I got into photography in the mid-90s with a Russian-made medium format camera. I immediately fell in love with the craft. At some point, I also picked up a 35mm camera and ended up taking thousands of photographs in both formats. Both, of course, were analog film.
Back then, every neighborhood had at least a couple of photography stores that sold film and had the equipment to develop and print photographs. A photograph wasn’t considered complete until you held it in your hands. Printing wasn’t optional—it was part of the process.
In the early 2000s, photography began to change dramatically. Digital SLRs became more accessible. Film started to disappear, and one by one, the labs followed. Around this time, I bought my first digital SLR. I took it on several trips and used it for a few years.
The workflow had changed completely. You could instantly view the image on the screen. If you made a mistake or didn’t like the composition, you could simply retake the shot. There was no darkroom, no chemicals. You could transfer the images to a computer and process them. Very convenient, isn’t it?
But after a few years, I sold the camera and quit photography altogether—for nearly a decade. The main reason? It just wasn’t fun anymore. The “convenience” of digital had taken all the joy out of it. Photography was no longer a craft. And the second—and perhaps more important—reason: I never liked the look of digital photographs. No software, no plugin, no amount of post-processing could make them feel organic. You could always tell it was digital.
After ten years of resentment, I returned to analog. I bought several film cameras—and I still use them today, happily. Analog photography is back. It’s not quite like my childhood; change is inevitable. But film and chemicals are no longer scarce.
Does it ring a bell, hi-fi people?
I wasn’t born during the era when vinyl was mainstream. I grew up with cassette tapes, although CDs were already around by then. Still, I consider myself born in the analog era—at least when it comes to playback. This was also the time when the so-called “receiver wars” had ended, but the loudness war was still very much alive.
Even though I mostly collected cassette tapes, I was fascinated by vinyl. I got my first turntable in the late ’90s and started buying records. The original appeal wasn’t the sound or any audiophile reason—it was the process itself. Even today, watching a stylus wiggle through a groove and produce music still blows my mind.
Soon after, I put together my first hi-fi system, and my audiophile journey officially began. Fast forward to today—a decade and a half later—and I still listen primarily to vinyl.
What happened in between closely mirrors my photography journey. I sold my turntable, and vinyl started to fade from my life. I shifted my focus entirely to digital audio playback. For years, I tried everything imaginable to make digital sound “right.”
My digital journey began when lossless file formats became available, and hard disk playback was considered the standard for high-quality audio. This was before music streaming services became popular.
I bought a reputable amplifier with an internal DAC. I stored my music files on a hard drive and played them through a computer connected to the DAC. The cleanliness of the sound was impressive. And of course, it was very convenient—you could double-click a file to play, skip tracks, and jump between albums instantly. Convenient, isn’t it?
But I was never satisfied with the sound.
I blamed everything else—speakers, speaker placement, the amplifier, system synergy, cables—you name it. Everything except the format itself. At least for a while.
The more I listened, the less I enjoyed the music. I started spending less and less time in front of the system. I began experimenting with everything in an attempt to “improve” the sound.
And the more I experimented, the more I realized how many factors affect digital playback—some of which didn’t even make sense and contradicted what I’d learned as a computer engineer.
The first shock came when I noticed that different music player software sounded different. My DAC came with test tracks to confirm bit-perfect playback. I ran the test across different players, and they all passed. Yet they all sounded different. And not just subtly—these were significant differences. This kept me up at night. My education and my listening experience were in direct conflict.
The second—and perhaps even more shocking—discovery was that the digital cable between the DAC and the computer affected the sound. Different cables produced different results. I was never a cable denier—at least not when it came to interconnects or speaker cables—but a digital cable, transmitting a bitstream?
The deeper I went into digital, the more I realized just how deep the rabbit hole really was. Even before dedicated music streamers became a thing, I built my own using single-board computers. Then came linear power supplies for everything, and so on. Every change affected the sound. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.
Then the era of music streaming services began. I jumped on it immediately. The convenience factor skyrocketed. You could have access to (almost) all the music in the world for the price of a CD per month. But after a while, we realized something: we didn’t own our music anymore. We just had the right to play it—as long as we kept paying. (You can checkout this post.)
The third shock came after streaming became my main music source. My best friend insisted that network switches had an impact on sound. I dismissed the idea without even trying it. First it was music players, then digital cables—and now switches? It was too much to accept.
During this period, my frustration with digital grew steadily. One day, I’d had enough. I didn’t care how cheap or convenient digital was—I bought a proper turntable and a decent phono stage and went back to analog. What a relief that was. I started listening to music again—really listening. I found myself spending hours in front of my system once more.
But my digital journey didn’t end there. Over the years, I scaled up my digital sources alongside the rest of my system (you can check out this post and this post for more on that). I bought a streaming DAC from a well-known brand. I even got an audiophile-grade switch. The more I invested, the better the sound got—but I never reached the sonic satisfaction I was looking for with digital.
Eventually, I scaled it all down. I sold the DAC and bought a relatively cheaper one. I redirected most of my budget to analog—buying vinyl and, more recently, getting into reel-to-reel tapes.
Today, analog is quietly but unmistakably making a comeback. Vinyl records are back on store shelves—even in mainstream retail—and new pressing plants are opening around the world. Reel-to-reel tapes, once considered obsolete, are being revived by niche labels with growing demand. Film photography has followed a similar path, proving that physical media still holds value in a digital-first world. This resurgence isn’t driven by nostalgia alone—it’s about rediscovery. Rediscovery of process, of permanence, of intentionality—and of sound. Many audiophile vinyl reissues today even surpass the quality of the original pressings, thanks to careful mastering and modern production techniques. For those ready to explore a medium that invites you to slow down, engage, and listen with purpose, there has never been a better time. The tools are here, the community is alive, and the door to analog is wide open.