Why I Don’t Care About Wedding Photography Awards (Even Though I’ve Won Them)

A love letter to the photos that will never win, and the photographers brave enough to shoot them anyway.

I got an email the other day.

One of those “10,000 entries, the world’s best wedding photographs are here!” kind of things.
You know the type. Polished. Dramatic. Dripping in gold stars and algorithm-approved aesthetics.

I clicked through, curious.
Scrolled.
And felt… nothing.

Some were good. A few were even great. But most? I’ve seen better.
Hell, I’ve shot better.
And I’m not saying that from a place of ego. I’m saying that from a place of truth.

I’ve Won Awards. I’ve Played the Game.

Junebug.
Rangefinder’s Rising Stars.
Bodaf’s New Talent.
You name it—I’ve probably been on the list.

Years ago, I started submitting my work to the big names.
It was an experiment at first. A curiosity.

And I won.
More than once.

And yeah—for a moment, it felt good.
Like a pat on the back.
Like, “Okay, cool. They see me.”

And honestly? Some of those wins did help me.

They put my name in front of other photographers.
People started looking at my work differently.
That recognition helped shape the educational side of my business—gave it weight, opened doors.
It didn’t change everything… but it made people pay attention.

But here’s what happened next: nothing magical.

No wave of dream clients.
No inner shift.
No “made it” moment.

Just a brief hit of dopamine… and then back to work.

That’s when it hit me: an award can’t tell me if my work is good.
Only the people I photograph can do that.

But Yeah—I Still Submit.

Maybe it’s ego.
Maybe it’s marketing.
Maybe it’s that quiet craving to feel seen.
Or maybe it’s just strategy—getting my name out there in a sea of noise.

I don’t always know.

But what I do know is this: I’m intentional now.

If the award exists solely to feed the organizers’ wallets? Count me out.
If it’s not bringing visibility outside the photo echo chamber? Not interested.
If it's not aligned with the kind of work I want to be known for? I don’t touch it.

And yeah—I’m okay paying for entries.
But there better be an ROI.
(Yeah, I said it. Art meets strategy. Get used to it.)

Because these days?
I’m not chasing gold stars.
I’m building something that lasts.

What I Actually Look For in a Photograph

Here’s the thing—
I love a technically solid image.
I love great composition. I love when a frame pulls your eye in like a slow-burning scene in a film.
I notice when things are crooked that shouldn’t be. I care if the light feels wrong. I care if the story feels forced.

But I also believe this:

A photo can be flawed—but it better be f*cking honest.

If your horizon’s crooked, it better be on purpose.
If the composition’s chaotic, it better be serving something real.
Because if it’s just careless? It kills the moment. For me, at least.

And that’s why some of these winning images frustrate me so much.

I’ve seen images crowned as “top of the world” that I wouldn’t have delivered to a client.
Not because I’m better—but because I know what I want my work to stand for.

Some were technically off. Compositionally clumsy. Sloppy edits.
And not in an intentional, raw, artistic kind of way—but in a “no one took the time to fix this” kind of way.

That matters to me.

Because I believe our job isn’t just to chase emotion—it’s to elevate it.
To hold it with care. To frame it like it f*cking matters.

If You’ve Ever Felt Like You’re Not “Good Enough” to Win…

Maybe you’re not the problem.
Maybe the system just isn’t built to see the kind of work you’re creating.

Maybe you’re photographing people, not performances.
Maybe you’re chasing meaning, not medals.
Maybe your work is too honest to be scored.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s the highest kind of art.

So What Does Matter?

I’ll tell you what’s mattered most in my career:

• The message from a groom who said, “You made me feel seen for the first time.”
• The woman who cried when she saw herself in her boudoir photos and whispered, “I didn’t know I could look like that.”
• The couple who eloped in the rain, skipped the kiss, and just held each other. No pose, no plan—just love.

No judge would’ve given those moments a badge.
But they’re burned into my memory.
Because they meant something.

This Isn’t a Takedown. It’s a Reminder.

A reminder that the industry will always celebrate what’s loud, glossy, and familiar.
But that doesn’t mean your quiet, raw, imperfect image isn’t more true.

It’s a reminder that your best work might never win anything.
And that might be the very reason it matters most.

And if you’re sitting with that tension—between creating what moves you and trying to be seen in a system that often doesn’t get it—
you’re not alone.

This is the kind of stuff I go deep into in my mentoring work.
I offer portfolio reviews, website feedback, and honest, constructive sessions to help photographers create work that actually feels like them.
No fluff. No fake praise. Just real talk and real growth.

If that sounds like something you need?

Take This With You

“What would your photography look like if no one was watching?”

No audience.
No awards.
No followers.
Just you. Your camera. And a couple letting you in.

If that image would still move you—you’re already winning.