I told the nonbelievers that my 6-year-old
Nokia flip phone would last through college. I would not own a smartphone as
long as I was a student. My iCrap 4—christened so when I ironically stuck an Apple
sticker on it—made me unique. My refusal to throw away a perfectly operational telephone
made me superior to an iPhone demographic I didn’t want to be a part of.
Unfortunately, while secretly texting at work, I dropped my Paleolithic communication
device on the concrete floor. It was still functional, but icons were
disappearing from the main menu, and the screen was flashing in two-second acid
trips. Deciding I cared more about the photos on it of my deceased dog than I
did my pride, I realized it would be smart to transfer the grainy pictures to a
new phone before it completely kicked
the bucket.
Persuading
my parents would not be a problem. A few months prior, my mother had bribed
me—carrot and stick—to lay my iCrap to rest (“look, honey, I can smash the
thing or I can pay you”). She still believed at the time that I never responded
to her text messages because my phone didn’t receive them.
So
we drove to the AT&T Authorized Retailer. I later asked one of the two
lonely personnel at the desk what the difference was between an AT&T Store
and an Authorized Retailer. He didn’t know. My best bet is that the employees
at the Store have the answer and the ones at the Authorized Retailer don’t. But
that’s beside the point.
The
Authorized Retailer tries really hard. The shaded Helvetica on its signs and
advertisements politely screams, “Look at me! I’m modern!” While it’s probably
the same as the font at the Store, it doesn’t pull it off quite as well,
because following the “I’m modern!” is a parenthetical “I’m second-rate!” The
sales room is a big generic grey carpet with plastic hanger arrangements of
cell phones sparsely dotting the walls. The Authorized Retailer does not have
chairs because old people don’t buy smartphones. Neither do tired people.
I’m
not old, I’m not tired, and I don’t mind cheap (cite 6-year-old Nokia, I revel
in thriftiness), so the projected aura falls flat, but doesn’t have an adverse
affect.
The
unenthusiastic employees react to my mother and I as they would to a loose
unicorn in the store. They are surprised, frantic, and terrified. One is
vaguely vampiric, you know the type: if the pierces aren’t visible, they are
someplace unspeakable. The other is a
middle-aged bald man who decides that we are not his problem, and turns back to
his computer.
I
explain that my phone is from the Dark Ages, and that I’m looking for a new
one, provided I can transfer the photos onto it.
“I
assume you want an iPhone,” the vampire says.
Apple
products are so prolific in this county that he hasn’t even considered another
option. Blond white girl walks into a phone store…what else could she possibly
get? At least here, iPhone is synonymous with smartphone. And as much as I hate
to admit it, I hadn’t considered the existence of anything else, either. I
realize with disgust that now nothing will differentiate me from the rest of
the spoiled Marin kids. Within five seconds we’ve narrowed down the one option
in stock to the one option in stock.
iPhones
are sold in white, matte boxes. The design is sleek and unembellished. Due to
Apple’s modern target demographic, simplicity in design is desirable. The box
should be as easy to navigate as the phone because prospective buyers just want
to get busy uploading photos of their merde
a la mode to the greater interwebs. The packaging is minimalist, and to an extent,
belies the attitude of the company. In Apple products, modern means simplistic,
and simplicity equals usefulness.
And
I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. Why then, am I so averse to joining
this culture?
My
problem with smartphones is that in practice, simplistic-usefulness tends to
become stupidity. That may turn out to be a problem for the company. I don’t
think Apple’s phones are sold through advertisement anymore, their own ethos
and abundance is what sells them.
So
if iPhone users are the ones selling the product, what kind of an image are
they projecting? At least as I see it, it’s one of triviality and
inconsequence. Instagrammers use filters to infuse the present with an
unnatural nostalgia, and they waste so much time on the app that when it
actually counts, they won’t have anything of substance to be nostalgic for. Pinterest
perpetuates and encourages the materialism already over-present in the wealthy
crowd that dithers around on it. Snapchat is cutesy and bouncy so that girls
can fool themselves into thinking there’s something cute and bouncy about their
boyfriends’ dick pics.
I’m
so disgusted by this husbandry of pettiness that upon obtaining the iPhone, I
have to prove to myself that I’m not “like the rest of them”. In a space of
twenty minutes, I have deliberately sought out the cheapest shell at BestBuy, and
have downloaded 18 educational podcasts. All the while, I repeat to myself that
I will only use the devil-telephone for depositing checks. In the space of an
hour, I am receiving scores of Snapchats from my friends (no dick pics), and
have downloaded a number of games, which I briefly try out and shamefully
delete. I have even entered my name as “Would yeh loike a cup o’ tea, lovey?” so
that British Siri can periodically ask me if I want a refreshment. Oh god, I think. I’m one of them. And, worst of all, I turn the thing on every five
minutes looking for some sort of recognition that people love me.
I’m
still not comfortable with the culture, though. From the moment I set foot in
the Authorized Retailer, I was bombarded with a misleading aura of modern
utility. iPhones are marketed by both Apple and its carriers to be time-saving
devices for the busy, well-connected professional. Commercials depict a mature
consumer with a futuristic lifestyle. If iPhone advertisements were more
truthful, and depicted teenage users frittering away their youth on impersonal
social media, would the product sell? Probably not, and yet real-world advertisement
shows us that very picture.
Judging
by their website, Apple would like its consumers to believe that the iPhone 5C (“For
the colorful”) will make them unique and stylish. “It’s an experience,” says
the smart British narrator. If you’re not intelligent, at least your phone is. And
if you don’t have intention, the iPhone 5C will more than make up for it. You
don’t take selfies, you take self-portraits. A new, HD Facetime camera will let
you get closer to your loved ones (when they flip you off, you’ll be able to see
the folds on their knuckles!). It’s not plastic, it’s polycarbonate developed
to maintain the “sense of quality and integrity that is synonymous with the
iPhone 5.”
On
the other hand, Apple would like its consumers to forget that the iPhone 4S
exists. But if you really want to know, you can see a straightforward list of
its features, an objective photo of all two colors, and the word FREE. Perhaps
that’s why I found it acceptable.
