Much of the world’s total supply of antique, vintage, or simply used film camera gear is at this point decades old. In fact, the newest film camera that I own, my Hasselblad 503CW, would this year (2021) be old enough to drink alcohol in my home state of Colorado (if it were a person), having been born manufactured back in 2000. And my oldest? It’s celebrating its 87th birthday this year. And much like their human counterparts, the years have not always been kind to film cameras. But like us, a little fashion advice (metaphorically speaking), or perhaps a minor little nip or tuck, can have some pleasing aesthetic results. Such is the case with refreshed leather (or leatherette) coverings.
Cameras, of course, have to be made of something. Depending on the era, type of camera, level of mass production, and so forth, that could be primarily wood, metal, Bakelite, thermoplastic — or even cardboard. Aesthetics have always counted for something (well, usually); if a camera was to be seen on the shelf of a camera store, and seem appealing to use and take home, it needed to look the part.
For decades, a key element of that aesthetic has been some sort of covering applied to all or part of the camera body, and those coverings have generally been either natural leather, or some sort of plastic simulated leather, know by the rather (in my view) stupid name “leatherette.” Occasionally, woven materials (fabrics) have been used, as has paper; the Argus C3, for example, has coverings made of a textured, coated paper — one that has not stood the test of time particularly well in most cases. All these materials (with the exception of Argus’ paper!) tend to be far better than choices than things like painted metal when it comes to scuffs and general wear from handling.
That said, after decades of life, coverings can still be quite worn, and moreover, adhesives of the early and mid 20th century, often formulated from wholly natural substances, can become brittle and lose their adhesion. And then there are the synthetic coverings of the 70s, 80s and 90s, many of which have become sticky or degraded in other ways.
Another factor is that these coverings were in most cases originally intended for easy removal and replacement during camera servicing. Every TLR I’ve encountered (Rolleiflex, Yashica, etc.) has the main screws in the camera body hidden under the leather(ette) coverings, so they must be removed in order to service the camera. And that Argus C3? Accessing the key mechanical components requires removing the front panel, secured by six screws — you guessed it — under the pesky paper “leatherette.” Unfortunately, because the coverings themselves have become brittle with age in many cases, they can be damaged or destroyed just by having a camera tech give the camera a good cleaning and adjustment.
That leaves many of us with the need or desire to replace the coverings, and a very small cottage industry has grown to support that.
The Choices
I’m quite certain that there are others, but I’m personally aware of only three sources of camera coverings:
- Camera Leather (.com) • Vermont, USA
Morgan, the owner, has been providing coverings for cameras for two decades, primarily catering to the professional repair market. The company provides a wide array of material types and colors, and has coverings for a range of cameras. More about them below. - Hugo Studio • Texas, USA
Hugo is one of the easiest to find vendors of camera coverings, since he sells via eBay (as well as direct), and thus tends to pop-up in web searches pretty easily. The company has a somewhat narrow selection of materials in my experience, but does provide coverings for an especially wide range of cameras. - Aki-Asahi • Japan
Rikuo has a fairly narrow selection of both materials and available coverings, but is also fairly well-known among professional camera repairpeople. I’ve not personally purchased any coverings from Aki-Asahi, but repairpeople I’ve spoken with speak highly of the product.
All of these vendors are listed with contact information in our Vendor Directory.
These companies all support a specific range of cameras and camera models for which they have developed specific cutting templates. Leather, synthetic and fabric materials in bulk form are cut to the templates by computer-guided plotter/cutters.
The resulting materials are adhesive-backed, and essentially are “peel and stick,” but more on the process below.
After re-covering six cameras and a pentaprism for my Exakta, I’ve gotten a feel for some of the issues. So before we get into the process or the results, let’s look at some of the decisions you need to make — or things you need to be aware of — before you consider replacements.
The Decisions
Originality
I’m a stickler for originality when it comes to vintage things of any kind, so that includes my cameras. My first preference would be not to replace the coverings at all if I can avoid it. But if they must be replaced, I generally want to try and retain as much originality as I can.
That’s easier said than done; for my Minolta XG-1, there simply were no coverings in anything remotely like the cushy foam that the camera came with (and I wouldn’t have wanted it if there were). But for my Rolleiflex? Authentic, natural black leather was a requirement.
Hugo Studio and Camera Leather both sell materials, textures and colors that are nothing like the originals on your camera, and many view this as an opportunity to bring some personality to their cameras. That’s the choice I ended-up making with my XG-1 (at least at first). But for my Rollei? I wanted it to be as original as possible.
Leather, or Leatherette?
If you want to remain original, determining whether the original is real leather or synthetic can sometimes be surprisingly challenging, since some of the synthetics are pretty convincing. Doing some web searches or consulting a copy of your original owner’s manual can sometimes reveal the type of material used.
Material Thickness
One of the issues I’ve discovered is that material thickness can be a challenge. The coverings provided by Hugo Studio, in particular, are fairly thick compared to the originals. Most original coverings are quite literally paper thin, and depending on the camera, overly thick material could be an issue, with the covering material projecting past body design features otherwise designed to conceal the edges of the coverings. You may be able to order material samples from vendors to make sure you’ve made a good choice, and they may be able to offer suggestions based on experience too.
In the images below, you can see how this works — or doesn’t.
Removal of Parts
Be mindful of the fact that in some cases, a covering replacement may require the removal of buttons, levers, knobs or other camera parts in order to have full access to remove the old coverings, and to position and apply the new ones. This requires proper tools, as well as general know-how, to do a satisfactory job. Be sure you’re comfortable, and have the tools, before you begin.
DIY or Not?
Which brings me to the next point — is this a DIY job, or not? I can’t tell you one way or the other, but even with a full complement of camera repair tools (jewelers’ screwdrivers, lens wrenches and spanners, etc.), and a general comfort digging into cameras, I found covering replacement to be somewhat intimidating. I’ll say more about it when I talk about the process, below. But I would highly, highly suggest proceeding with great caution, because if you end-up damaging something, it could be costly to rectify.
Many camera technicians can and will do this job for you, either with your materials, or sourcing them for you. If in doubt, find a repair shop and ask.
Branding
This is really to do with originality (see above), but many cameras have branding stamped into the coverings that, if you replace them, will be lost. Your opinion may vary, but I would feel a sense of loss if I had to replace the coverings on a Kodak Retina, a Zeiss Ikon of most any type, or any other camera that has brand names, model identifiers, or serial numbers stamped into its coverings. That alone would keep me from proceeding in replacements on such cameras.
Loss of Value
The value of any given classic camera is essentially equal to whatever someone is willing to pay for any specific example, at any specific time. But I would caution that a covering replacement could affect the value of your camera by making it wholly unappealing to buyers. Thoughtful, quality replacement of a covering with “like original” material will be unlikely to affect the value of your classic camera. Covering your vintage Rolleiflex in green alligator skin, however, is quite likely to alienate many a potential buyer — as would sloppy workmanship (badly aligned covering pieces, etc.) with even the best quality coverings.
Also, personally, I would never, ever buy a camera that had covering swaps that replaced the embossed, stamped original markings I described previously. A Kodak Retina without the script “Retina” on the back or the block lettered “Kodak” on the front door may suit you, but it’s a non-starter for many.
Partial or Complete Replacement
As you’ll read below, I don’t find it necessary to replace every single piece on a given camera, and initially, I did a partial replacement on my Rolleiflex, renewing only those panels that truly needed it. One key to that was choosing a material that not only was the right color (black), and type (leather), but the correct texture as well. I could make a case for either approach (complete or partial), but in the end, decide what’s right for you, and the situation at-hand. (With experience, I now favor a full replacement.)
The Process
The process at a high level is basically this:
- Remove any buttons, levers, trim, or other parts that obstruct the coverings in any way.
- Remove the existing coverings.
- Prepare the surface.
- Apply the new coverings.
I’ll explore these at a high level.
Removing Parts
As I said above, this is where some skill, experience and knowledge come into play where it applies. Some cameras — my Minolta XG-1 comes to mind — have no obstructions. Others, like my Rolleiflex Automat MX and my Yashica 44, required a number of parts removals. If you have zero experience working on cameras, and/or if you’re not equipped with the right tools, I wouldn’t suggest a DIY job with a valued (and/or valuable!) camera.
It goes without saying, but take photographs or make notes as to which parts go where, which fasteners go with which parts, etc. It’s easier than you think to mix things up and end-up damaging something, stripping threads, and so on.
Removing Coverings
Removing the existing coverings can be a labor-intensive job that will work your last nerve — or can be dirt simple. More modern cameras like my Minolta XG-1 had original coverings that were, like most replacements, self-adhesive, and the coverings simply peeled-off with relative ease.
The original Rolleiflex coverings were a completely different story. The leather on these and many other older cameras was glued down with a type of shellac, and while it can come loose from age on its own, it’s actually just as likely that it doesn’t want to give-up at all easily.
On my camera it was some of both, but overall, it required great care to get the coverings off, and the underlying body parts looked a mess because it was impossible to remove them without scratching the heck out of the body. I wasn’t proud of that, but using a solvent really isn’t possible — it can leak into gaps in the body (visible in the photo below) and damage the internals of the camera — but beyond that, no solvent I know of (or tried) would dissolve the shellac anyway.
I would also recommend being mindful of voids in the camera body where bits and specks of stuff can enter and cause issues. The frame counter on my Rolleiflex being an example. Tape those off with masking tape while working.
The Yashica 44 was worse still. Its coverings were brittle, almost like a thin sheet of very hard sugar candy. The largest chunk that came off was quite small, roughly a centimeter square, and most of it had to be chiseled off, disintegrating into very fine bits. It was time-consuming, messy, difficult, frustrating and at times absolutely maddening to do it without damaging areas of the camera outside the covered areas. In fact, I scratched a painted part of the camera quite badly with an errant tool edge in the process — not ideal.
Surface Preparation
For the new coverings to adhere, you do need to make sure the surface is fully prepped and ready. Start by vacuuming or forced-air blowing the specks of dust and debris from the covering removal process. Next, give it a good damp clean, but carefully…
The camera tech’s preferred solvent for many things is naphtha, a petroleum distillate, and it makes a good choice for a good cleaning of the surface. Use adequate ventilation, and appropriate gloves to protect your skin. A cotton wool pad or something similar, lightly dipped in naphtha, can then be rubbed carefully on the surface. Don’t soak the cotton wool or rag; excess can seep into voids in the body and cause damage. As I implied above, don’t expect the naphtha (or anything else) to remove all traces of old shellac if your camera used it; it won’t.
Applying New Coverings
There are two basic strategies for applying new coverings: wet, and dry.
It seems counterintuitive for self-adhesive products, but a wet process essentially uses a liquid to enable repositioning while working, followed by a lengthy drying process. This is common for applying decals in the sign and automotive industries; a surfactant is sprayed lightly on the surface of the item being covered (often a mild detergent solution), the decals are peeled and set onto the wet surface, where they can be freely repositioned. Once in-place, a squeegee is used to coax the liquid out from under the vinyl decal, and allows removal of bubbles along the way. The decal is then allowed to cure for 24 hours or more before being subjected to use.
A similar technique can be used with camera coverings, but only in a limited and careful fashion. Regular rubbing alcohol can be used, although it tends to dry quickly, thus you have to work quickly. Strangely enough, saliva — yes, spit — can be used as well. And while I’ve not tried it personally, I’m certain a tiny amount of vinyl decal application fluid could be used too. Regardless of the fluid, it allows time to get the covering piece in-place without issue before working as much liquid as possible out from under the piece, then allowing it to fully dry out.
CAUTION: As with the cleaning, TLRs and many other cameras have panel gaps, seams, and other places where liquids can easily penetrate and cause damage. If you use a wet technique, exercise extreme caution, and do not use excessive amounts of liquid.
For that and other reasons, I prefer a dry technique, which involves test-fitting the pieces with backing paper still in-place, understanding how a piece fits, where tight tolerances exist, and where I have to work under a lever or other camera component — again, all before removing any of the adhesive backing. I then start on whichever side, end or corner is most obstructed, or most challenging, peeling back just enough of the covering to expose the adhesive in that area. After the peel-back, I crease the backing paper (I do not cut it off!) with the edge of a craft knife so it’s out of the way. I can then work that area into place, while ensuring that other edges land where they need to on the camera body.
Then, and only then, I lightly press the part of the covering piece with the exposed adhesive to the camera body. I then lift the piece still covered by its backing paper, grab the paper, and slowly work my way to the other side of the covering, lightly pressing as I go — always ensuring that the piece remains in the correct alignment on the parts of the covering where the adhesive is not yet exposed. The materials have some “give” so if things begin to get out of alignment, you can correct it easily. But, it’s critical to be as accurate as possible for best results.
If there are obstructions, I often lift and cut the backing paper, then press it back down onto the covering, so that I can work in sections. This is challenging sometimes when it comes to maintaining the alignment of the piece to the body.
Patience is critical. If you mis-position a piece, you can usually get it back up if you’ve not pressed it all way down. If a piece gets stuck more firmly, and you need to lift it back up, apply light heat from a handheld hair dryer or paint stripping gun. You can use a dryer or heat gun as well if you find a piece isn’t perfectly aligned after application; it’ll soften the adhesive enough to shift it slightly. Be careful; if it’s hot enough to be too hot to touch, then it’s too much heat, and you can damage the covering piece, the camera — or both! (Not to mention burning your fingers!)
To ensure that edges are adhered tightly, I use a plastic spudger tool — often part of automatic panel removal tool sets, among other uses — to gently press down the very edges firmly. A plastic burnisher tool used in graphic arts can be used, or indeed any firm, soft-edged tool with a smooth surface.
Once in-place in the desired, accurate position, I press the coverings down firmly all around to ensure good adhesion. You still need to be careful with the freshly-covered camera; the adhesive does require a bit of curing time to get full adhesion. I generally give it a good week or so just to be safe before handling the camera very much.
NOTE: Morgan at Camera Leather also sells his coverings without adhesive if you prefer to stick it down with shellac like the old days. That’s a level of authenticity I’ve not felt compelled to go to, at least so far.
The Results
What follows are a few images of cameras (and camera parts) from my collection where I’ve replaced the coverings. As this article is published, I’ve not had a chance to take “glamour shots” of all of them I’ve done, so I’ll add more over time. All coverings shown here were sourced from Camera Leather; see the list at the beginning of this article.
