Canon’s RF Mount Fortress: A Wall Against Photographers, Built on Sand
Canon’s decision to lock down the RF mount wasn’t a bold strategic vision—it was a slap in the face to photographers who expected choice, competition, and creativity. What Canon built wasn’t an ecosystem but a prison, where the bars are inflated lens prices and the key is withheld from third-party makers who could have made the system vibrant. The company may parade its market share numbers in 2025, but those victories rest on a foundation of sand: inertia from its DSLR past, brand loyalty stretched thin, and customers trapped rather than inspired.
The anger that erupted when Canon shut Sigma and Viltrox out of RF autofocus wasn’t misplaced whining—it was a warning flare. Photographers saw through the move immediately. This wasn’t about protecting quality or ensuring reliability; it was about ensuring that Canon could charge $2,299 for a 50mm f/1.2L without anyone daring to offer an equally sharp, half-priced alternative. On Sony E-mount, the Sigma 85mm f/1.4 DN Art delivered pro-level performance for $1,300 next to Sony’s $1,950 GM lens. Canon shooters never got that choice. Instead, they got the privilege of being told: “Pay up, or adapt your old glass and like it.”
The worst insult is Canon’s so-called “budget” RF lineup. The RF 16mm f/2.8, RF 24-105mm f/4-7.1, and RF 50mm f/1.8 aren’t acts of generosity; they’re placeholders. They exist only to block Tamron and Samyang from offering something better. They aren’t love letters to photography; they’re legal disclaimers turned into plastic barrels. Every time you mount one, you can feel Canon smirking: “See, we gave you something cheap—now stop complaining.”
Meanwhile, Canon fans are expected to swallow the company line that this fortress is for their own good. That without rivals, innovation will somehow flourish. But the evidence says otherwise. Sigma and Tamron kept Sony sharp by releasing lenses that were lighter, sharper, or more affordable, pushing the whole ecosystem forward. Canon, free from competition, has slowed its roll. The innovation feels drip-fed, the pricing feels abusive, and the enthusiasm feels hollow. Instead of excitement about new glass, Canon shooters joke about second mortgages.
The supposed proof of Canon’s brilliance—their market share—rings hollow. Market dominance doesn’t come from the thrill of RF; it comes from the gravity of Canon’s DSLR legacy, millions of EF shooters nudged into a corner with adapters. That’s not adoption, it’s hostage-taking. The real question is what happens when the next generation of photographers, raised on choice, flexibility, and community, looks at Canon’s walled garden. Do they see inspiration, or do they see a brand that told its customers to shut up and pay?
Canon hasn’t built a fortress—it’s built a trap. And the cruelest part is that the trap isn’t for rivals. It’s for the photographers who trusted Canon with their creativity. That trust, once broken, doesn’t rebuild as easily as market share slides. Canon’s RF mount wall may look sturdy in 2025, but it’s built on sand, and one day, the tide will come in.