I ran a restaurant for over a decade before I picked up a camera for a living. So I know exactly what it feels like to hire someone whose job you don't fully understand, hand over money, and hope it works out. That's most of you, right now, trying to figure out how to book a photoshoot for your business for the first time.
Nobody teaches you this. There's no course. You just end up needing photos because your website looks embarrassing or a client asked for a media kit, and suddenly you're emailing strangers with cameras asking vague questions and getting vague answers back.
I'd rather you walk in prepared. Not because it makes my life easier, though it does. Because it makes the photos better, and that's the whole point of hiring me in the first place.
This is the question almost nobody can answer clearly, and it's the one that matters most.
Are these for a website homepage? Social posts? A printed menu? A pitch deck going to a client in Oakville? Each of those needs a different shape, a different level of polish, sometimes a completely different lens choice.
I've had people tell me "just get some nice shots" and then get upset that the images are landscape when their site needs square crops for an Instagram grid. That's not their fault. It's mine, for not asking. But I ask now, every time, because I got burned enough to learn.
So before you call anyone, figure out where these photos are going to live. Write it down. Bring that list to the first conversation instead of a vibe.
A shoot day falls apart in the first ten minutes if nobody thought about logistics.
I need to know if there's parking. I need to know if the product will be ready and clean when I arrive, or if I'm shooting around a lunch rush in a kitchen that hasn't been wiped down. I need a contact on site who can actually make decisions, not someone who has to text three people every time I ask a question.
A bakery I shot for in Mississauga once had the owner out of town on shoot day, and the manager who let me in had no idea which products were supposed to be featured. We figured it out, but we lost close to an hour standing around instead of shooting. That hour costs money. Yours, not mine.
Access isn't just a door being unlocked. It's someone empowered to say yes or no on the spot.
This one I feel strongly about, so bear with me.
Clients who have never hired a photographer often assume the deliverable is some enormous folder of images to sort through later. That's not how good work happens. A tight shot list, five or six clear priorities for the day, produces stronger photos than a vague request to "capture everything and we'll pick."
When you ask for everything, you get a photographer moving fast and shallow across ten setups instead of going deep on the three shots that actually sell your business. I'd rather spend forty minutes lighting one hero shot of your product than rush through a dozen mediocre ones.
Bring me a short list. Rank it. Tell me which shot matters most if we run out of time. That single piece of information changes how I plan the whole day.
I get it, nobody likes saying numbers out loud first. But vague budget conversations waste both sides' time more than almost anything else on this list.
A half day shoot with a photographer who knows what they're doing generally runs somewhere in the $1,500 to $3,000 range depending on scope, location and how much editing is involved. That's not a number I'm proud or embarrassed by, it's just what real production costs when someone with experience is running it. If a number like that makes you wince, that's useful information too. It means we scale the shot list down, not that we pretend the shoot will be free.
I'd rather hear "here's roughly what we have" up front than spend an hour building a proposal for a budget that was never real.
You don't need a slide deck. An email with four things does it: where the photos are going, what's happening on shoot day, who's the point person, and roughly what you're hoping to spend.
I've had clients send me a single paragraph that told me everything I needed, and I've had agencies send me twelve page briefs that told me nothing useful at all. Length isn't the measure. Clarity is.
I'm not going to pretend every shoot goes smoothly even with a perfect brief. Weather changes, staff call in sick, a fridge full of product gets delivered an hour late. That's business, and I've run one long enough to know it never goes exactly to plan. But a clear brief means when something does go sideways, we're solving one problem instead of five.
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