When Victor Cheng was eighteen, he made the ten-thousand mile trip from Toronto to Sydney to take photos of sandwiches. Cheng was an unlikely candidate for the role, given that he had none of the traditional photographer’s staples: past clients, a portfolio or even his own camera. What he did have, though, was the one thing most take years to develop: an eye for the shot. He spent a week in Sydney, capturing sangers from every conceivable angle, and then returned to class as if he’d been simply off sick.
Cheng (@veeceecheng) came of age in Toronto, which means he’s both inherently easy-going and polite. He has a penchant for chambray shirts, and he pulls them off with impeccable poise. When he’s not shooting, he likes movies and morning hikes, though those hikes normally turn into photo shoots, too. Many of his photos feature his girlfriend, Sam, a gifted photographer-stylist in her own right, and his cousin, David, one of Hong Kong’s most prolific rooftoppers. When he tries to disconnect, putting the camera down is hard; on his most recent trip to Bali, for Sam’s birthday, the two of them couldn’t help but check a few sights off their list. Cheng shoots for Cathay Pacific, Airbnb, American Express, Uber and a handful of others, clients that keep him zipping around the globe with alarming frequency. In the three weeks prior to us speaking, he’d been in Bali, Paris, Hong Kong, Shanghai and Copenhagen; when we finally do connect, he’s at the airport bound for Los Angeles.
Cheng shoots for Cathay Pacific, Airbnb, American Express, Uber and a handful of others, clients... [+]
Many of Cheng’s shots portray epic urban landscapes—the infinite city street, the soaring high-rise, the omniscient drone shot—punctuated by a single person included for a sense of depth and scale. They bear a unique quality of immediate recognizability: while many Hong Kong Instagrammers tend to shoot similar photos from the same locales, Cheng eschews those “cliches,” or at least shoots them in his own unique way. Even when using his drone, the newest tool in the photographer’s toolkit, he finds perspectives that others simply cannot. It’s all in the name of expansion, with the aim of making the world a larger place than it is today. One way to make a place bigger is to physically stretch its boundaries, to increase the size of the pie; another is to include more in the pie itself. Cheng, to his merit, is doing both—not only do his photos send followers on wide-ranging countryside missions of their own, hoping to catch an equally compelling shot of that clandestine basketball court or mountain vista, but they also have them exploring their own backyards with a finer-toothed comb. The reasoning is sound: if Cheng can find such beauty in the heart of Hong Kong, or Los Angeles, or Toronto, why can’t I?
One of Cheng's shots, called Typhoon 10, depicts a stranger walking down a rainy boulevard, umbrella... [+]
It’s this ability to expose and depict what’s in plain sight that makes a strong photographer, and Cheng has it in spades. One of his shots, called Typhoon 10, depicts a stranger walking down a rainy boulevard, umbrella in hand. Only when you add layers of context—the remarkable rarity of finding such a serene streetscape in Hong Kong; the parallel flurry of vendor stalls punctuated by bold Chinese characters; the impending typhoon, as indicated by the title—does the photo truly begin to shine. As Edward Burtynsky once told me, well-captured photos become more interesting the longer you observe them, not less.
Yet the type of photography Cheng and Burtynsky do are, by necessity, miles apart. While Burtynsky might spend years preparing for and shooting a series, Cheng’s followers expect him to wow them every single day. That expectation, which scales with his growing following, puts enormous pressure on Cheng’s shoulders, and also makes him particularly sensitive to the occasional paradigm shift. His feelings toward drones are a good example: first he disdained them, thinking drone users were “cheating” in getting otherwise-impossible shots; then he found himself wanting one of his own, for largely the same reason; now he won’t travel without one. When I ask him where influencer marketing is going, he believes this is just the beginning. “People with full-time jobs and a few photography clients on the side are now leaving their jobs to pursue this lifestyle. They can have more fun, and earn more, too, if they go full-on freelance.”
While many Hong Kong Instagrammers tend to shoot similar photos from the same locales, Cheng eschews... [+]
That insight will continue to ring true for a while yet—until it doesn’t. The reason we’ve seen such a rise in social influencers these past few years is that receiving a message from a person you trust and admire has a stronger impact than receiving a message from an organization you don’t. Influencer marketing works best when it’s subtle and authentic, a seamless portrayal of a lifestyle enhanced by a particular brand. Yet with every post that eschews these golden rules—every teeth whitener and spray-on tan—influencers everywhere take a small hit. If we all have influence, doesn’t that mean none of us do?
Perhaps this is why a select few, like Cheng, insulate themselves with other initiatives. Though he’ll continue to shoot for hotels in Shanghai and malls in Paris, he also sells his best snaps as signed prints from his online shop. Like the aging athlete transitioning from the playing field to the TV studio, the lifespan of an influencer is finite. This is the age of the solopreneur, and Cheng is not one to be left behind.
