For the past five years, I’ve managed to resist the siren call of the iPhone. Walking the streets of New York City, I lash myself to the metaphorical mast as I gaze in envy at the clique that is iPhone users. The brushed metal slab, which I imagine feels something like the hull of a spaceship, delicately curves around what I like to call Job’s gift to man: the touchscreen. “Sexy” doesn’t quite sum up the design, yet “sleek” feels too strong. It exists in a realm of quiet elegance and style unbound, forever drawing me closer to making the purchase and denouncing my urban-Amish lifestyle. So why is it that I still can’t take the step towards technological enlightenment?
Growing up, my parents were big proponents of moderation, and by this I mean they dug Bill Clinton, didn’t have cable, and only took me to get ice cream every other week. I was taught that the best way to enjoy something is to not overindulge (or under-indulge, for that matter). And it’s a lesson I’ve taken to heart, for it allows me to maintain a sense of balance, both physically and mentally, which I enjoy. Of course, there have been moments when burning desire has blinded me to my own gross consumption. Pokémon grasped me with such force as a child that, from age seven to nine, my hands rarely left the side of my Game Boy. Honey Nut Cheerios were such a staple of my diet during my teenage years that I’m not sure I can look at them again without being reminded of puberty. Netflix has been a recent vice, so please don’t ask me how many episodes of “Malcolm in the Middle” I’ve watched — I’m not proud of it. An iPhone feels like the next logical step in this unfortunate chain of events. I fear that I will, inevitably, be sucked into its 4.5 by 2.3 inch world, letting life pass me by as I walk with my head down and thumbs up.
And so I maintain a strong line of defense. Every time I catch the glint off of an iPhone’s exterior, I remind myself that my level of self-control is not conducive to the bevy of possibilities an iPhone would afford. Birds would crisscross my screen, fruit would spring from its edges, words would be sent to friends, and Facebook would be too close for comfort, all as I attempt to use this futuristic device’s awesome power for good. I don’t have to mention the fact that another Apple product, which I’m currently using to type these words, has already put an uncomfortable foot in the door of my life.
But every day is a struggle. I can’t escape its seductive gaze. Even when I check my email, I’m reminded that so many of the messages in my inbox were “sent from an iPhone” — I yearn for that moniker. And in today’s professional world, it’s looking more and more as if that moniker is becoming the norm. Soon, it will be near-impossible to avoid having the complexities of a laptop in a handheld, portable device. And at the pace things are moving, perhaps this makes sense — in order to keep up with the increasingly absurd expectations of friends, professors and employers, one needs to have quick access to the most relevant of information.
This presents a dilemma, for how can I stay ahead of the curve while refusing to let myself indulge in a little overexposure? I suppose I can’t. Overexposure is the new exposure, and if I want to stay relevant in a constantly evolving world, I’ll eventually need to suck it up and sign a little more of my life away to Apple. Then the question becomes: which iPhone to buy? I hear once you go black you never go back, but I think the white models look pretty cool too, right? That way it will at least match the flag I’ll be waving.
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