Very often, when I am out photo-hunting, I would past enthusiasts with cameras hung around their necks, and whose eyes will restlessly dart from one passer-by to another around them, checking what cameras others are using.

A few weeks ago, someone caught my surprise and asked: “Hey, are you a street photographer? That’s a DSLR camera too big and noisy for street.”

I thought that was quite rude of him.

I didn’t have time to react and he added almost immediately with a smirk: “You should use a small camera. Something like this one.”

He then lifted his hand and flashed the current digital L-brand rangefinder at me.

Instead of saying what I think about street photography, I asked: “What’s a street photographer? What’s street photography? Can you tell me?” Like a five-year-old.

Without hesitation, he proudly claimed that he’s a street photographer and earnestly showed me what he had shot from his camera’s preview.

“Oh. That’s nice. And that’s what street photography is? I’ll find out more about this genre.” I cleared my throat and smiled back.

“You’re carrying a pro-model DSLR. Are you a photographer? What do you shoot?” He asked. Almost inviting a debate that he will know more and better than me at whatever genre I do, if I do.

“Nah. I’m far from being a photographer. I borrowed this camera from a friend, just fooling about.”

I could detect a superiority complex from him now. From his look. From his ability to own a premium camera. And probably from thinking that I shouldn’t even be handling the camera that I have for ‘just fooling about’.

“Hope to see you again in the streets and perhaps we can have coffee next time we meet.”

With that, he walked away. Uninterested in me. Camera hung around his neck. Nose in the air.

He just fell short of saying that he will teach me how to be a street photographer with all his expertise in photographing: studies of empty coffee cups and portraits of alley cats.