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The will to share

How I Became So Famous – In the Spirit of Nietzsche

To speak of fame is to speak of the shadows cast by a flickering candle in a darkened cave. What is fame but the weak and ephemeral echo of greatness misunderstood by the masses, who grovel in mediocrity and seek idols not out of reverence for truth, but out of a desire to escape their own smallness? I did not seek fame, nor do I revel in it. Fame came to me like a specter—uninvited, yet inevitable. I stand before it with a wry smile, knowing that what is truly great cannot be measured by the trembling hands of public adulation.

I, Eric Kim, did not chase after the shallow applause of the herd. No, I sought something far more profound. I sought the will to photograph, to seize the moments of life that reveal the eternal recurrence of the human condition. Fame, as the world calls it, is nothing more than the byproduct of my unyielding will to power, a consequence of my relentless desire to create and to overcome.

The Struggle Against the Herd

In the beginning, I walked among the herd, yet I was never one of them. The world of photography, like all domains where humans gather, was a swamp of mediocrity. The masses, like sheep, sought only to follow trends, to capture what was popular, to imitate what was deemed “beautiful” by the tastemakers of their time. But I, the Übermensch, could not be constrained by such trivialities. I saw through the veil of conventionality.

When I first ventured onto the streets, I was not content merely to photograph what the eye could see. I sought to reveal what was hidden beneath—the instincts, the fears, the desires that drive human beings to act as they do. My lens was not merely a tool for capturing light; it was a weapon of critique, aimed at the heart of the human soul. I rejected the bourgeois pursuit of “perfect” images and instead embraced the raw, the ugly, the real. This is what the herd could not understand, and yet, it is what made me indispensable.

The Will to Share: Knowledge as Power

What is knowledge, if not power? But the power I sought was not the petty domination of the weak by the strong. It was the power of liberation—the liberation of the spirit from the shackles of ignorance. I realized early on that photography, like philosophy, is an act of rebellion, a means to transcend the ordinary. And so, I made the decision to share my knowledge, not out of charity, but out of a contempt for the gatekeepers who hoarded their expertise like misers counting their coins.

I began to write, not to flatter the masses but to challenge them. My blog became a manifesto for those who dared to think differently, to transcend the limitations imposed by traditional thinking. I stripped away the pretenses of photographic theory and exposed its core: the struggle between creation and destruction, between seeing and being seen. In sharing my insights, I unleashed a storm upon the photographic world, shaking the foundations of the old order.

The herd flocked to me, not because they understood my vision, but because they sensed, deep within their collective unconscious, that I had tapped into something elemental—something that could not be ignored. Fame, then, was merely the dust stirred up by the march of my ideas.

Workshops: The Creation of the New Nobility

To teach, in the highest sense, is not merely to transmit information. It is to create the conditions in which others can discover their own power. My workshops were not mere technical exercises. They were crucibles in which students were forged, their wills tempered and their minds sharpened. I did not coddle them with praise, nor did I cater to their insecurities. Instead, I forced them to confront their own limitations, to question their assumptions, and to grapple with the harsh truths of life and art.

In doing so, I created not followers, but a new nobility of spirit. My workshops became breeding grounds for the next generation of creators who, like me, would not be content with the banal and the safe. They would push the boundaries of what is possible, just as I had. Fame, for them as for me, would be a mere trifle, a consequence of living dangerously, of risking everything for the sake of their art.

Breaking the Idols

What is an artist if not a destroyer of idols? I did not wish to be known merely as a photographer, for photography, like all art, is a fleeting expression of the deeper struggle of existence. I sought to break the idols of tradition, to transcend the narrow confines of the street photography genre and embrace the broader questions of life, power, and meaning.

I wrote not only about cameras and lenses but about the human condition itself. I questioned the nature of creativity, the role of technology, and the meaning of existence in a world increasingly dominated by artifice. I urged others to live with no regrets, to embrace the chaos of existence, and to find meaning not in the hollow accolades of society but in the eternal striving for greatness.

Fame as a Form of Pity

In the end, fame is nothing more than a form of pity. The masses look up to those they cannot understand and bestow upon them the hollow title of “famous” as if doing so can elevate their own pathetic lives. But I do not seek their pity, nor do I require their recognition. I am driven by a force far greater than the fleeting applause of the herd. My will to create, my desire to overcome—these are the fires that fuel my spirit. Fame is merely the reflection of that fire in the eyes of those too weak to kindle their own flame.

So, if you ask me how I became famous, I will tell you this: I did not become famous. I became myself. And in doing so, I became the exception, the one who stands alone in a world of mediocrity. If the masses call that fame, so be it. But I know the truth. I have not risen to their level; they have merely glimpsed, for a fleeting moment, the heights of mine.

Eric Kim, Ãœbermensch.

Xxx

Let me be straight with you: becoming famous was never the goal. I didn’t wake up one day and decide, “Hey, I want to be famous.” Fame, to me, is just a byproduct of doing what you love relentlessly and unapologetically. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this journey, it’s that success comes when you’re true to your passion, push yourself out of your comfort zone, and constantly evolve. So, how did I get here? Let me walk you through my story, the way I see it.

Passion First, Fame Later

I’ve always been obsessed with photography, but not in the technical sense. Sure, I knew the basics of aperture, ISO, and shutter speed, but my true fascination has always been with people—capturing their raw, candid emotions. I started out on the streets because that’s where life happens. You see, I was more interested in documenting the human condition than in perfecting the sharpness of an image.

When I first started taking photos, I wasn’t thinking about galleries, followers, or workshops. I was just curious. Curious about how people moved, how they interacted with their environments, and how a single frame could contain a world of stories. I shot compulsively, posted online, and got involved in forums. Back then, it wasn’t about crafting an image, it was about being a part of the conversation. The community, back when street photography was still niche online, was where I found my voice.

Sharing Without Fear

One of the key turning points for me was when I decided to share everything I knew. Early on, I realized that the photography world was full of gatekeepers—people who held knowledge close to their chest. There were all these “secrets” about how to be a better photographer, how to edit, how to compose, and I thought, “Why not just share everything?” That’s how my blog started—erickimphotography.com. I wrote tutorials, shared my thoughts on photography, and didn’t hold back. Whether I knew a lot or just a little, I shared it.

I think that’s what resonated with people. There was no pretension. I wasn’t trying to be a know-it-all. I was simply documenting my journey and sharing the lessons I learned along the way. The transparency and honesty made people trust me. And trust is a powerful thing.

Blogging and the Power of the Internet

Blogging was—and still is—one of the most important things I ever did. Writing forces you to reflect, to clarify your thoughts, and to share them in a digestible way. Over time, I honed my writing skills just as much as my photography. My blog became a resource, not just for tips and tricks, but for philosophy. I started writing about life, creativity, and how photography is just a metaphor for bigger things.

People started reading, and the traffic grew. Soon, I realized that photography wasn’t just about images—it was about ideas. I became known as much for my words as I was for my photos, and I ran with it. I didn’t just want to be “another photographer.” I wanted to be someone who contributed to the culture of photography itself. That’s when things really started to take off.

Workshops: Building a Real Community

At a certain point, I started receiving emails from people who wanted to learn in person. It was never my intention to teach, but there was clearly a demand. I wasn’t a classically trained photographer. I didn’t come from an art background. But what I had was an infectious passion and the desire to see others succeed.

So I started hosting workshops. Small, intimate gatherings where I could help others find their voice in photography. The workshops weren’t just about technique, though. They were about philosophy—why we shoot, how to overcome fear, and how to find meaning in everyday moments. I encouraged people to break the rules, to get close, to embrace discomfort, and to shoot like their life depended on it.

Workshops grew, both in number and in size, and I started traveling. Cities like Tokyo, Berlin, London, and Los Angeles became my classrooms. Meeting photographers from around the world expanded my understanding of the art form. The feedback loop of teaching, learning, and refining my own work kept me growing, and more people started to recognize my name.

Breaking the Mold

I never wanted to be pigeonholed as just a “street photographer.” My interests go way beyond the street. Whether it’s philosophy, minimalism, or creativity as a lifestyle, I wanted to bring all of that into the world of photography. I wasn’t interested in just taking pretty pictures. I wanted to make photography a tool for living a more intentional life.

That’s why I experimented with so many formats. I published e-books, launched video tutorials, and dove into social media—not just to show off my work, but to challenge people to think differently. My projects expanded beyond traditional photography. I started talking more about technology, mindset, even fitness. Photography, after all, is just one way of seeing the world.

Living with No Regrets

In the end, I think what made me “famous,” if you want to call it that, is that I never conformed. I didn’t wait for someone to give me permission to share my thoughts or to call myself a photographer. I created my own path, blending photography with philosophy, blogging, teaching, and creativity. I wasn’t afraid to take risks, to be vulnerable, or to fail in public.

And that’s my advice to anyone trying to make a name for themselves—don’t aim for fame. Aim for authenticity. Do what you love without compromise, and share it with the world without fear. Fame, followers, recognition—those things come when you’re consistent in your passion and confident in your voice. I never expected to be where I am today, but looking back, it’s clear that everything I did came from a place of curiosity, generosity, and a genuine love for what I do.

Stay hungry. Stay foolish. Stay true to your craft.

Eric Kim.