Being an Older Creative in a Young Creator’s World
Most days, I scroll through Instagram or TikTok and wonder how long these creators must’ve taken to master what they do on their socials. I see people half my age with millions of views, doing jump cuts, voiceovers, and all the trending things, and here I am, still doing what I’ve always done. Still trying to figure out how to make my edits flow and tell my story better.
I want to do what they’re doing, and though I’ve been creating for over 30 years, this new style and way of making content is, I suppose, the evolution of everything I’ve always done. I’ve loaded film into cameras before some of today’s creators were even born. I’ve made photos in darkrooms, told stories in newsprint, and documented people, places, and moments long before social media turned creativity into currency.
I guess I was part of the generation that created what we now call “social media,” but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I just kept doing what I was doing until suddenly, it felt like I was behind, kind of like Kodak.
So now, here I am, learning new platforms. But I suppose the learning never really stops, does it? I move forward, figuring out how to say something meaningful in 60 seconds or less.
I’ll admit, it’s not always easy. But I persist. I enjoy storytelling. And if I am to evolve, I must, and I will.
There’s a strange kind of creative tension in being an older photographer in a young creator’s world. I find myself wrestling with questions I never used to ask. Am I out of touch? I am, because I’ve become the old guy I used to make fun of when I was younger. But I also don’t want to be the old guy trying too hard to stay relevant.
Still, that tension brings with it a kind of clarity. I don’t create to chase trends or go viral. I create because I see stories everywhere, in light, faces, and fleeting moments that most people scroll past. And while younger creators are quicker on their phones and trend-savvier, I’ve got years of experience seeing the story before I even raise the camera.
My experience doesn’t always translate into views. That part sucks. But it gives me insight, perspective, and patience. It reminds me that not everything needs to be shared to be valuable. I’m reminding myself why I started telling stories in the first place. I did it for me, for the audience that understands the kind of work I do, for those who slow down and notice.
I’m not trying to be the loudest voice online, I’m trying to be the most honest one I can be.
That means showing up for the stories that matter, creating what feels real, and balancing short-form content with slow storytelling. Sometimes, that means sharing an image from a moody alley in Manila or a quiet café in Lisbon. Sometimes, it means putting the camera down and simply being in the moment.
To other older creatives who may feel invisible or unsure in today’s fast-moving digital world, keep going. Your voice matters. Your perspective is needed. You don’t have to edit like Gen Z to tell a powerful story. You just have to keep telling it. Take your time. Tell your story. Your experience, eyes, and way of seeing the world have value. I promise it will matter to someone.
I’ll never be the guy doing a trending dance in a Reel. But I’ll show you what the light looked like at 6:43 a.m. in Bantayan as a fisherman cast his net into the rising sun. I’ll write down the feeling of a quiet breakfast in an unfamiliar city. I’ll show you the warmth of a stranger’s smile caught on film. That’s my lane, and I’m good with that.
Because at the end of the day, this isn’t a race, it’s a practice. And I’m still showing up.
