“I’m just a guy who comes and stands on the street and takes photos of these people,” Adam Katz Sinding says, casually summing up a career that has taken him everywhere but.

Formerly known as Le 21ème, the Copenhagen-based, San Francisco-born and Tacoma-raised photographer has spent more than a decade documenting the fashion industry from just about every possible angle: outside the shows, backstage, on assignment for brands, and across Fashion Weeks around the world. Even if you don’t immediately recognize his name, chances are you’ve seen it sitting beneath an image published somewhere online by your favorite fashion website, magazine, or came across it during an endless scroll of Instagram street-style coverage.

But standing outside a show with a camera in hand, scanning the crowd for someone or something compelling enough to press the shutter, only tells half the story. “Primarily, I see myself as a documentary photographer,” Sinding explains. “I try to capture as much reality as possible while still trying to make it as aesthetically pleasing as the moment allows.”

“Street style,” then, feels almost too narrow a term for what he does. Much like “streetwear” eventually became inadequate for describing an entire ecosystem of fashion, street-style photography can flatten a practice that extends far beyond photographing a good outfit on a sidewalk. Sinding isn’t particularly interested in celebrity, nor does he seem all that interested in the spectacle that now surrounds the shows. His subjects just happen to be the people who exist in, around, and behind fashion.

The distinction has bothered him for years. His first monograph, published in 2018, made the point directly in its title: This Is Not a F*cking Street Style Book. The name evolved from an earlier declaration on his website — This Is Not a F*cking Street Style Blog — after years of watching his work be squeezed into labels that never quite fit. The book collected his photographs from the street and backstage across the international fashion circuit, with a contribution from the late Virgil Abloh. He followed it with Live From F*cking Everywhere, expanding that documentarian eye beyond the clothes and into the places his career has taken him.

What makes Sinding’s approach particularly compelling is his perspective on documenting one of fashion’s most chaotic environments. By the time a Fashion Week photograph reaches a website or Instagram feed, the noise has usually disappeared. The crowd has been cropped out. The selects have been narrowed. All that remains is the polished image.

Sinding is interested in the honesty of everything around it. “I really like it when you’re outside of a show or backstage and it’s chaotic, people are yelling, everybody’s stressed,” he says. From there, he sees two possibilities: capture that chaos as faithfully as possible, or somehow eliminate it completely, creating what he calls “this calm little oasis of peace” within the frame.

Then there’s the technical side of making that happen. “Of course, nice light and a great composition,” he adds. Conditions change with the seasons — winter means less light, less contrast, fewer highlights — but his retouching remains intentionally “formulaic.” The goal isn’t to reconstruct reality after the fact, but to preserve how he remembers it. “That could be totally wrong from the reality,” he admits, “but it’s just how I remember it.”

That tension between reality and memory runs through Sinding’s work. He wants his photographs to document what happened, but he doesn’t pretend the photographer is an objective machine. A photograph is still filtered through where he stood, what caught his eye, when his finger hit the shutter, and eventually, how he remembers being there.

And that finger moves fast. Sinding says he thinks about almost nothing when he takes a photograph. There’s no elaborate mental checklist of angles and compositions. Sometimes he shoots before he even knows what the picture is going to be. “It has to be a reflex,” he says. “If I think about it too much, I don’t take the photo.”

After years of relying on that reflex, the world in front of his camera has changed dramatically. The streets outside Fashion Week today are, in his words, “unrecognizable” compared to when he started. The barrier to entry has dropped. More photographers can show up. More people can be photographed. Someone can dress for the occasion, stand outside a show, and become part of the imagery surrounding Fashion Week without ever stepping inside.

Sinding sees value in that accessibility, but he also sees the mess. “The threshold for what it takes to be at Fashion Week has been lowered, which is wonderful if you want to start your career as an influencer or as a photographer taking photos of these people,” he says. But for the editors, stylists, buyers, designers, and others attempting to actually move through the circus? “It’s just a mess outside the shows.”

More frustrating is how the role of the photographer within that circus has changed. Sinding says he and his peers are now routinely called paparazzi, a label he sees as fundamentally different from what they’re trying to accomplish. “I’m not interested in celebrities. I’m not interested in fame,” he says. “I’m more interested in their place in the industry or their natural personal style.”

After years of airports, deadlines, Airbnbs, backstage scrums, and Fashion Weeks — Sinding estimates he’s photographed them in roughly 30 countries — what inspires him today is almost the complete opposite. Home in Copenhagen, he rides his bike, spends time outside, wears more or less the same thing every day, and tries to do absolutely nothing. “I find a lot of inspiration in a domestic life where there is almost no inspiration,” he says. For someone whose career has been built around constantly being somewhere, there’s something fitting about finding inspiration in finally staying put.

We caught up with Sinding during his latest trip to New York City for New York Fashion Week for our Through The Lens series, putting Apple’s new iPhone 18 Pro — now available in store and online at Apple — in the hands of a photographer whose process depends on being ready before he necessarily knows what he’s looking for. Its new 48-megapixel Fusion Main camera introduces variable aperture, while new Pro controls offer manual control over aperture, shutter speed, and white balance directly in the Camera app. We spoke with Sinding about his career, shooting on instinct, the changing circus outside the shows, and what happens when a photographer who says, “It has to be a reflex,” trades his usual camera for the one already in his pocket.

How would you describe your approach to photography today? What makes something feel like an Adam Katz Sinding photograph?

My work is loitering outside of fashion events around the world and taking photos of people. Within the last maybe 15 years, I’ve also gone backstage and shot for the brands.

Primarily, I see myself as a documentary photographer. I try to capture as much reality as possible while still trying to make it as aesthetically pleasing as the moment allows.

When you’re documenting something as chaotic as Fashion Week, what makes a good photograph to you?

You can take it down to the pragmatic things, like composition and great light, but it all just depends on how you see the world. The frame in a camera is very symbolic of how I see the world — in these kind of little rooms.

I really like it when you’re outside of a show or backstage and it’s chaotic, people are yelling, everybody’s stressed, and you take a photo that either captures that stress as close to perfectly as possible or eliminates all of that chaos and creates this calm little oasis of peace. The viewer could look at it and have no idea how crazy it was back there.

I like both of those things. And then, of course, nice light and a great composition. There’s no right or wrong. It’s just how you see the world and trying to translate that into one frame.

Has the way you see — and translate — those moments changed over the years?

The way that I shoot changes always. In winter, obviously, you’re dealing with oftentimes much less light, less contrast, no highlights. It depends.

I think I probably have my formulaic ways of retouching photos. I don’t go in and really spend too much time on everything because, again, I like it to be as real as possible. But there are times where photos are darker, times where photos are lighter, times where photos are cooler and warmer. It just depends on how I nostalgically remember that moment.

That could be totally wrong from the reality, but it’s just how I remember it. It’s like your personality. It just changes as you change.

When you raise your camera to take a photograph, what are you actually thinking about?

Nothing. Well, I’m thinking, “Is my camera on?” or “Is my lens cap on?” That’s number one. Rookie mistake.

But I’m thinking about nothing consciously. Or, if it is consciously, I am not conscious of it. It’s very reactionary. I look at the photo afterwards and I’ll oftentimes even say out loud, “Wow, that’s really nice,” or, “Okay, I got it.”

I don’t necessarily know what I’m looking for. Things just kind of fall into place. There’s no, “Okay, here’s this person walking. Let’s get this photo at this angle.” You just shoot it, and afterwards it’s, “Okay, that worked out.”

It has to be a reflex. If I think about it too much, I don’t take the photo.

So much of your process sounds instinctive. Are you a spontaneous person outside of photography?

Only when it comes to taking photos. Every other aspect of my life is planned. Everything else is in the calendar and has reminders.

How do you train yourself to react quickly enough to capture something before the moment disappears?

I’m always kind of finger on the shutter and ready to shoot. I’ve taken a lot of photos where I’ve shot before really knowing what the photo is going to be, and oftentimes those are just throwaways.

I always say that if I was a film photographer, I’d be broke because I take a lot of garbage that you throw away. I learn a lot by my mistakes. I don’t really learn any other way. I have to screw up in order to not screw up again in the same way.

I think being really reactionary and ready and kind of shutter-happy, if you will, is important. I’ve gotten better over time. I take way fewer photos than I used to, but sometimes that’s also detrimental to getting the shot.

You’ve been photographing Fashion Week for well over a decade. How different is the world outside the shows today from the one you first started documenting?

The culture of the streets of Fashion Week is unrecognizable from when I started. And I assure you, it was probably unrecognizable to the people who started before me even when I arrived.

For better or worse, it became popular. Maybe less popular now — definitely less popular than it was pre-COVID — but it’s so much more accessible. You and I could show up outside of a show dressed a certain way and get attention, whereas when I started, if you did that, eyes were rolled and you were almost ignored in a very snobby way.

I don’t agree with the idea of exclusion or exclusiveness at all, but I do think one of the tenets the fashion industry relies on is some kind of hierarchy.

I like to make sure that the people I photograph, in my mind — and I’m making finger quotes here — are “better than me,” or “more important than me,” or more a part of this world than I am, for sure. Because I’m just a guy who comes and stands on the street and takes photos of these people.

The threshold for what it takes to be at Fashion Week has been lowered, which is wonderful if you want to start your career as an influencer or as a photographer taking photos of these people. It’s not so great for the people who have a job to do in the classical sense — editors, stylists, et cetera — because it’s just a mess outside the shows.

As that environment has changed, do you think people have also lost sight of what street-style photographers are actually there to document?

Half the time it’s fun. It’s stressful. But when I started, no one ever called us paparazzi. Now, most tourists who walk by, most security guards, and most PR refer to us as paparazzi, and that is the antithesis of what I want — and definitely what all of my peers want.

I think it’s been lost what we are there to do. I’m not interested in celebrities. I’m not interested in fame. I’m not even really that interested in who the person is. I’m more interested in their place in the industry or their natural personal style.

I think most people on the official end of things — PR, security, whatever — think we’re just there to take pictures of celebrities. I couldn’t care less.

Yesterday, specifically, I was told that a celebrity was inside of the show, and I said, “Okay.” I don’t know what you’re telling me. That’s just not why we’re there. We’re trying to do something a little bit more than that.

There’s nothing wrong with paparazzi. That’s a job, and that’s wonderful. But there’s a separation, and I think that line has been blurred both in the perception and realization of the images.

You never originally planned on becoming a photographer. Looking back, is there anything you would tell the version of yourself who was about to stumble into this career?

I moved to New York on December 31, 2010, so my first New York Fashion Week was February 2011. I had actually booked a ticket to come to New York before that, but this big snowstorm was supposed to come in. I canceled my ticket and got my refund, and the storm ended up not happening to the degree they thought it was going to.

I wish I would have come a year earlier because I’m always really curious what that one year would have been like. Would I have still made this my life? Would it have turned me away from it? Would I have moved to New York sooner because I was so excited about it? Would there have been some opportunity when there were even slightly fewer people at the fashion shows?

I’m always very curious about the “what if” of that.

But I never thought I was going to be a photographer. My younger self was very content working in the hotels I used to work at, carrying people’s bags and being a concierge. I don’t think I’d give that up.

What did working in hotels teach you that you still carry into photography?

The skills that I earned working in the service industry made me better with a sense of urgency and better at getting things done. I knew things had to be done for the people I was serving.

I treat my clients in the same way: don’t make people wait, always reply, always be on top of things. That’s what my guests at the hotel wanted. It’s totally different from fashion, but it’s very much ingrained in my brain. They’re transferable skills.

After photographing Fashion Weeks in dozens of countries, publishing books, and building a career around your work, what does success in photography look like to you now?

I’ll tell you when I get there. There’s a weird separation for those of us on the street and — again, I’m making finger quotes — “real photographers.” Most of us are real photographers, but we are somehow put into this subset.

The majority of the work that I get asked to do is based off of this world that you guys see outside of the fashion shows, and that’s only a really small aspect of what I do and what a lot of my friends and peers do as well.
I like that people think we’re good at this one thing, but it’s also weird to feel a bit pigeonholed. I think that I have had a lot of success. I’ve definitely had a lot of wonderful opportunities, and I do not take that for granted even for a second. I don’t feel entitled to those things ever.

I know that it’s very strange that this guy from Tacoma, Washington, can have shot outside of fashion shows in Paris and London, Almaty, Kazakhstan, and Reykjavik, Iceland. I’ve shot Fashion Weeks in like 30 countries. That’s crazy. I guess that’s success.

Success is definitely not a monetary thing. If I had to put one moment on what success is, I guess it would be the books that I made and the fact that they were so well received and pretty much sold out everywhere.

But does it make me feel like I can sit down and relax? Absolutely not. I think that if I feel like I’ve succeeded, then I’ll just give up.

When your career is built around constantly traveling, shooting, editing, and meeting deadlines, where do you find inspiration away from fashion?

In my apartment in Copenhagen, doing nothing with fashion and wearing the same clothes every day. I mean, I do that anyway.

Riding my bike, being out in nature, not traveling, basically. I’ve traveled so much, and I continue to travel too much, even though it’s way less than before.

I find a lot of inspiration in a domestic life where there is almost no inspiration. I love having nothing to do. It’s so different from, “Am I going to make my flight? Is my bag going to make it? Am I going to make it to this show? Am I going to meet the deadline? Oh no, the internet’s out in my Airbnb. I can’t send the photos.” It’s just constant stress.

So, yeah, having time to do absolutely nothing. But if I had to choose one thing, sports. Being on my bike out in nature, running outside — anything outside.