The Long Game

Experience counts, more than you know, says editor and photographer David Corfield...

If you’ve freelanced for any length of time, you’ll know the feeling. You send the proposal. You make the phone call. You have what seems like a promising meeting. Then… nothing. Days pass. Weeks sometimes. You begin wondering whether your email disappeared into a spam folder or whether somebody half your age has just landed the commission because they looked fresher, cheaper or somehow more in tune with the times. It’s a dangerous rabbit hole to disappear down.

I’ve been working professionally now for over three decades. I’ve photographed everyone from household names to people you’ve never heard of but whose stories deserved telling just as much. I’ve written thousands of articles, launched magazines, helped global brands explain complicated technology, and watched photography evolve from rolls of film to mirrorless cameras and now AI-assisted workflows. And yet, every now and then, I still wonder if someone looks at my age before they look at my work. This is not self-pity, it’s simply the reality of working in today’s creative – and yes, I’ll say it, ageist – industry.

I might be smiling in this picture, but I was up until 1am the night before working on a client request... (C) Richard Walsh

We’re living through uncertain economic times. Marketing budgets are squeezed and companies are understandably cautious. Everyone wants more for less, and that’s when experience can start looking like a luxury rather than an investment.

But I’ve come to realise something over the years. Experience isn’t about knowing all the answers; it’s about not panicking when nobody else does. I’ve never claimed to be the cleverest photographer in the room or the most gifted writer. There will always be younger people who know the latest app before I do or can edit a reel in half the time. Good luck to them. I genuinely mean that. Every generation deserves its chance.

What I’ve learned, though, is that clients rarely remember who knew the latest shortcut in Photoshop. They remember who turned up when the weather wrecked the shoot. They remember who found another location when Plan A disappeared. They remember who rewrote the copy at eleven o’clock at night because a product launch had changed direction. They remember who stayed until the job was done. That’s never been about age, it’s about attitude.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever heard came from photographers who had already seen more of the world than I had. None of them talked about fame. None of them talked about awards. They talked about reliability. About being somebody a client could trust when everything else was falling apart. That has always stayed with me.

Photography has changed beyond recognition since I first picked up a camera. Writing has too. The tools we use today are almost unrecognisable from those of thirty years ago. But the principles haven’t shifted an inch: listen carefully, prepare properly, treat people well and deliver what you promised.

I’ve diversified because I had to. Writing led to editing. Editing led to creative direction. Photography led to content strategy. The industry doesn’t owe any of us a living, and the people who’ve survived longest are rarely the most talented. They’re usually the ones prepared to keep on learning.

If there’s one thing reaching your fifties has taught me, it’s that resilience is a creative. You learn to separate rejection from failure. You stop chasing every trend and start concentrating on producing work that lasts. Confidence isn’t loud. It’s quiet. It’s walking onto a shoot knowing that if something breaks, changes or goes spectacularly wrong, you’ll find another way. Clients don’t hire experience because it’s old – they hire it because it’s dependable.

So, if you’re choosing between suppliers, don’t ask who has the newest showreel or the biggest social following. Ask who’ll still be there when the deadline moves, the brief changes or when the pressure ramps up. Because that’s where experience quietly earns its place.