I bought my first iPhone in 2007, as a gift to myself before our second daughter was born. I figured there was the threat we’d run out of cash now, with two kids, and so I could justify a $500 phone while I still had the money. It did magic, with the image manipulation: how you could stretch pictures with your finger tips and flip through pages just by touching it.
I didn’t really need a cell phone, but I must have needed a toy. Our friend’s 8 year old figured out how to browse on it before I did. There was no instruction manual. It was like they figured all the questions out for me in the design, so by the time it got to me, there were no more questions.
The phone never died. It’s still in my sock drawer, with other thrown away but important parts of my life. But people looked at me like I was wearing a clown face when they saw my old, “classic” phone.
After a year or more, I fabricated reasons to get the upgrade. If you wait long enough, you can get last season’s upgrade for free, which I did. And so I carry it around with me like everyone else, just in case.
Now Blackberry is going out of business, and you might blame the iPhone for that. Pushing buttons feels good to an extent, but all that will be forgotten over time, as will the dial on a telephone, waiting for the ring to reset before dialing the next digit.
Technology is a sea of carnivorous fish taking nicks out of each other, bloating up on the slow-moving or obvious. We all stand around the water feeding it.