My very first digital camera broke today: A Casio QV-3000EX, purchased in early 2001. The second 3-megapixel camera ever on the market, it took brilliant outdoor shots in automatic mode, and took generally stellar pictures if you knew how to use its manual settings (f-stop, apeture, shutter speed, and more). See for yourself; here are some shots taken in full automatic mode:

I took the time to learn a few things about amateur photography and how to use some of the manual settings, and it took some the best 3MP shots I’ve ever done:

I loved this camera. I mean, I really got to know everything about it, what its strengths were, weaknesses, and more. when I put it in the trash, I felt like I was burying a friend.

And right now I’m thinking, why? Why am I personifying this camera like it’s a friend that I’ve lost? Why do we, as a society, project empathy onto inanimate objects like they’re people? Several times while writing this post, I wanted to use terms like “my camera gave up the ghost” or “it finally died”. I felt strongly enough about my first computer that I wrote fiction from its point of view. People call ships and planes “old girl” or even actual female pronouns like “old bessy” or “nellie”. It’s fascinating, and probably answered in a psychology book somewhere.

I’m going to replace it with a used model, probably off of ebay. I wonder if it will mean as much to me as the original did.