When I was in elementary school, I had a sticker collection that rivaled those of most of my classmates. We all vied for first place sticker collector, seeing who could out-do the others in terms of unicorns and glitter and puffiness and, occasionally, scratch-n-sniff.

And then, one day, my mom came home with the sticker that would trump them all. The sticker that became the centerpiece of my collection, the ultimate, the most desirable, the one that catapulted me to Numero Uno Sticker Star.

It had neither glitter nor unicorns, puffiness nor scent. It was simple, large, round, white, with text, and it read, very clearly:

I ♥ BOYS

Well. Every girl in my fifth grade class wanted it, you can bet on that. And I wouldn’t trade, not even for entire collections. Because when it’s right, it’s right. You don’t need bells and whistles and sparkles when you’re that totally awesome.

(Taken with a Nikon FM2)

Years passed, and the sticker collection disappeared, and with it went the beloved sticker. Of course, the sentiment stayed – I do heart boys. But along with hearting boys, I’ve grown to love something else: boys’ toys. Yes, I know, the world has changed, and women can do anything, and just ask Barbie who has had 50-some odd careers now that she is 50 and featuring some hot Botox injections in her brows.

But be honest. There may be way more women doing photography than ever before – and there may be more women into stuff like cars, too – but being a gearhead is still a kind of a sausage-fest. Yes, the ladies are getting more and more involved, but it’s the gents who are more likely to be found geeking out over some form of equipment or other at a gathering near you.

Whenever this happens – this geeking out business – I find myself wishing I could participate, and eyeing the equipment (ahem) enviously from outside the inner sanctum. Before now I haven’t felt comfortable injecting myself into any major discussions; not having much (or any) knowledge makes me feel like a Big Dumb Girl standing there Looking Pretty while the boys all talk about their toys. And y’all know that’s not how I roll.

(taken with a Hasselblad 500 C/M)

I’m both a researcher and a bit of a geek at heart, so I’ve been trying to learn more about all this incredibly cool equipment we see around us all the time. I’ve learned more, sure, but it’s also done something terrible: Now I’m the girl who wants the sticker I don’t have.

That’s the thing about equipment and toys, isn’t it? There’s just never an end to what you can get. I’m beside myself here, falling in absolute panting lust with the Hasselblad SWC (oh dear lord, the red one?) and the Leica M6 and the Rolleiflex 2.8f and the Nikon FE and the Nikon 700. And lenses? Forget it, I definitely want more lenses. Yep, you all predicted it: further down the spiral.

But shut up a second, Leah.

I know very well that it’s not the camera that makes the shot great, it’s the photographer – the equipment just enables you to do different things (if you know how to use it). Who needs all this stuff? You can do a lot with what you have, and with what you ‘re offered.

So in an effort to reel myself in – and to get real – a little while ago I decided it was time to choose a camera and work with it as much as possible. Get to know it intimately, become best friends, know exactly what it could produce when, where, why, and with what film (if I stayed with film).

(Taken with a Yashica Lynx-1000)

Luckily for me, I have a few cameras I already love. And even luckier, I have wonderful parents who have decided for this birthday to get me a camera. The budget is generous (although not so generous as to allow for a full-frame digital or a Hasselblad SWC, so unless you’re prepared to help pitch in, just forget it). So the question is: which to choose?

I mean, we all know about my love of Polaroid, and I do use a Polaroid 195 which has a decent variety of film options.  I do love 35mm, and with the Pentax K1000 and the Nikon FM2, I feel comfortable. Recently too I got a little steamy with a rangefinder for the first time, a Yashica Lynx-1000, and ooh.

And medium format – it calls me like nothing else. Borrowing that Yashica Mat 124 was just the beginning. Then came the trial on the Hasselblad 500 C/M.

But of course, there’s always the possibility I could switch it up altogether and turn to digital.

Oh, decisions! I’ll figure it out eventually.

What’s your favorite camera, and why?

I don’t know why it surprised me. It shouldn’t have. But when shots of cars started appearing on roll after roll, and when Polaroid photos of cars first started dotting my desk, I found it curious. I’d always liked cars well enough, sure, but not enough to be a gearhead or (I’m ashamed to admit) to really even know the first thing about maintenance. I even had a list of favorites that had remained the same for years, including a dark green 1951 Hudson Hornet coupe. Long before the Franklin Mint magically came out with a miniature version. Long before the Hudson made its appearance in the animated movie Cars. A movie I’ve even never seen, by the way.

But why shouldn’t I love cars? What a shocker, I must have more than one side. Me! Gentle flowers, yes, but powerful big muscle cars too. And really, it makes perfect sense. I’m already in love with windows, as you know if you’ve spent any time looking at my photos. Cars have their share of them. I love light too, and the way cars capture light – don’t you love it? Especially old cars, sculptured and scooped, like sleek and sexy bodies, waiting to have you run your hands down their proud flanks and find where the light pools, so you can dip your hands in it.

Then of course, there are road trips. Perhaps my favorite way to travel – and surprisingly, I prefer to go as a passenger. Hours spent staring out the window, the ability to stop whenever, wherever. The food you eat along the way, the people you see, the miles you spend in comfortable (and sometimes uncomfortable) silence.

Most of all, though, it finally occured to me that at the end of that trip, a car has to have a final destination. A car has to come home, wherever it is. Don’t we all?