The photographer who captures genuine moments amidst the chaos

Simon Habegger has lived in Zurich for many years, taking photographs for magazines and major brands, travelling the length and breadth of the country and trying to capture something that is, in fact, impossible to capture: genuine moments.

“First and foremost, I say I’m a photographer,” he explains to me, “although I increasingly find myself thinking that I’d like to be more than that.”

His photographs are closely tied to his own person. “If I’m not satisfied with my work, I end up not being satisfied with myself. Yet that’s only part of who I am.”

His daily life has little structure. “I can’t go to yoga every Wednesday evening. Every Wednesday is different. But that suits me.”

Between shoots, major productions and a small child, there is hardly any room for rituals. At the same time, he does not long for a busier schedule. “I’m looking more for something that has nothing to do with work. Something different. But I haven’t found it yet.”

The fact that his profession is so open-ended and unstructured shapes the way he interacts with people. He rarely goes to a shoot with a fixed image in his mind. “I try to be spontaneous and respond to the person I’m with. I keep everything open.”

He only gives clear instructions when necessary, and sometimes it is precisely this uncertainty that gives rise to what really matters. “I openly acknowledge my own uncertainty. We’re all in the same boat. That creates a connection.”

He seeks this connection not in perfection, but in small shifts. “I often hear that people are recognisable in my pictures. Even their uncertain gestures. I don’t want to make vulnerability a flaw. Everything should be possible.”

He particularly loves the seconds between two poses. “That moment when someone briefly steps out of character. I look for these in-between moments and now know how to get people there. Then I say: ‘Do something silly.’” Whether that ends up in the photo doesn’t matter. “What matters is that something happens.”

In front of the camera, he prefers people who aren’t used to posing. “I like real people. Without any camera experience.” In corporate settings and with actors, he often sees the rehearsed façade. “It looks good, but I can still see the act.”

He is currently shooting a campaign for a drinks manufacturer featuring people from different communities. “No models. That’s brilliant. Unexpected things happen. You can’t achieve that if you plan everything down to the last detail.”

He also notices in his everyday life that photography has changed him. “I’ve learnt to make small talk.” He used to be more afraid of rejection, too. Today, he finds it easier to strike up a conversation with people in a café. “Most people want to communicate. To be seen. In a good light.”

He is, however, reluctant to have his own photograph taken. “I’m not used to it. And I’m vain,” he says, recounting a portrait his assistant took of him recently. “I was so insecure that I didn’t post it in the end. The photo was well taken. I wasn’t. I looked so tired. Mamma mia.”

He also thinks a lot about clothes. “Clothes are a performance.» For him, a tie is “the first step towards becoming a shareholder”. And yet he loves the untidy: “I think it’s nice when clothes hang well on the body.”

When he talks about artificial intelligence, his stance becomes clearer. “Legit, in a way. And problematic.” He knows that the industry is going to change. “You can’t stop it. Jobs will disappear.»

And then he utters a sentence that sounds as though he’s only just realised it himself: «The advertising chaps are in for a rough ride now, but I’m staying here!» He means it defiantly, humorously and seriously all at once – a commitment to the craft and something human that he doesn’t want to give up.

When he talks about his future, it’s not a clear vision that emerges, but a feeling. Zurich sometimes makes him sleepy. “I need that slap in the face to wake me up. To be thrown into a scene. And then to disappear again.”

Perhaps this is where his true concern lies: the search for presence in moments that are constantly changing. Or in the question of whether genuine moments only arise when one does not grasp them – and what it means to want to hold on to them nonetheless.

The answer remains open. Like a photograph that has not yet been developed.