G.A.S.lighting Myself...

Determined to give my gear-acquisition-syndrome pixie the year off, I reflect on the need to come to terms with the underwater photography equipment I have, rather than what a pursuit of the ‘next thing’ has led me to believe I need.

‘Gear Acquisition Sydrome (GAS) is the uncontrollable urge to buy photography equipment, often wrongly believing new gear is needed to improve skills or creativity. It can result in financial strain, unused equipment and creative stagnation. It is often triggered by marketing and social media.’

So sayeth Google on the matter, and I fear for myself it rings uncomfortably true. Most particularly the creative stagnation part. Presently, I’m operating three separate underwater ‘rigs’: a lightweight Gopro 12 setup with AOI dome which I convinced myself I needed following breaking my knee in February of 2025, my workhorse Sony rx100m5a in a vacuum-sealed Nauticam housing , the third: a quirky APS-C setup for my a6400 is configured for the fluorescent shooting I’ve started, though I’ve also recently resuscitated my a6xxx Seafrogs Salted Line housing with a view to getting the Tokina 10-17 going again. Add to this, innumerable diffusers, clamps, led lamps and arms, plus a Backscatter Miniflash 2 with OS1 optical snoot, pair of Inon S-2000 strobes and a pair of z240s, and you start to get a sense of how far I’m into this. Is it bad? Three setups, compact or otherwise, seems bad. Despite some of this being acquired second hand, I fear my obsession may have warped my perspective to date.

The temptation to upgrade is almost baked into underwater photography. A scan of Waterpixel or many a social feed and you’ll see a similar refrain: sharper sensors, bigger formats, better dynamic range. Full-frame bodies, circular strobe tubes, the latest water-contact optics—it all promises better images. But I would humbly suggest that for most underwater photographers, the real gains don’t come from new gear. Rather, they come from using what you already have, more deliberately and with more perseverance.

Water is an unforgiving medium. It scatters light, reduces contrast, shifts colour, and magnifies even small mistakes in buoyancy or positioning. None of those challenges are solved by a larger sensor. A photographer who hasn’t put the necessary time in playing with strobe placement will still get backscatter, no matter how expensive the housing (I mean, some of us struggle with backscatter in the UK regardless of how much time you put in). Someone who struggles with buoyancy will still scare away subjects, even with the newest animal-eye tracking. Technique—not equipment—can therefore determine getting that all-important angle or ‘peak action’ to quote Alex.

Practicing core skills yields compounding benefits. Learning to approach marine fauna in a calmer manner and anticipate behaviour will facilitate closer contact than a more aggressive approach. Refining buoyancy and trim obviously lets you hold composition steady in frame, reduce silt disturbance, and negates the need to crop excessively in Lightroom later. Putting the time in (as I’m hoping to this season) balancing ambient light, avoiding hotspots—transforms flat, stark or overblown images into more vibrant scenes. These are improvements that carry across every camera system you’ll ever use.

There’s also a creative cost to constant upgrading. New gear resets your familiarity. Buttons move, menus change, and muscle memory disappears. I turn off my Gopro instead of triggering the sodding shutter. Instead of focusing on composition and storytelling, you’re thinking about controls and troubleshooting. By sticking with a system longer, you internalise its quirks. You anticipate your cameras depth of field, how far you can push ISO, how your strobes behave at different distances. That fluency frees your attention for what matters: seeing and capturing compelling images.

I mean compelling in the sense that they appeal to you- that you’re satisfied you’re trying something that will engage your creativity, with the competition circuit as a relative afterthought. It does make me think how reactive I have been with my photography; trying to compare myself endlessly with my underwater photography heroes and friends- stacking up impossible pretensions and aspirations- when in reality, I’m only ever in competition with myself. I always have been. I think at last I want to be a better photographer not for the promise of any external validation, but for ultimately for the challenge itself.

Financially, the case against endlessly accruing piles of kit is obviously just as strong. Underwater photography is already a prohibitively expensive pursuit for many, with housings, ports, expeditions and travel costs (If you’re fortunate enough to be able to afford to travel overseas) adding up quickly. Chasing incremental improvements in hardware often delivers diminishing returns. The difference between a good shot and a great one is rarely a stop of dynamic range; it’s timing, composition, and knowing the light.

Pool time with a master

Again, speaking from my limited experience, spending money actually going diving, on workshops like Alex’s excellent ‘Reboot’ (Which I’ve already mentioned I found personally very helpful), or even pool sessions like above to practice skills, often yields far greater returns than a new body or lens. The recent 52 Assignments In Underwater Photography has been my bible this past year and half, as anybody looking at my Instagram feed could probably guess as I cycle through its challenges.

None of this is to say gear doesn’t matter. Whilst I feel silly with what I have amassed I still wouldn’t be parted with it. Reliable equipment, appropriate lenses, and well-matched strobes are essential. But once you have a capable setup, the limiting factor is almost always the photographer, not the camera. The removal of the ‘Compact’ category from BIUPC and subsequently the British Waters Category of UPY only further underscores that the 'winning' images that stand out do so not because of their the sensor size—they’re defined by patience, understanding of the environment, and ultimately control of light. Fair credit to those using modest systems to capture remarkable images, and well done to those shooting more advanced systems who have put the time into mastering their craft, irrespective of gear.

That is the point I suppose: for in the end, the ocean doesn’t care what you’re shooting with. Fish won’t pose longer for a full-frame sensor, and reefs won’t spontaneously rearrange themselves into a more favourable position for a sharper lens. The photographers who consistently come back with strong images are the ones who invest in their skills. Master the fundamentals, learn your equipment inside out, and the results will follow—no upgrade required.

At least I hope so. ‘Til next year then, GASPixie. Back in your box.