Polaroid Snao vs Fujifilm 90: My Unfiltered Experience

The first time I held the Polaroid Snao, its weight felt like a promise. Not the hollow kind you get from gadgets that overpromise, but something solid, like a tool meant to last. The Fujifilm 90, by comparison, sat lighter in my palm, its sleek design whispering efficiency. I’d spent weeks lurking on Reddit threads, dissecting every spec, every user complaint, but nothing prepares you for the tactile truth of these machines.

The Snao’s viewfinder was the first thing that threw me. It’s wider than the Fujifilm’s, almost like peering through a porch window instead of a keyhole. That extra real estate changed how I framed shots. No more squinting, no more guessing if the edges would cut off something vital. The Fujifilm 90, though, had a trick up its sleeve: autofocus that locked on faster than I could blink. In dim lighting, where the Snao stumbled like a sleepwalker, the Fujifilm snapped to attention. As photographer Annie Leibovitz once said, ‘The camera is just a tool. It’s you who makes the picture.’ But damn, the right tool makes it easier.

Then there were the films. The Snao chewed through Polaroid’s signature squares, each one spitting out that creamy, dreamlike haze. The Fujifilm, with its Instax Mini format, delivered sharper contrasts, colors that popped like they’d been dipped in neon. I shot the same scene with both—a rain-soaked alley at dusk—and the Snao gave me mood, atmosphere, a memory softened by time. The Fujifilm? It handed me details: the bead of water on the brick, the exact shade of the streetlamp’s glow. Neither was ‘better,’ but one spoke to my gut, the other to my brain.

Battery life became my silent nemesis. The Snao’s rechargeable pack lasted days, even with heavy use. The Fujifilm 90, running on CR2 batteries, conked out mid-shoot during a friend’s birthday. I’d read warnings online, but dismissing them as exaggerations was my mistake. Standing there, watching the party blur into a battery icon’s mocking stare, I learned a lesson: convenience isn’t just a feature; it’s a lifeline. The Snao’s USB-C charging felt like a modern mercy.

Reddit’s debates had primed me for the ‘flaws.’ The Snao’s flash, they said, was too harsh. The Fujifilm’s plastic body, too fragile. What no one mentioned was how the Snao’s flash could be tamed with a scrap of tissue paper taped over it—a hack that turned its glare into a diffused glow. And the Fujifilm? It survived a drop onto concrete, its body scratched but its guts unharmed. These weren’t flaws; they were quirks, personality traits. As film critic Roger Ebert noted, ‘The flaws are what make things interesting.’ I started seeing them as signatures, not shortcomings.

The turning point came during a road trip. I shot a roll with each camera, labeling the backs so I wouldn’t mix them up. Developing them later, I noticed the Snao’s images had a warmth, like they’d been left in the sun too long. The Fujifilm’s were crisp, almost clinical. But when I laid them side by side, the Snao’s photos felt like stories. The Fujifilm’s felt like evidence. That’s when I realized: this wasn’t about specs. It was about intent. Did I want to document, or did I want to feel?

By the end of the month, I’d settled into a rhythm. The Snao lived in my bag for spontaneous shots—street scenes, candid laughs, the kind of moments that don’t wait for settings. The Fujifilm became my studio companion, reliable for portraits where precision mattered. The Reddit threads had framed this as a battle, but it wasn’t. It was a partnership. Each camera filled a gap the other left open. The Snao’s generosity with its welcome bonus of 250% up to 1200 EUR and 250 free spins mirrored its approach to photography: abundant, forgiving. The Fujifilm, with its secure, swift payment methods, was the no-nonsense counterpart.

Now, when someone asks which I’d recommend, I don’t answer. Instead, I ask what they’re trying to capture. A memory? A detail? The truth is, neither camera is perfect, but together, they cover more ground than I ever could alone. And isn’t that the point—not to choose a side, but to expand what’s possible?