Nine men stand inside a rope line at the Giro d’Italia, carrying between them perhaps forty thousand euros of equipment. Numbered tabards pulled over polo shirts. Lanyards with the organizer’s logo. Two bodies each, a long zoom hanging muzzle down at the hip, a Manfrotto tripod tube slung diagonally across the back. Every one of them is looking in roughly the same direction, and none of them is looking at the woman walking past the front of the frame in a black and white dress.

A man works a shopping street with a Nikon at his eye, a second body with a long zoom swinging at his hip, and his phone still clamped in his shooting hand. Nothing in the kit marks him as anything in particular. Half the people around him are carrying a phone that reaches further than his tele does, and all of them can publish before he gets back to a laptop.