The air on the Dumaguete Boulevard hung thick and warm, the kind that settles on your skin and forces you to slow down just enough to notice the details — the salt in the air, the rattle of tricycles, the constant movement of people along the seawall. It was my birthday, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend it: two cameras slung over my shoulders, Sofia beside me with her own camera, and my mum walking that stretch for the first time.
On the Fuji X-T5, I had the 23mm f/1.4 WR — one of my favourite lenses because of the way it renders. On the Nikon Z6III, the 35mm f/1.8 S, a lens that feels like it was cut from a block of machinery — clean, fast, efficient.
This wasn’t a studio test or a carefully staged shoot. This was real walking, real moments, real use. One camera would come up to the eye, then the other. No charts. No stopping to analyse. Just shooting — the way most photographers actually work.
With the Fuji, I felt involved in the process. The dials, the click of the aperture ring, the way that 23mm encourages you to move and compose with intention — it feels like a camera built to tell stories. The Nikon delivered a completely different kind of satisfaction. The 35mm snapped into focus, the camera made its decisions instantly, and the files came out clean and punchy. It gets out of your way by being precise.
Later, looking over the images, I didn’t find myself saying, “Full frame is clearly on another level.” Instead, I saw two distinct shooting experiences. The Fuji felt like a Jaguar E-Type — full of character, imperfect in a way that draws you in. The Nikon like a modern Ferrari — engineered power, everything refined and controlled.
Both made me want to keep shooting. But it confirmed something I’ve long suspected: in 2025, the real difference isn’t sensor size — it’s mindset.
“I didn’t come back from Dumaguete thinking full frame blew APS-C away. I came back thinking Fujifilm and Nikon know how to make cameras for photographers.”
Why This Comparison Matters (Beyond Specs)
Most comparisons like this are written with a simple outcome in mind — declare a winner. X beats Y, therefore you should buy X. It makes for easy headlines and neat conclusions, but it completely ignores the way photographers actually form relationships with their gear.
Yes, I’ll talk about autofocus behaviour, handling, lens feel and how each camera responds when you’re moving through real life with it — but reducing this to a scoreboard of feature checkboxes would miss the point entirely. A camera isn’t just a specification sheet. It’s a tool that shapes how you see, how you move, and how you react to a moment.
What I’ve learned using both systems side-by-side, not in a studio but out in places like Dumaguete, is that Fuji and Nikon don’t compete in the way the internet wants them to. They interact with you differently. They ask different things of you. They reward different instincts.
In my X-T5 review, I wrote about Fuji being a camera you operate with intent, where the process is part of the reward. In my early Z6III field notes, I said Nikon feels like a camera that disappears the moment you lift it — it just executes. Neither approach is wrong. But they lead you to different photographs, even when the subject is the same.
That’s why this isn’t a verdict piece. It’s a perspective piece. If you came here expecting a quick “just get the full frame” conclusion, this probably isn’t the article you thought it would be — and that’s exactly why I’ve written it.
A Quick Note on Specs (For the Pragmatic Shooters)
The Full Frame Promise: Where the Nikon Z6III Shines
Let’s give the Nikon its due. If there’s a camera designed to eliminate doubt, it’s the Z6III. There’s a certain clarity of purpose to it — the kind of quiet confidence that comes from a company that has spent decades building cameras for people who simply must not miss.
The moment I wrapped my hand around the grip, it felt familiar in a way that surprised me. It took me straight back to my Nikon D600 days, when a camera felt like a solid extension of your hand rather than something you had to constantly interpret. The Z6III carries that same DNA — dense without being heavy, balanced, reassuring. And that on/off switch — no one talks about it, but every Nikon shooter knows exactly why it matters. It’s the fastest, most natural control placement in the industry. Flip and go. No hesitation. No friction.
The 35mm f/1.8 S on the front only reinforces that feeling. It’s not romantic in the way the Fuji 23mm f/1.4 WR is — it’s disciplined. Focus is silent and instant. The files have that Nikon pop and clarity, the kind that makes images feel immediately finished without needing to massage them in post. Where the Fuji leans into character, the Nikon leans into certainty.
And then there’s the moment that shut me up completely.
I was messing around from my hotel balcony at night, half as a joke — just tracking trikes, scooters and cars as they cut through the pools of light under the street lamps, fully expecting to trip it up at least once. I couldn’t. The focus snapped on every time, no hesitation, no hunting. I glanced at the file info and thought, “That looks clean enough for ISO 6400.” Then I looked again. ISO 64,000 — and the frames at 12,800 were unbelievably clean.
I’m not a night shooter, but if I were, the Z6III would genuinely let me see in the dark.
This is what Nikon does better than almost anyone: it gets out of your way by being so capable that you stop thinking about the camera entirely. If your priority is never missing focus, never worrying about ISO, and trusting the camera to execute — then yes, the Z6III makes an incredibly strong case.
But that’s just one side of the story. Because photography isn’t only about getting it done — sometimes, it’s about feeling something while you’re doing it.
The Fuji Ethos: When the Camera Becomes Part of the Story
Switching back to the X-T5 after the Nikon is like stepping out of a performance machine and into something made to be driven for the joy of it. It’s lighter, more compact — not by a lot, but just enough to notice in the hand and on the shoulder — and it hangs there in a way that makes you keep walking even when you’re technically finished shooting.
With the Fuji, I’m not thinking about burst rates or tracking performance. I’m not worried about whether I’ve squeezed every drop of technical quality out of the files. I’m in storyteller mode. I’m looking for expression, for small gestures, for moments that feel real. I know the autofocus isn’t class-leading and that full frame will always have the spec advantage, but none of that crosses my mind while I’m shooting. The X-T5 makes me pay attention, not because it demands it, but because the dials, the aperture ring, the physical engagement pull me into the process.
The 23mm f/1.4 WR isn’t perfect either. Compared to the Nikon 35mm, it’s a little less clinical, a touch less immediate in focus, the rendering more organic and less punchy. But that’s exactly why I enjoy using it. There’s a personality to how it draws a scene — not better or worse, just different. A little more human.
With the Z6III, I feel like I can trust it to get the shot no matter what. With the X-T5, I feel like I’m part of making the shot happen. And that changes the entire rhythm of how I work. I move differently with it. I pay attention differently. I’m more deliberate, even when I’m shooting quickly.
With the Fuji, I embrace the imperfections the same way you do with that classic E-Type, because you know that when the motor starts and you get in the driver’s seat, the experience is going to be special.
Final Thoughts: Two Cameras, Two Ways of Seeing
I pick up the Z6III when I want a camera that just works — all the time, every time, no matter what I throw at it. There’s no scenario in my world that it can’t handle. Some days, I just want the most dependable, ergonomically refined camera I own, and for me that’s the Nikon Z6III and Z8. If I’m shooting professionally, or working on a project that needs low light performance, fast AF tracking or shallower depth of field, this is where Nikon shines. At this moment in time, I think the Z6III is the best enthusiast/pro-level full frame camera available.
I pick up the X-T5 for different reasons. It’s the camera I take for personal work, when I still want great image quality but in a lighter, more compact form. When I go out shooting for the sake of shooting — for fun, for personal projects, for the experience — that’s when Fuji makes the most sense. The retro styling disarms people, it gets more natural reactions, and the shooting experience locks me into storyteller mode.
I don’t ask it to track moving subjects, but I know it can. I’ve got it set up exactly how I like it, and because of that I barely ever touch the menus. It’s simple, confident and familiar.
Honestly, both cameras are incredible tools. If I could only have one, I’d be happy with either. The real question is simpler than people make it: Do you see more value in the experience of shooting, or in having the technically strongest tool in your hands?
Personally, I see the argument for owning both. In fact, combining Fuji and Nikon into a single kit might just be the ideal setup. They also happen to have my two favourite lens lineups of any system — not because they cover everything, but because every lens feels like it was designed with a photographer in mind, not a spec sheet. They’re two of the most photographer-centric systems available today — they just take different routes to get there.
If you’re looking for a more technical comparison of the two cameras, I’ll have a separate write-up for that — because this one was always meant to ask a different question.
I’m not interested in brand loyalty. I’m interested in cameras that make me want to go out and shoot. And right now, that means Fuji and Nikon, side by side.