Reclaiming Aesthetic Sovereignty in a Trend-Driven Industry
For years, I chased the market. I let the trends dictate the pressure points of my post-production process—skin so smooth it verged on synthetic, colors graded to echo whatever was hot on Instagram that season, textures stripped away in favor of sterile perfection. And for a while, it worked. Clients were pleased. Likes piled up. But underneath the surface, I felt disconnected from the very work I was pouring myself into. It looked like everyone else’s—and that’s exactly what was wrong.
I didn’t become a fashion photographer to duplicate. I became a fashion photographer to translate—to interpret beauty, light, culture, and spirit through my own unique lens. But somewhere along the way, I started to betray that lens in exchange for approval metrics. The final images no longer felt like mine. They belonged to the market.
That changed the moment I decided to learn retouching for my own aesthetic. Not just to know how to edit—I've always known that—but to retouch in a way that embodied my visual philosophy, my spiritual DNA, my artistic code.
THE TURNING POINT: UNLEARNING TO RELEARN
The first step was unlearning. I had to strip away years of algorithmic influence—of tutorials and trends that promised “industry-standard” looks. I sat with my raw files like sacred texts. I began asking different questions:
What feeling am I trying to evoke?
What texture honors the story behind this subject?
Does this image breathe, or does it feel suffocated by polish?
I stopped retouching to remove humanity and started retouching to reveal it. Freckles stayed. Laugh lines remained. I softened where I wanted softness, not where the handbook told me to. I embraced imperfection as part of the divine design of the face, the body, the moment.
AESTHETIC VS. ALGORITHM
When you stop chasing the algorithm, you give birth to your aesthetic. Mine is rooted in a reverence for the spirit within the form. My retouching now serves the image, not the feed. I’m drawn to shadows that deepen mystery, skin tones that whisper poetry, textures that feel like touch.
I allow my work to carry a certain grit, a sacred tension. Not everything is resolved. Not everything is glossy. I retouch with intention, but also with restraint. Every adjustment has to answer the question: Does this serve the story I'm telling?
This shift has changed the feeling I get when I look at my own work. I no longer cringe at the final product or feel estranged from the image. There is satisfaction now—real satisfaction—because what I see reflects me.
WHEN THE WORK FEELS LIKE PRAYER
Learning to retouch for myself turned post-production into a ritual. It’s not mechanical anymore; it’s meditative. I light incense. I play music that moves my soul. I enter into a dialogue with the image, letting it speak back to me. Sometimes I finish a piece and just sit with it, not rushing to post or publish, but to simply witness what has come through.
This practice has also refined my creative compass. The clients who now come to me are those who resonate with the integrity of my aesthetic. They’re not looking for cookie-cutter edits—they’re looking for vision. The market, ironically, has started to bend toward what is honest.
ADVICE TO FELLOW CREATORS
To every artist reading this who feels stuck producing work that looks “correct” but feels lifeless—I invite you to break the spell. Learn to retouch not as a technician, but as a storyteller. Ask yourself: What do I want my work to feel like? What visual language speaks to my soul?
Let your aesthetic be a rebellion. Let it be sacred. Let it be yours.
Because when the work reflects you, you recognize yourself in it. And that, to me, is the greatest reward any creative can hope for—not just external validation, but internal satisfaction.
