Josep Oliver: Barcelona’s Unlikely Private Eye (Minus the Sleaze & Empty Takeout Containers)

The Myth vs. The (Surprisingly Wholesome) Reality

When Nicola pitched me on shooting a real-life private detective, my brain went full noir: trench coats, cigarette smoke, maybe a half-eaten kebab slumped in the passenger seat as evidence of his gritty, nocturnal trade. Josep shattered every cliché. He arrived in a modest, suspiciously clean sedan (where were the surveillance gear piles? The crumpled coffee cups of existential despair?). Worse—or better?—he was downright jolly.

Secrets, Cheating Spouses, and a Surprisingly Sunny Disposition

Let’s be honest: if your job mostly involves exposing marital betrayals, you’re entitled to be a cynic. Josep, though, recounted tales of wayward spouses with the amused detachment of a man who’s seen it all—and still finds it absurd, not soul-crushing. The kicker? His frequent, affectionate mentions of his own wife, who’d apparently insisted he wear a suit for the shoot (“Even in this heat!” he laughed). Somehow, Barcelona’s answer to Magnum P.I. had cracked the code: happy home life, thrilling career, zero emotional baggage.

The Shot That Should’ve Had a Fedora (But Didn’t)

We shot near his office, leaning into the detective aesthetic without cosplay. No forced brooding, no props. Just Josep’s easy grin and a glint in his eye that said, I could tell you stories… but I’d have to bill you. The light was harsh, the suit was wilting, and yet—there it was. The glimmer of a man who’d turned uncovering lies into a life he genuinely loved.