In the golden age of digital photography, where access to powerful tools and instant global platforms is unparalleled, an unsettling undercurrent has emerged—one that challenges the sanctity of creativity. Social media, with its ceaseless nudge toward conformity, is cultivating an era of aesthetic plagiarism, often so insidious that its perpetrators remain unaware of their complicity. In the realm of landscape photography, this trend poses a profound threat not only to originality but also to the very essence of creative growth.
The Tyranny of the Algorithm
At the heart of this phenomenon lies the algorithm—a digital dictator quietly shaping creative decisions. Social media platforms reward familiarity and formula over innovation, prioritizing images that align with established trends. For the landscape photographer, this often translates into a visual checklist: big golden-hour mountain vistas, blazing red skies at dawn, small wooden jetties leading out to a calm, empty lake or isolated huts with red roofs in the snow that scream "Instagram-worthy."
The danger here is subtle but corrosive. Photographers, consciously or not, find themselves drawn to replicate what has already proven successful. In chasing likes, shares, and fleeting digital validation, they unwittingly trade authentic expression for algorithmic appeasement. What begins as "inspiration" quickly devolves into mimicry, blurring the lines between homage and plagiarism.
Plagiarism by Osmosis
Unlike traditional plagiarism, which often involves deliberate appropriation, the digital age has introduced a more nuanced offender: unintentional plagiarism. With millions of images flooding our feeds daily, the subconscious absorption of styles, compositions, and even specific framing becomes inevitable. A photographer might revisit a location and instinctively replicate a shot they've seen online, unaware that their "vision" has been subtly pre-written by countless others.
This pervasive exposure to pre-defined aesthetics stifles the photographer's ability to see the world through their own lens. Instead of experimenting with unique perspectives, many succumb to a homogenized visual language dictated by the zeitgeist of social media trends.
The Erosion of Craft and Introspection
The implications extend beyond ethics. At its core, creativity demands risk, experimentation, and—critically—failure. By leaning on the crutch of pre-approved styles, photographers deny themselves the formative struggles that birth innovation. The process of trial and error, of discovering one's voice amidst a cacophony of influences, is sidelined in favor of immediate gratification.
In this landscape, true artistry falters. The image may be beautiful, but it is devoid of the intangible essence that makes art profound: authenticity.
Reclaiming Creativity
How, then, does the modern landscape photographer navigate these treacherous waters? The answer lies in conscious resistance.
1. Rejecting the Nudge: Photographers must actively resist the algorithm's pull. This means daring to post work that may not conform to popular trends or metrics but reflects a deeper, more personal vision.2. Cultivating Visual Literacy: Understanding the difference between influence and imitation is key. Photographers should immerse themselves in a diverse array of visual arts—not just the latest viral trends—to expand their creative vocabulary.
3. Reinvesting in Process: Creativity flourishes in the gaps left by uncertainty. Revisiting a location multiple times, experimenting with unconventional techniques, or deliberately avoiding "popular" compositions can reinvigorate a sense of discovery.
4. Crediting and Contextualizing: Inspiration is inevitable, but attribution is a moral imperative. Acknowledging influences not only preserves the integrity of the craft but also encourages dialogue and growth within the photographic community.
The Road Ahead
The digital age is a double-edged sword for landscape photographers. While it offers unprecedented tools and audiences, it also presents unique challenges to authenticity. As we navigate this new frontier, the onus is on creators to wield these tools responsibly, to push back against the tides of uniformity, and to reclaim the joy of seeing the world afresh.
True artistry is not measured by likes or shares but by the courage to chart one's own course in a world awash with mimicry. For those willing to embrace this challenge, the rewards are far greater than fleeting digital applause—they are the deep, enduring satisfactions of creating something truly original.
My own take on this
A few years back, I became part of a small group of local photographer friends. We’d head out together on shoots, and while the camaraderie was what I sought, the experience came with its quirks. They copied me mercilessly, a habit I chose to overlook. I wasn’t there to compete; I enjoyed the company. Yet, over time, it became clear why this copying persisted. It wasn’t ill-intentioned—far from it. They simply weren’t particularly skilled photographers. And there’s no shame in that; everyone has to start somewhere. What struck me, though, was their lack of desire to improve.
Their motivations weren’t rooted in the craft or the art; they revolved around creating the next “Instagrammable” image. For them, photography was merely a ticket to a fleeting rush of likes and superficial adulation. When I’d encourage them to explore more challenging forms—woodland compositions (before they became my norm), close-up coastal details, or even experimenting with black and white—they’d scoff or laugh. These suggestions didn’t promise social media clout and/or were too difficult, so they dismissed them outright.
For any photographer hoping to grow, it’s crucial to avoid falling into such company. The obsession with online popularity often comes at a steep cost: first, the quality of their images diminishes; then, they stagnate creatively; and finally, they fade from the craft entirely. Most don’t last long. The era of chasing Instagram fame has long passed, leaving those still aboard that ship chasing after a phantom. Don’t let it catch you, too.
It’s disheartening to see people with a genuine passion for photography being led astray by the algorithm. It seduces them with promises of attention, only to leave them unfulfilled and uninspired. And I hope my old friends can one day overcome this. Landscape photography is, at its heart, a deeply personal pursuit, one that thrives when free from ulterior influences. Yet, when our feeds are flooded with images we instinctively dislike but see earning immense engagement, it’s all too easy to question our own creative direction. The sheer power of that influence cannot be overstated.
And then there’s the AI behind it all—trained to nudge individuals, subtly guiding their creative instincts toward trends that serve another purpose entirely. The sophistication of this manipulation is staggering. I work with it extensively in the Corporate world. Where the rhetoric seems to be about a new emergent technology, few realise it is decades old and trained, now match-fit, ready to conquer all. The best defense against it, for photographers anyway? Switch it off. Ignore it.
Breaking Free
For a time, even I found myself ensnared. I joined a few Instagram hubs as a moderator (“mod”), believing it would be an opportunity to engage more deeply with the photography community. But I quickly learned otherwise. These hubs weren’t about photography. Their relentless “post multiple times a day” policies, enforced aggressively, revealed their true intentions: they cared little about quality and everything about driving page growth.
The praise these hubs offered was hollow, a copy-and-paste narrative designed to keep participants hooked on an illusion of appreciation. Moderators often lacked the expertise to discern great photography, favoring images based on personal taste, friendships, or pressure from the page owners. The entire system was set up to exploit creatives for free, monetising their efforts through adverts or workshops now promoted to the audiences they'd built using the talent of others, without giving anything of value in return.
This model, while lucrative for a few, has significantly contributed to the devaluation of photography in the digital space. It’s a key reason why so few photographers can earn a living from their art today and that is a real shame.
Eventually, I realized I’d had enough. I severed ties with those communities and refocused on my own path. I stopped consuming content that didn’t resonate with me—YouTube tutorials masquerading as art, or work that lacked authenticity. I curated my online spaces carefully, following only those whose work I genuinely admired or whose journeys inspired me.
I began to explore independently, seeking out places with my own eyes rather than through a distorted digital lens. For instance, driving into the highlands of Iceland for the first time was a revelation. The landscape wasn’t the technicolor fantasy so often portrayed on social media. It required genuine creativity to interpret what I saw into a photograph that felt truthful. And some hard yards and many a dull, drab and fruitless day. That's reality. That's photography. Not the nonsense some of the videos out there would have you believe.
This isn’t to disparage fantasy-style landscapes; they have their place. But social media has perpetuated a dangerous falsehood, convincing many that this exaggerated vision is reality. It’s not.
Learning From the Greats
As I experienced more—rare weather, extraordinary conditions, and remote locations—my respect for the truly great photographers deepened. I began to see what they see, to understand their process, and to appreciate their restraint. Most of these artists have little presence on social media. If they’re there at all, it’s tokenistic—a placeholder, a nod to their reputation. They remain unshaken by the algorithm, immune to its pull, and thank goodness for that.
Their work reminds us of what photography can and should be: deliberate, thoughtful, and deeply personal. And while it’s harder now to find such mentors, to learn from those who’ve paved their way before the algorithm’s rise is a rare privilege. These are the people we should aspire to be influenced by if we seek it—not those who produce endless, empty content for mass appeal.
Defeating the Algorithm
The antidote to this digital tyranny is simple yet profound: less is more. Engage less with the noise, seek out fewer influences, and focus on those whose work resonates with you on a deeper level. And above all, don’t be afraid to disconnect entirely. The algorithm thrives on engagement; deprive it of that, and you reclaim your creative freedom.
It’s in those moments of solitude, away from the manufactured chaos of the digital world, that we’re able to produce our best work. True landscape photography, at its core, is about connection—to the land, to the light, and to ourselves. Let that be your guide, and you’ll find a path worth following, hopefully to a place of contentedness and fulfilment.