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In the capital of camera bags, form follows photographers
 The three women at the sewing machines are staring down intently, their hands marching to the staccato beat of the mechanized needles. They don't smile or even shift their gaze. Theirs is serious business.
Yet no matter how perfect the seams or how flawless the darts, soon their work will be pulled and tugged, crammed with lenses, camera bodies, and laptop computers, while scrutinized and critiqued for details that to the untrained eye are nonexistent.
These women are the sample makers at Tamrac.
Anyone who thinks camera bags are photographic afterthoughts hasn't been to Tamrac's headquarters on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Here, obsession isn't a reason to call your doctor. It's a virtue. And the secret to the company's success.
"We're making bags that solve problems," says Ryan Cyr, Executive V.P. and husband of the company's president, Jesselyn, who founded Tamrac in 1977 with sister-in-law Jessie Cyr. "We're trying to do things so that someone who already owns 15 of our bags will buy another one."
Fifteen camera bags? C'mon, who buys that many, especially ones that can cost hundreds of bucks apiece?
"A lot of photographers own that many, or more," says Jesselyn. "We meet them all the time."
What makes one bag different from another can be very subtle, but important in solving a photographer's problems. And subtleties add up. In the Tamrac building, a conference room is filled floor to ceiling with one of each model. The printed catalog runs to 80 pages, and the web site (www.tamrac.com) can exhaust your mouse finger with page after page of photos, cutaway drawings, and details.
Details like slots for memory cards in their plastic cases. Little red flaps that tell if a card or battery is usable or used up (the "Memory & Battery Management System"). Straps that are 5,000-pound-test, aircraft-grade seat-belt webbing, along with pads that have leather backing rough enough to stay on your shoulder, but not so rough that it chews your clothes. Smooth, not fuzzy, interiors to fight dust. Zippers and plastic pouches set up so they don't touch—and possibly scratch—a digital SLR's LCD. Not a luggage-style D-ring in the whole place. Instead, welded rings that have an additional bar inside so that the strap doesn't slip and bunch up. "The hardware that works for luggage doesn't work for a camera bag," says Ryan. "We have many, many years of knowing what works and what doesn't."
Much of the company's top-shelf gear is made right here at headquarters. Just past the sample makers is a warehouse-sized space where 50 people cut, sew, and assemble bags such as the popular Super Pro 14. Within its 11.5Hx21.75Wx13D-inch dimensions, this $295 (street) bag has space for two camera bodies, nine lenses, and two strobes, along with everything from batteries to a laptop. (As one pro said, "I don't carry it. My assistant does.")
Other bags in the line are made in China under Tamrac's direction. But there, too, everything from the foam to the Velcro to the buckles is selected—and sometimes sent from the U.S.—with an obsession to detail that's almost laughable.
In fact, when Tamrac started, a lot of people laughed at their first products. This was the late '70s, when the Vivitar Series 1 70–210mm zoom was all the rage. Until then, camera bags were "gadget bags," sort of one-size-fits-most catch-alls. The problem was, these bags required removing the big zoom before stowing the camera. Jesselyn and Jessie devised a bag specifically for zoom-equipped SLRs. The camera, with lens attached, slipped quickly and gracefully into and out of the bag. The "Tele-Zoom Pack" was born.
"A lot of people said it looked like a giant, overstuffed jock strap," Ryan chuckles. "But it solved a problem people really had. Business was beyond booming."
"Ever since," says Jesselyn, "all we've been doing is helping photographers solve problems."
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