Film photography isn’t just about capturing images—it’s about bottling emotions. And Kodak’s Kodacolor 35mm film? It’s like a time machine for your heart. When Kodak reintroduced Kodacolor in 100 and 200 ISO variants late last year (essentially a rebranded Kodak Color Plus, but who’s complaining?), the photography world buzzed with excitement. But here’s where it gets interesting: after the initial hype, the chatter faded. Yet, this film deserves a standing ovation—it’s a game-changer.
Over the past few months, I’ve shot multiple rolls of both Kodacolor 100 and 200, but one particular experience stands out. In late November, my mother and I strolled along the wharf in Monterey, California, and then to Lovers Point—a place heavy with memories, as it’s where we scattered my father’s ashes last year. The day was perfect: clear skies, no wind, and a gentle warmth. It felt like the universe had conspired to give me the ideal setting to test this film. And conveniently, I had a roll of Kodacolor 200 in my bag.
Let’s talk gear for a second—my Fujifilm TX-1 (or Hasselblad XPan, depending on the mood) pairs beautifully with Kodacolor. Switching between panoramic and traditional formats, I spent an hour and a half simply capturing the world around me. It was pure joy.
And this is the part most people miss: Kodacolor doesn’t just take photos—it captures feelings. When I look at these images, they don’t feel like digital snapshots; they feel like reliving a memory. There’s a raw, almost nostalgic quality to them, like flipping through an old family album. Part of this magic comes from the delay between shooting and seeing the results. I remember pressing the shutter, but not seeing the photos for weeks afterward creates a sense of anticipation and permanence. Plus, the images aren’t clinically sharp—they’re softer, more like how our eyes naturally perceive the world.
That’s the beauty of film. It’s imperfect, yet profoundly human.
Kodacolor has this unique ability to mute tones without draining the life out of them. Browns, in particular, pop in a way that feels warm and familiar. Maybe that’s why these photos evoke such strong nostalgia—the 80s and 90s were practically drenched in brown tones. It’s like these images are whispering, ‘Remember when?’
At just $9 a roll, Kodacolor 100 and 200 are a steal. If you have a film camera gathering dust, grab a roll and spend an afternoon shooting. You don’t need to frame every photo or turn it into high art. Sometimes, the best images are the ones that simply remind you of a quiet afternoon with your mom.
But here’s the controversial part: In a world obsessed with digital perfection, is there still room for film’s imperfections? Do we value sharpness and immediacy over emotion and nostalgia? Let me know in the comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts. And if you’ve tried Kodacolor, share your experience. Is it just me, or does this film truly feel like capturing a memory?
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