claiming to pursue pure artistry. Perhaps because they don't really want to know or they don't want to appear like they don't know what they're doing. But there's nothing noble about unclear goals, and there's considerable wisdom in honest self-assessment.

My own definition continues to evolve, which I suspect is normal. Currently, I'm most drawn to the personal satisfaction model, with an eye toward peer recognition down the line. This clarity has defined how I see my photos, what equipment I prioritise, and how I spend my learning time: I don't care about recent cameras (my most recent one is 11 years old); I don't care about likes and retweets (I'm not on social media other than Substack); I don't care about money and ROI. These don't align with my personal definition of "good".

The irony is that defining "good" often leads to becoming better. When you know what you're optimising for, you can make focused improvements rather than scattered attempts at everything. The photographer who wants Instagram success learns different editing styles than one pursuing gallery representation, but both will likely become more skilled than someone trying to do both simultaneously.

So before you buy another lens or book another workshop, ask yourself: what does "good" actually mean to you? Not what it should mean, not what other photographers claim it means, but what success would look like in your specific case.

Everything else follows from there.