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Solo travel vlogging is hard
Solo travel vlogging means filming yourself while traveling alone — no crew, no second operator. The core challenges are public self-consciousness, gear fatigue, bad audio, and loneliness. The fixes: a 3-item minimalist kit, the “Invisible Vlogger” mindset, and designating no-film days to prevent burnout.
I was standing in a crowded market in Lisbon, camera in hand, completely paralyzed.
Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was right — color, chaos, light — and I had no idea how to film it without looking like a weirdo tourist waving a rig around.
A woman caught me hesitating and gave me a look. You know the look.
I lowered the camera. Bought a pastel de nata. Felt sorry for myself for about four minutes.
That afternoon ended up producing some of the best footage of the whole trip. Not because I figured out the right settings. Because I stopped treating the camera like a performance device and started treating it like a quiet companion.
This guide is about that friction — the awkwardness, the fatigue, the loneliness of filming alone — and how to push through it so what ends up in the edit is actually worth watching.
Why Solo Travel Vlogging Is Harder Than Anyone Tells You
Solo travel vlogging fails for three reasons: public self-consciousness, gear fatigue, and the loneliness spiral. None of these are solved by a better lens.
Search “solo travel vlogging tips” right now. You’ll find fourteen articles with the same structure: get a good camera, use a tripod, edit in Premiere. Thanks. Very helpful.
What those articles skip is the actual experience of doing this alone. When you’re solo, you’re the director, the DP, the sound person, the on-screen talent, the logistics coordinator, and also the person who just missed a bus and is now standing in the rain in Porto trying to figure out if the footage from this morning is still dry.
The awkwardness comes from a misunderstanding about what you’re doing. Most new solo vloggers treat filming like a performance — something they’re putting on for an imaginary audience. That’s backwards. The best travel content isn’t performance; it’s documentation. You’re not on stage. You’re just paying closer attention than everyone else.
The gear fatigue comes from packing for the YouTube channel you want instead of the trip you’re actually taking. Full-frame mirrorless cameras are incredible. They’re also approximately the size and weight of a brick when you’re hiking uphill in August.
The loneliness is quiet and it sneaks up on you. You’ve got stunning footage. You have nobody to share the moment with. You start to wonder what the point is. The camera starts to feel like a barrier between you and the place you came to experience.
The Production Reality: During a rainy, high-humidity stretch in Thailand, I packed the camera away for two straight days. Condensation fogged the internal optics. Sweat drenched the gear. Battery drain from extreme heat killed my spares by noon. Between all that and total creative burnout from trying to film every single meal and walk, I seriously considered leaving the camera in the hotel room for the rest of the journey. The gear wasn’t the problem. The expectation that I needed to film everything was.
The Invisible Vlogger Mindset (How to Stop Feeling Weird)
The goal isn’t to disappear. It’s to stop broadcasting “I am filming a thing” with your entire body. A small camera held loosely at chest height reads as “person checking their phone,” not “content creator.”
The reframe clicked for me on a cold, overcast morning in Reykjavik.
I was standing by the harbor near the Harpa Concert Hall at sunrise, running a test of my camera setup before the crowds arrived. Just checking audio levels, frame lines, lighting. Locals and early tourists kept walking past. Every time someone entered the frame, I’d stop, reset, adjust the angle. Stiff shoulders. Unnatural eye movement. Visibly waiting for passersby to clear out.
Then I watched back a 10-second test clip on the monitor right there in the wind.
I looked ridiculous. Not because the framing was bad. Because I was clearly performing — managing the environment instead of existing in it. My body language screamed “I am making a video” louder than anything I was saying.
The breakthrough took three or four takes. I stopped treating the rig like a lens pointing at me and started treating it like a static, quiet observer sitting on the bench next to me while I just spoke my thoughts out loud. The camera became furniture. The footage became usable.
Here’s what that looks like in practice:
Stop announcing the camera. When you lift a giant rig to your face and hold it there, you become a spectacle. When you hold a small camera loosely at chest height and half-glance at it, you look like someone checking their phone. That’s the energy you want.
Use warm-up takes. Before you film anything you plan to actually use, record a throwaway take. Talk about what you had for breakfast. Describe the weather. It sounds dumb. It works. By the time you’re into the third or fourth sentence, your body has forgotten it’s performing.
Put a sticker near your lens. A small smiley face, a little dot of colored tape — anything that gives you something to “talk to” instead of a cold glass eye. Again: sounds dumb. Try it once. You’ll keep doing it.
Treat the camera like a friend, not an audience. This matters most when you’re fighting loneliness on the road. Narrating to the camera as if you’re leaving a voice memo for someone you trust changes the whole energy of the footage. On a solo drive through the Pacific Northwest coast, I recorded two versions of the same piece-to-camera. The first was a tripod setup near the coastline where I used a bright, exaggerated “vlogger voice,” projecting toward a hypothetical audience. It felt performative, hollow, and visibly strained. The second was unscripted, recorded late at night inside the rental car while pulled over during heavy rain. Just speaking low into a small mic, treating the camera like a personal log entry. The difference on playback was night and day. One was a broadcast. The other was a confession.
The Common Beginner Mistake: The most common trap isn’t gear — it’s believing you need to “perform” for the camera. New vloggers waste hours trying to manage their environment: waiting for crowds to clear, re-shooting because a stranger glanced at them, tweaking angles to avoid “looking weird.” I once backed up slowly to check framing in a narrow alleyway in Tokyo, tripped over my own camera bag, and completely wiped out onto the pavement in front of a group of quiet commuters. I had to pick up scattered gear, apologize profusely in broken Japanese, and shuffle off. The lesson: the people around you are not watching. They’re living their own lives. The only person worried about how you look is you.
The 3-Item Minimalist Kit (What I Actually Pack)
The best solo travel vlogging kit is three items: a small camera you’ll actually carry, a wireless mic, and a portable SSD. Total weight: under 2 lbs. Anything beyond this is weight you’ll resent by day three.
Gear advice tends toward maximalism because more gear = more affiliate links = more income for whoever’s writing the list. I’ll try to be different.
If you want the fuller breakdown of how these three items map onto the six actual jobs of a travel kit — image, sound, stabilization, power, storage, protection — I’ve written that separately in the minimal travel filmmaking gear guide. For solo travel specifically, here’s what actually matters. Three categories. That’s it.
1. The Camera: Go Small, Go Discreet
The best camera for solo travel vlogging isn’t the one with the biggest sensor. It’s the one you’ll actually carry every single day without resenting it.
The DJI Osmo Pocket 3 is what I use. It fits in a jeans pocket. Not a jacket pocket — a jeans pocket. Built-in 3-axis gimbal, so footage is smooth even when you’re walking fast through a train station. The 1-inch sensor handles low light better than any action camera has a right to. Flip touchscreen means self-filming is dead simple. Face-tracking autofocus means you can set it on a ledge and walk away confident it’ll stay on you.
Best for: Solo vloggers who want stable footage without a gimbal setup, and who value portability above all else.
Honest drawback: The small sensor limits depth-of-field. You’re not getting that blurred-background look. And it’s around $500.
Who should NOT buy this: If you need shallow depth-of-field for narrative work, or if your primary use is low-light interiors, this isn’t your camera. Also skip it if you’re comfortable with a smartphone and don’t need the stabilization.
Real production use case: Walking shots through markets, train stations, and narrow streets where a larger rig would draw attention.
Budget alternative: Your smartphone with a quality wide-angle clip-on lens. Genuinely gets you 80% of the way there for a fraction of the cost.
If you want to go the smartphone route, I’ve laid out the full workflow in the smartphone and gimbal vlogging guide. It’s the same principle: small camera, good audio, actually carry it.
What about mirrorless cameras? If you want the image quality of something like a Sony ZV-E10 II or a Canon EOS R50 V, go for it. Both are excellent and genuinely vlogger-designed. Just be honest with yourself about whether you’ll lug it out every day. The best travel vlogging gear is the gear that doesn’t stay in the hotel room.
2. Audio: Save Your Sound Before Wind Destroys It
Bad audio kills good footage. This is not an opinion. It is physics.
Wind noise, crowd noise, distance from your camera — any of these will make an otherwise excellent clip unwatchable. External audio is the single biggest upgrade most solo vloggers skip because they don’t notice the problem until they’re in the edit, three weeks after the trip.
The DJI Mic 2 is what I pack. Wireless system with a tiny transmitter that clips to your collar and a receiver that plugs into your camera or phone. Built-in noise cancellation handles wind better than any standard on-camera mic I’ve used. Because it’s wireless, you can set the camera up at distance and still capture clean audio.
Best for: Solo vloggers who film pieces-to-camera outdoors and need clean dialogue without a cable running to the camera.
Honest drawback: The charging case is bulky. The transmitter is easy to lose. It’s around $250.
Who should NOT buy this: If you’re filming primarily indoors in controlled environments, a wired lav is cheaper and just as effective. If you won’t manage a second charging case and keep track of a tiny transmitter, skip it.
Real production use case: Walking-and-talking segments, market footage, any outdoor piece-to-camera.
Budget alternative: There are several solid wired and wireless options under $150 that handle wind better than you’d expect. I’ve tested and ranked them in the budget wireless lav mics guide— worth reading before you spend $250 on the DJI.
I learned the hard way on the coast of Croatia that wind protection isn’t optional. I shot an entire afternoon of piece-to-camera commentary without realizing my deadcat wind muff had slipped off the lavalier mic inside my jacket pocket. Every single take was clipped out by low-frequency wind rumble. Hours of dialogue, completely unusable in post.
The rule: whatever you use, use something. Your camera’s built-in mic is a last resort, not a plan.
3. Storage: Don’t Lose Your Footage. Seriously.
You will not think about this until the moment you need it. Then you’ll think about nothing else.
Hard drives fail. Memory cards get corrupted. Laptops get stolen. I have been on trips where every one of those things happened to someone in the same hostel. Backing up your footage is not optional; it’s the single most important piece of “editing” you can do in the field.
The SanDisk Extreme Portable SSD is what I use. About the size of a credit card. IP55-rated, meaning dust and water resistant to a degree that actually matters when you’re out in the world. Transfer speeds are fast enough that backing up a day’s footage takes a few minutes, not a frustrating half-hour before bed.
Best for: Anyone shooting more than a day’s worth of footage on a trip. Which is everyone.
Honest drawback: The larger capacities aren’t cheap (2TB runs around $150), and “portable SSD” still means one more thing in your bag.
Who should NOT buy this: If you’re doing day trips only and can offload footage to a laptop every night, a high-capacity SD card and a second card as backup is sufficient.
Real production use case: Nightly backups. Every night. Not when you remember. Every night.
Budget alternative: Any reliable portable SSD. The principle matters more than the brand.
The Budget Reality: I once bought a heavy, oversized motorized slider for a trip to Italy. Seemed like a great idea for smooth, cinematic solo movements. The reality: it weighed a ton, took 20 minutes to set up for a 5-second clip, needed extra batteries, and drew exactly the kind of attention I was trying to avoid. I used it twice, realized the setup-to-payoff ratio was absurd, and left it sitting in a closet at home on every single trip since. If you’re considering a piece of gear that requires significant setup time, ask yourself: will I actually use this more than twice? If the answer is uncertain, rent it first. Or skip it entirely. If you want to see how the full travel kit fits together when it is worth carrying, the travel filmmaking gear guide breaks it down by scenario.
How Do I Film Myself While Traveling Solo Without a Cameraman?
You can film yourself solo by using the “set-it-and-walk-past” technique, AI-tracking gimbals like the DJI Pocket 3, or flexible tripods to turn the environment into your camera crew. No human required.
The “set it and walk past it” technique is the most underrated tool in solo vlogging. Place your camera on a stable surface — a wall ledge, a café table, a fence post — start recording, then walk into frame and do the thing. Walk away. Come back and get the camera. Repeat until you have coverage of yourself actually moving through the world instead of just talking at a lens.
If you do a lot of this kind of self-blocking on trails or in terrain where you can’t easily reset, I’ve written a more focused breakdown in the solo hiking filming guide — same principle, different environment, with safety considerations that matter when you’re miles from a road.
For moving shots, a flexible tripod works surprisingly well. Joby’s GorillaPods can wrap around a backpack strap, a railing, a branch. You set the framing, hit record, and move. The footage won’t always be perfect. Perfect footage of you standing still is worse.
Remote shutters and Bluetooth triggers mean you can start and stop recording from a distance. Most modern cameras, including smartphones, support this. It costs almost nothing and it removes the awkward “walk to the camera, check if it’s recording, walk back” ritual that makes you look like you’re defusing a bomb.
What Audiences Actually Feel: I once set up a locked-off wide shot on a street corner in Edinburgh, Scotland. Slapped the camera down on a stone wall, hit record, and walked across the street to buy a coffee — fully intending to grab 15 seconds of generic ambient B-roll. While I was away, thick morning fog rolled down the street and a local walking two dogs stepped right through the center frame in perfect silhouette. It ended up being the hero opening shot of the entire edit. Here’s the part I don’t recommend copying: I left $2,000+ of gear sitting unattended on a wet stone wall in a European city. The café window had line-of-sight, but it was a calculated and slightly reckless gamble. The technique works. The risk is real. Walk away from your camera in public and you will feel your heart rate spike. That’s the trade-off.
Filming Etiquette: Do I Need Permission to Film Locals?
In most public spaces, filming is legal. But legal and ethical aren’t the same thing. If someone is clearly the subject of your frame — close-up, identifiable — ask first. Always.
The working principle I use: if someone is the incidental background of a wide shot, you’re generally fine. If someone is clearly the subject of your frame — close-up, identifiable, doing something private or religious or vulnerable — ask first.
For featured moments — someone teaching you something, a vendor showing you their craft, a stranger whose story you want to tell — a simple, friendly ask takes fifteen seconds and prevents problems that can last much longer. If the exchange is going to end up in the final edit, I try to get some form of acknowledgment on camera. It doesn’t need to be a signed form; it just needs to be clear.
I learned this the direct way inside a historic covered bazaar in Istanbul. A merchant stepped directly into the lens path, waved his hand over the optic, and firmly let me know that handheld cameras weren’t welcome near his textile booth without permission. I apologized, powered down the rig immediately, put it into my shoulder bag, and ended up having a great ten-minute unrecorded conversation with him about his shop instead. The lesson wasn’t just about asking first. It was about de-escalation and radical respect for local boundaries. The second a vendor or local expresses discomfort, you immediately power down, lower the camera, and treat them as a human being rather than a visual obstacle. Transitioning from “annoying tourist with a lens” to a genuine conversation over tea or textiles is the real win.
If you want the full framework — when to ask, how to ask, how to handle a “no,” how to think about consent across different cultures — I’ve written a much deeper treatment in the ethics in travel filmmaking guide. This section is the solo-travel-specific version. That one is the complete one.
For music: don’t use commercial tracks. Just don’t. Use royalty-free music. The licensing is worth it, especially once you start monetizing. Getting a video taken down because of a copyright strike is demoralizing in a way that’s hard to describe until it happens to you.
How to Overcome Camera Shyness in Public
To overcome camera shyness while vlogging, use warm-up takes before every session, switch to a smaller camera, and reframe the exercise: you’re not performing for an audience, you’re leaving a voice memo for yourself.
Camera shyness is almost never actually about the camera. It’s about feeling observed and judged, usually by people who aren’t paying nearly as much attention to you as you think.
The warm-up take works. Narrating throwaway content before you film anything you plan to use gets your body used to the rhythm of speaking to a lens. After a few minutes, it stops feeling like performance.
The “treat it like a voice memo” reframe also helps. You’re not filming for subscribers. You’re leaving a note for yourself about what this place felt like. That context change drops the stakes enough that your body relaxes.
The size-of-camera effect is real and underestimated. A phone gets almost no attention. The DJI Pocket 3 gets a glance and nothing more. A large mirrorless camera with a mounted microphone and a flip screen attracts stares. If camera shyness is your main challenge, this is a strong argument for the minimalist kit approach — not because the image quality is better, but because the social friction is dramatically lower.
One more option if you want to practice the same skills closer to home: the hometown vlogging guide applies the same invisibility and self-filming principles to your own city. Low stakes. No language barrier. Same camera shyness to get over.
How to Balance Vlogging and Actually Enjoying Your Trip
Balance vlogging and travel by designating specific “film days” and “no-film days” before you leave home — not as you go, when fatigue will always win.
This one trips people up constantly, and there’s a simple fix that almost nobody talks about: designate film days and experience days.
Not every day needs to be content. Some days you’re just traveling. You’re tired, the light is bad, the location isn’t visually interesting, or you simply need to be somewhere without a camera in your face. Those days make you a more sustainable creator. They also often lead to better content, because you return to filming refreshed instead of burned out.
The concept of “No-Film Days” sounds counterintuitive when you’re trying to build a channel. It isn’t. Burnout is the leading reason travel vloggers quit, and burnout comes from treating every moment of the trip as raw material to be processed rather than a life to be lived.
The second fix: build “explore time” into your schedule. Blocks with no agenda. No shot list. Just wandering. Some of the best solo travel video I’ve ever captured came from afternoons where I had no plan and just followed whatever was interesting.
The Production Reality: In Thailand, I ignored my own advice. I tried to film every meal, every walk, every temple visit. By day four, the camera felt like a punishment. I packed it away for two days and seriously considered leaving it in the hotel. The footage I did get on the days I was rested and actually present was better than anything from the days I forced it. No-Film Days aren’t a compromise. They’re a production strategy.
What to Do If You Feel Lonely While Solo Vlogging
Say it plainly: solo travel is sometimes lonely. The camera-as-companion framing helps, but it’s not a substitute for human contact. The fix is structure: build social interaction into your trip schedule.
Not all the time, not even most of the time — but sometimes, especially mid-trip, when the novelty has worn off and you haven’t had a real conversation in two days, it hits.
The camera-as-companion framing helps. It genuinely does. Narrating to the lens keeps you engaged with your environment rather than stuck in your own head. But let’s be honest: narrating your lunch to a lens is not a substitute for human contact.
Here are the fixes that actually move the needle.
The Social Hack: Book a photography or walking tour on day three.
Not day one, when everything is still exciting. Day three, when the solo novelty has started to wear. A photography tour gives you permission to have your camera out in a group setting. You’re not the weird solo person filming in public anymore — you’re a participant in a shared activity. You’re around humans. You have a reason to talk. And the tour guide will often take you somewhere genuinely interesting that wasn’t on your shot list.
It doesn’t have to be expensive. Free walking tours exist in almost every major city. The point isn’t the tour. The point is the structure — a reason to be somewhere with other people at a specific time.
The “Send It” Trick: When you get a good shot — really good, the kind that makes you wish someone was standing next to you to share it — post it immediately. A story, a Reel clip, a message to your community. Engagement that comes back in the next hour is a real dopamine hit, and it breaks the silence more effectively than staring at the footage alone.
Build an online community before you travel. Not during. If you’ve got people who genuinely follow your work and talk back, you’re never completely alone on a trip. You’re filing dispatches for an audience that’s waiting. That changes the psychological experience of solo vlogging more than any gear decision ever will.
AI Post-Production: What’s Actually Useful in 2026
AI tools are useful for speed cuts, auto-captions, and subject tracking. They’re not useful for narrative. Use them for efficiency. Keep the storytelling human.
AI-powered editing tools have gotten genuinely good, and for solo travel vloggers working without a post-production team, they solve real problems.
Subject tracking has been a game-changer for self-filming. AI tracking gimbals like the DJI Osmo Mobile 7P can follow you through a frame automatically, which removes the need for a human camera operator. You set it up, you move through the world, the gimbal tracks you. The footage isn’t always perfect, but it’s usable — and usable beats perfect footage you never got.
Auto-editing tools significantly reduce the time between raw footage and a publishable cut. If you’re editing on the road — which I sometimes do, especially for shorter Reels and Shorts content — these tools are the difference between posting consistently and burning out trying to polish everything on a 13-inch laptop screen in a hostel common room.
One honest caveat: AI tools are good at speed cuts and basic assembly. They’re not good at narrative. They won’t tell you which shot carries emotional weight. They won’t build the arc that makes your audience actually care what happens next. Use the tools for efficiency. Keep the storytelling human.
The Part Everyone Skips: Narrative Arc
Every vlog worth watching follows a three-part structure: Beginning (the goal), Middle (the struggle), End (the reflection). Gear guides skip this section. It’s the whole game.
Gear guides are popular because gear is concrete. Story structure is abstract and harder to teach. So most articles skip it.
Don’t skip it. If you want the longer version of this argument — including how to shoot a story instead of a slideshow — the creative travel filmmaking guide goes deeper on story craft than I can in a single section here.
Beginning — The Goal or Anticipation. What are you trying to do, find, experience, or understand? Give viewers something to root for. It doesn’t need to be an explicit announcement; it can be a location, a question, a mood. But there has to be something pulling the viewer forward. The Lisbon market story that opens this article is a beginning: I’m standing in a place I want to capture, and I’m failing. That’s a goal and an obstacle in three sentences.
Middle — The Struggle or Experience. This is where most vlogs are weak. The tendency is to show the highlights — the beautiful shots, the moments that went right. But what people actually want to watch is the friction. The missed train. The wrong turn that became the best part of the day. The meal that was genuinely bad. The wiped-out-in-Tokyo moment. Authentic storytelling means including the mess.
End — The Reflection. You don’t need a big philosophical conclusion. But you need something that lands. A single line about what changed. A final image that closes the visual loop. A moment that gives the experience meaning beyond “here is footage I took.”
This structure is the difference between a travel montage and a travel story. Both have an audience. One builds a community.
Gear Safety: Is It Safe to Carry This Stuff?
Yes — if you’re smart about it. Visible expensive gear makes you a target. The solution isn’t to leave the gear at home; it’s to stop advertising it.
The obvious problem: visible expensive gear makes you a target. The solution isn’t to leave the gear at home; it’s to stop advertising it.
A non-camera-looking backpack is the first line of defense. Lockable zippers, cut-proof straps, RFID blocking — none of which is sexy but all of which is useful when you’re in a busy market or a crowded transit hub. The key feature is that it doesn’t look like a camera bag. No giant branding. No lens pockets visible from the outside.
Beyond the bag: don’t leave memory cards in the camera when you’re not filming. Don’t film visibly in areas where you feel uncertain about the environment. Your instincts on this are usually right — if something feels off, it probably is. No shot is worth the rest of the trip.
Key Takeaways
Three problems kill solo travel vlogs: public awkwardness, gear fatigue, and loneliness. None are solved by a better lens.
The 3-item kit: one camera you’ll actually carry, one wireless mic, one portable SSD. Back up every night.
The Invisible Vlogger mindset: stop performing. The camera is a quiet companion, not an audience.
No-Film Days are a production strategy, not a compromise. Burnout kills more channels than bad footage.
Story structure matters more than gear. Beginning, middle, end. The mess is the middle.
FAQ
What's the best camera for solo travel vlogging?
The DJI Osmo Pocket 3 for most people — it’s pocketable, stabilized, and has a flip screen for self-filming. If budget is tight, a smartphone with a clip-on wide lens works. If you need shallow depth-of-field, a mirrorless like the Sony ZV-E10 II. But the best camera is the one you’ll actually carry every day.
Do I need permission to film people while traveling?
In public spaces, generally no. But if someone is clearly the subject of your frame — close-up, identifiable — ask first. If they say stop, stop immediately. Legal and ethical aren’t the same thing.
How do I overcome camera shyness while vlogging in public?
Warm-up takes. Record throwaway content before the real thing. Use a smaller camera. Reframe it as leaving a voice memo for yourself, not performing for an audience. After three or four minutes, your body stops caring.
How do I balance vlogging with actually enjoying my trip?
Designate film days and no-film days before you leave home. Not every moment needs to be content. Burnout is the leading reason travel vloggers quit. Rest days produce better footage than forced days.
What if I feel lonely while solo vlogging?
The camera-as-companion framing helps, but it’s not a substitute for human contact. Book a photography or walking tour on day three. Post footage immediately for engagement. Build an online community before you travel.
Conclusion
Solo travel vlogging is the practice of documenting your journey alone — filming yourself, managing your own gear, and telling a story without a crew. The technical side is simpler than most guides suggest: a small camera, a wireless mic, a portable SSD. The hard part is everything else.
The production reality is that solo vlogging is psychologically demanding. You will feel awkward. You will get tired of carrying gear. You will have moments where the camera feels like a barrier instead of a bridge. The vloggers who last aren’t the ones with the best equipment. They’re the ones who learned to treat the camera as a quiet companion, not a performance device.
If you’re just starting: pick three pieces of gear, book a trip, and film badly. The first few attempts will be rough. That’s fine. The second one will be better. If you’ve already made the mistake of overpacking or overperforming: strip the kit down, leave the extra gear at home, and try one no-film day. The footage you get when you’re actually present will be better than anything you forced. The camera isn’t the point. The experience is. The camera is just how you bring others along.
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About the Author
Trent Peek is a filmmaker, writer, and producer based in Victoria, BC, and the founder of PeekAtThis.com. His production credits include set decoration on Netflix’s Maid, and writing/directing Going Home (2024 Soho International Film Festival) and Noelle’s Package (48-hour festival winner, shot on smartphone). He’s also a former President of Cinevic, Victoria’s Society of Independent Filmmakers, and works as a doorman at a four-star hotel — a job that’s taught him as much about reading people under pressure as any film set has.
When he’s not writing articles, testing gear, or working on film projects, Trent enjoys traveling, reading, exploring new technology, and developing future film ideas — many of which may never leave the notebook stage.
P.S. Writing in the third person still feels weird.
Trent recently appeared on the Pushin Podcast — listen to the full episode — where he discussed independent filmmaking, directing actors, production challenges, and lessons learned from working in film.
