The Rise and Fall of Replica Leica Lenses
—A story pieced together from scattered internet threads
The Chinese replica lens scene works very differently from the Western Kickstarter model. It all begins in closed WeChat groups—China’s version of private Facebook groups. You either know someone on the inside or get invited by scanning a QR code. No public campaign page, no Indiegogo link—just trust and connections.
The man who started it all is from Sichuan province, home to fiery Sichuan cuisine and, more importantly, one of China’s oldest optical factories (the same plant that once made the Pearl River SLR). Today these state-owned or half-private factories will happily take almost any order as long as you meet their minimum run—usually a few hundred pieces. (Another replica group, for example, used the Jiangxi Optical Factory for their lenses.)
After the WeChat group grew large enough, people started throwing in money. One participant suggested naming the first project, a 35mm f/2 clone of the legendary 7-element Summicron, “Solaron”—“Sol” for sun/light + the end of “Summicron.” The name stuck, and Solaron was born.
After several prototypes and delays, the final lenses were delivered. From a distance they were indistinguishable from the real “King of Bokeh.” You could even buy genuine-looking Leica-style aperture rings separately. Mount one of those, and you could fool just about anyone—especially the kind of collector who only looks at gear instead of using it.
Success bred ambition. The group immediately started a second project: a replica of the famous Leica 50mm f/1.4 with the E43 filter thread. Everyone was hyped—another dream lens that most of them could never afford. Money was collected fast.
Then… nothing. Months of silence. Eventually the organizer refunded everyone and announced the project was dead. Rumors exploded: some said he had gambled the funds on the stock market, others were just relieved to get their money back—unlike the countless P2P lending scams where the boss disappears to somewhere with the cash.
The blueprints didn’t die, though. They were handed over to a new player who named the lens after the famous Leica designer Walter Mandler. The reborn replica came in a box that shamelessly copied Leica’s packaging, with the name “SUMMI-CRON M” (the classic knock-off trick: change one or two letters to dodge trademark lawsuits—think “POMA” sweater instead of Puma).
Today you can buy a “Mandler” 35mm f/2 from Southeast Asian sellers for as little as US$365, and some claim the domestic Chinese price is closer to $200. That rock-bottom pricing tells you everything about how cheap these lenses are to manufacture.
Meanwhile, the market has split in two directions:
Some brands (like 7Artisans or TTArtisan/Thypoch) went to legit, selling original designs at prices that compete with Japanese makers.
The pure replica makers took the opposite path: get a shout-out from a famous Leica influencer, slap on words like “limited,” “collectible,” or “heritage,” and mark the same lens up to $1,000–$1,700—still a fraction of a real vintage Summicron, but with fat margins.
From WeChat group buys at cost to “endorsed” shelf queens sold for X times the production price—that, in a nutshell, is the short and dramatic saga of the Chinese Leica replica lens scene.