Imagine two ghostly images drifting across a viewfinder, and when they finally meet—click—you’ve “nailed focus.” That’s a rangefinder camera, measuring distance not through the lens but by triangulating from a separate window, like judging how far someone is by the volume of their voice at a party. Early models forced you to squint through two separate windows, as if spying on someone who didn’t like you. The Leica II (Model D) of 1932 made the coupled rangefinder fashionable, and by 1936 the Contax II solved the two-window dilemma with Teutonic smugness, proving once again that efficiency can be a form of arrogance.

From the 1930s to the ’70s, rangefinders were everywhere: 35mm, massive press cameras, and everything in between. Fancy Leicas and Contaxes offered interchangeable lenses for those who liked explaining their taste in hardware at parties. In the U.S., the Argus C3, affectionately called “the Brick” and sold by weight alone, because Americans believe heft equals quality. Meanwhile, Japan quietly mass-produced compact, capable cameras that forced the Germans to rethink their prices, leaving everyone with a tiny, sharp lens and a bruised ego.

Digital rangefinders arrived in the 2000s, starting with the Epson R-D1 and followed by the Leica M8, devices so expensive they make used cars look like bargains. They can’t zoom, they stumble up close, and polarizers remain a guessing game, yet they’re perfect for sneaky street photography, letting you see the world beyond the frame while pretending you’re just window-shopping. Mirrorless cameras may have stolen their thunder, but rangefinders endure for the purists: those who believe how you take a photo is almost as important as the photo itself, and who wouldn’t mind lugging around a little philosophy with their gear.