Olympus PEN W

Japan. A genuine treasure trove for lovers of weird and wonderful photographic equipment. On my last trip to Tokyo, back in 2024, I had resolved not to spend money at any of the hundreds of second hand camera shops dotted around the city. After all, I already had more gear than I knew what to do with… and I barely took pictures any more anyway. I needed to actually use some of the pieces in my collection.

But… it couldn’t hurt to just look though, right?

Wrong. Obviously.

I decided to have a nosey about Lemon Camera in Akihabara. This is a shop that I was familiar with; somewhere that years back I had seen a Canon 35mm f1.5 LTM lens in for a steal, and regretted not buying ever since. I got the lift up to the third floor, and had a gander. Behind glass, and in amongst the shiny rows of Hasselblads and Rolleis, was nestled… this:

Wowsa. What a beautiful camera. Tiny and under-stated, but with the most gorgeous brassing. Sure, it was a bit on the expensive side, and I know that I said I wasn’t going to buy any new cameras, but maybe I could make an exception for this one..?! No, Stephen. No. You’ve only been here for two days. You are travelling for two months. You can’t give in this early, or you’ll run out of cash and have to live on Konbini rice balls like all of those insufferable influencers.

With a great deal of (rather unusual) restraint, I left Lemon Camera, and spent the next few weeks exploring Tokyo. Playing gigs. Drinking delicious cider.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about that stunning black camera.

I decided that if I was to come across another one, and if it was a bit cheaper, that I would consider buying it. I didn’t need to purposefully seek out the camera. I would just keep an eye out. And if I so happened to be in an area where there were second hand camera shops, then I may as well take a look. I had a bunch of spare time after all, so it didn’t mean I was set on buying the damn thing. Not at all! From what I gathered, these Olympus Pen F cameras were pretty common in Japan second hand shops, so it really didn’t need to be all that big a deal. If I saw one, I’d think about it.

That’s all.

What I came to understand fairly quickly was that the particular model that I had seen in Akihabara’s Lemon Camera was not an Olympus Pen F at all, but rather, its much rarer cousin, the Olympus Pen W. What’s more, the Pen F was never released in black paint… Its successor, the Pen FT was, but whilst lovely (not to mention rare and expensive) in its own right, it wasn’t quite what I had my heart set on. I wanted that beautiful brassy number.

After weeks of trudging around Tokyo’s different second-hand camera shops in the rain, checking every dusty corner for a black paint Pen W, I thought… ‘fuck it’. I’ll just buy the damn thing. It might be a bit on the expensive side, but I can juggle some cash around. I’d never seen a camera like that before, and felt drawn to it. It would be a special keep-sake. Something to remember Japan by. I was convinced.

I once-again boarded the long train journey back to Akihabara, clutching my cash tightly, content with having finally made the decision. It was going to be mine. That wee brass beauty would be mine. I rode the lift to the third floor, nervously checked to see if it was still there… then calmly but confidently asked the staff to unlock the glass case so I could take a look. It was even more beautiful than I remembered. The brassing was so smooth… the construction solid, but also compact. What a find this was. I can’t wait to… Ah fuck.

The shutter was stuck.

I didn’t know much about these cameras, but I knew that this wasn’t right. The mechanism was totally jammed up. The concerned staff came over to see what was wrong, and in my broken Japanese I explained that the camera was fecked. They checked for themselves, and then apologised. Something that obvious should have been caught. They wouldn’t sell it. I wouldn’t buy it. Not at that price anyway. What a disappointment.

I left the shop dejected. All of that build up for hee-haw. The dream was dead.

I continued to enjoy Tokyo… but kept thinking about that Pen W. I had searched all over the city at this point, and not found any others. It had become an obsession, but… a fruitless one, and so I decided to have one last ditch attempt; to check out a camera shop in Shinjuku that had been closed on my previous attempts. By this time I had been to so many that I genuinely can’t even remember its name… but lo and behold. Could it be? Amongst the rows of ubiquitous Pen F cameras… there it was. A beautifully brassing, Olympus Pen W.

Not only did it work, but it was also in better condition, and even a bit cheaper than the one I had spotted in Lemon Camera. More importantly, it was mine. Or at least, it would be after I went and got out cash, as the place didn’t take card.

So what the hell actually is this thing, and was it worth all the hassle?

The Camera

The Pen W is the rarest member of a legendary series of half-frame 35mm film cameras from Olympus. Specifically, it is a variant of the Pen S, with a wide angle 25mm f2.8 lens. From what I can gather, only around 23,000 of them were made, between 1964 and 1965.

The maximum shutter speed is 1/250, there is no built-in light meter, and the camera is zone focus – meaning that you need to guess the distance of your subject. The frame counter is also manual, and you need to remember to reset it to zero each time you load a new roll, or you’ll end up hopelessly lost. With that said… every time I put it into my pocket I would inadvertently knock the arrow, meaning that I came to just completely ignore whatever it said anyway.

All around, the camera is a pretty solid wee thing, and doesn’t feel quite as toy-like as you might expect, though some may well disagree, given that you advance the film by winding it on like a disposable camera – something my cousin was quick to point out in mocking tones.

Half Frame

If you aren’t familiar with the concept of half-frame, it effectively allows you to squeeze two shots out of a single 35mm frame, by orienting them vertically, side-by-side. This was designed to be a cost-effective way to shoot film when it was first conceived, and has enjoyed something of a resurgence in popularity in recent years thanks to the rising price of both film and development.

If you are careful, you can be all artsy and deliberate about making sure to compose shots that will be complimentary to one another as a diptycht.

Alternatively, you can separate out the frames – and enjoy the extra mileage you get from every roll.

Most good labs will understand what half-frame is all about, and some will even offer the option to have the individual frames scanned separately – though this tends to come at an extra cost. I personally like having them kept as the Lord God Olympus intended, seeing what happy accidents come out in the wash – splitting off individual frames myself as appropriate. That gives me the best of all worlds, and is a bit cheaper… but to be honest, does also end up being quite tedious to work through.

In Practice

In terms of the actual experience of shooting… there isn’t a whole lot to say. The Pen W is beautiful in its simplicity. You select the aperture and shutter speed manually via rings on the front, which encircle the tiny lens. Choose the distance from your subject, frame via the viewfinder… and. Well. That’s it.

I was especially pleasantly surprised with the results from the first rolls I got back from Japan. These came out far better than I expected, including in some fairly challenging lighting situations.

Despite its obvious limitations, the Pen W is an incredibly charming wee thing. In many ways, it reminds me of the Lomo LC-A – with a comparable size, profile, and limited feature set. Truth be told, the lack of any automated exposure actually makes it much more reliable than the numerous LC-As I’ve had in the past, which were both fiddly, and always prone to flipping out right when I planned to use them.

Over the last couple of years, I have developed (pun intended?) a real fondness for this camera. It is tiny, quirky, and most importantly… a lot of fun to use. Because of this, I’ll often chuck it in my bag, or slip it into my pocket, taking it along to document everyday scenes from life that I wouldn’t otherwise capture, or think to preserve with a larger, more intrusive camera. It doesn’t feel intrusive or threatening, which in many ways lets it go places and be part of moments that other, more imposing devices would never be able to.

A conclusion, if you can call it that

So was it worth all of the toil and turmoil…? Spending hours trekking around Tokyo, searching through shelves filled with cameras? I mean, obviously. It wasn’t exactly a chore, and I would have enjoyed the process anyway – but I am glad I managed to actually find one in the end.

My particular model could definitely do with a CLA at some point mind you, as there were occasions were the film would slip off of the gears, resulting in some wild overlapping frames, but I kind of liked the unexpected results, and so I probably won’t bother putting it in for a service just yet.

A collection of photies