By now you’ve either bought an iPhone, used an iPhone, or read everything you care to about the iPhone, so there’s probably little I can add to the din of fawning idolization that’s clogging up the Internet. Just in case there’s a teeny little bit of room left for me, here are some thoughts.
I don’t own an iPhone. Don’t plan to for a while. The reason is simple economics—my needs don’t outweigh the substantial costs involved. And its not just monetary costs; e.g. I’m not sure I’m ready for a piece of flatware as a phone. My current phone is a PEBL, which is bulkier, but which bulk I actually appreciate, as it makes it easier to feel vibrations when the phone rings. And call me crazy, but right now I need my phone to be a phone and my iPod to be an iPod. I’m not yet at the place where constant access to the mobile web significantly improves my life.
But this post isn’t about that. Because while I don’t want an iPhone, I still very much lust after it. I’ve played with it several times, and my jaw is no less agape, nor my legs no less weak, as every other fanboy out there. After absorbing the experience for a while, I tried to put a finger on what, exactly, made it so fucking incredible. It didn’t take long to find the word to fit that bill: Futuristic.
I’m not the only one who thinks so. Use it yourself and you’ll feel the same way. Something about this association fascinated me. What does it mean when we use that word?
Something that’s always bothered me about most movies set in the distant future is that they’re often shown in a utopian state, where nothing is broken, or under construction, or dirty at all. All the problems of the world have been solved through handy inventions or simple laws that everyone seems perfectly content to follow. The world, obviously, won’t ever be like that. We’re always moving forward and making progress, and progress is messy. Things go wrong. New inventions are always needed. It’s nice to think that we’ll get it all fixed up someday, until you realize the implications therein are quite horrifying. Messiness is natural.
I think it’s this same idyllic vision invoked by screenwriters that the rest of us call on when we use the word “futuristic.” Things from the future, they just … work. They know the answers before you ask the question. They’re sexy, and clean, and could step in as your best friend if the current titleholder starts to act up. This is what the iPhone is. It feels futuristic not only because it does 300 things other phones don’t, but because it does it so (and I mean SO) seamlessly. Cell phone experiences have forever been consumed in misery and pain. Use an iPhone, and it becomes radically intuitive how to get done what it is you want done.
The irony in labeling something futuristic is that it never can be. It, along with everything else, exists in the now; if something like it came about in the future, it’d be branded as old news. For now, the iPhone leads the way—by a large gap—toward the new status quo for mobile phone experiences. Eventually, when other manufacturers catch up with the iPhone’s myriad innovations, what once was futuristic will suddenly be the norm, and the future will again be up for grabs. Such is progress.