In Defence of Looking Like a Knob

Street photography, slowing down, and learning to pay attention in Florence.

Somewhere between trying to live in Italy in 2023 and now, street photography crept its way into my life. Not dramatically. Not in a “this is my new personality” kind of way. No sudden urge to wear black and sigh a lot. Just a quiet, bubbling curiosity that showed up whenever I noticed cultures colliding in the same space. Old men arguing like it’s an Olympic sport, probably about politics, beside teenagers scrolling through life at thumb speed. Children chasing, or tormenting, pigeons. Tourists (and also me) power-walking with purpose, whilst locals move at a glacial pace.

Maybe it all boils down to the slower pace here. Or the collective agreement to pretend time is more of a suggestion than a rule. Things move slower. Expectations are lower. Nobody seems particularly stressed about “optimising” anything. Families take up entire piazzas like they’ve booked them in advance. Loud. Chaotic. Affectionate. Life, happening in public. It would be rude not to stare, really.

So I did.

This weekend, I took my Christmas present to myself out for a spin. A digital camera. Fresh out the box and smugly shiny. Bristling with buttons I definitely did not understand despite watching a few YouTube clips to equip me with the basics. The moment I picked it up, I became a stereotype. Camera welded to hand. Serious face engaged. Slight squint as if sizing up the landscape as competition to my creative vision.

I felt like an absolute knob.

The kind of person I’ve definitely mocked before. “Just enjoy the view with your own eyes like a normal human,” I would’ve said to myself. “Put the camera… or phone… down.” Karma, however, is patient, has impeccable timing, and is very well-framed.

And honestly? It was brilliant.

Because instead of wandering past things that caught my eye, I stopped. Properly stopped. The camera gave me a reason to loiter. To stare without being weird, or at least, weird with purpose. I wasn’t faffing, I was learning a craft. Very badly, but enthusiastically.

I noticed things I’d usually power-walk past. Winter light doing its thing on the reflections in the Arno. People relaxing the moment they think no one’s watching. Tiny, ordinary moments that don’t shout for attention but absolutely deserve it. I also noticed myself slowing down. Breathing like a normal person. Feeling oddly… present instead of pissed off. Annoying, but nice.

And somewhere between missing shots, pressing the wrong buttons, and reviewing photos that looked nothing like what I thought I’d captured, it hit me.

Joy is deeply uncool.

Following it makes you look a bit daft. You don’t look sleek when you’re trying something new. You look unsure. Overly invested. Like you care. And caring, in public, is a bold move. It invites judgement. From others, sure, but mostly from yourself.

So instead, we abandon things we love before they even get going. Because we don’t want to look like a knob. We’d rather look vaguely competent and mildly bored. Safe. Polished. Deprived of any real fun.

But joy doesn’t live there. It lives in trying. In pausing when everyone else keeps walking. In carrying the thing that makes you light up, even if it clashes horribly with your outfit and your self-image. It lives in curiosity, not coolness.

So yes, I spent the weekend wandering Florence looking like a tourist with delusions of photographic talent. And yes, I loved it. Every awkward, exhilarating second. Rest assure, I’ll do it again for weekends to come.

Turns out, things that bring you joy are worth looking like a knob for.

Unless that joy involves getting your actual knob out in public. In which case, please don’t follow your joy. Put it away.

shimmering in the Arno River.

Elegant riverside architecture in Florence reflected in the Arno, with a clear winter sky enhancing

Winter view along the Arno River in Florence, with historic buildings reflecting on calm water.

Peaceful view of the Arno River in Florence, with elegant riverside buildings and soft reflections.

Bicycles lined up against a graffiti-covered wall in Sand Niccolo.

Street art on a stone wall in Florence, blending creativity with the city's ancient textures.

Basilica di Santo Spirito facing the square, surrounded by colourful buildings in the Oltrarno.

Close-up of the facade of the Basilica di Santo Spirito in the Oltrarno.

Locals and tourists mingle at an outdoor market in Florence, with children watching pigeons.

Outdoor café near Basilica di Santo Spirito in Florence, filled with people enjoying coffee.

Wall art of a flaming heart between barred windows in Florence, with a scooter passing by.