I love confident people. I can’t stand arrogant people.
Confidence is magnetic. It draws people in, makes them feel comfortable, and creates space for growth, conversation, and collaboration. Arrogance, on the other hand, repels. It suffocates the room, dominates the conversation, and serves no purpose other than feeding an insecure ego.
Over the course of my five-decade-long career in photography, I’ve encountered both confidence and arrogance in abundance. I’ve met photographers who exude quiet assurance, who trust in their vision without needing to broadcast their greatness. I’ve also come across those whose arrogance drowns out their work—people who mistake volume for value, bravado for skill, and superiority for mastery.
The line between confidence and arrogance is razor-thin. But the foundation beneath each couldn’t be more different.
Confidence grows out of humility. It comes from experience, from knowing the effort it takes to create something meaningful, and from recognizing that there is always more to learn. Confidence allows for mistakes, welcomes critique, and sees vulnerability as a strength rather than a weakness. A confident photographer can admit they don’t know everything, yet they trust in their ability to figure things out.
Arrogance, on the other hand, is rooted in deep-seated insecurity. It has a never-ending lust for validation. It demands applause, recognition, and constant reassurance. Arrogance is terrified of exposure, of being seen as anything less than an expert. And that’s the irony—those who are truly great don’t need to shout about it. Their work speaks for itself.
In my years of shooting, I’ve learned that arrogance is loud, while confidence is soft. Arrogance dominates the conversation, insists on proving itself, and refuses to acknowledge imperfections. Confidence, however, listens. It lets the work do the talking. It doesn’t need to one-up, impress, or control.
In both life and photography, I’ve noticed another truth: The most arrogant people often have work that doesn’t back up their high self-esteem. They hide behind technical jargon, fancy gear, or a superiority complex, hoping to mask their lack of depth. They believe that dismissing others makes them seem more capable. But real confidence doesn’t need to diminish anyone—it builds others up because it isn’t threatened by growth.
Photography is an art form that thrives on vulnerability. Great photography isn’t about proving how skilled you are; it’s about seeing. And seeing requires honesty, openness, and a willingness to admit that you are always evolving. Confidence embraces this journey.
Arrogance resists it.
We all want to be around confident people. They inspire, uplift, and remind us of what’s possible. But arrogant people? We want to run like hell in the opposite direction. And rightly so.
In my career, I’ve worked to cultivate confidence, not arrogance. I’ve learned that photography—like life—is a process, and the moment you think you’ve “arrived” is the moment you stop growing. So, I choose to remain open, to keep learning, and to let my work—not my words—be the proof of my passion.
Confidence is quiet. Arrogance is noise. And in the end, the quiet always wins.
Click.
Jack.
