This typically prompts us to accept, often grudgingly, that our future henceforth will not be based on them being present in our lives. Instead, it will be based on rejection. That is when “dumped” becomes more than a mere adjective in everyday speech. It then solidifies into a point in life when expectations are not only behind us, but there is an absurdity of once having and then losing affection.
What do a Walkman, a turntable or gramophone, a 35mm film camera, a Discman, and an LP and SP vinyl record have in common? Answer: they are all collectibles. But a more realistic answer is somewhat different from this one. It would be that they have all been made obsolete by the inventive design of two men and their team of designers, visionaries, if you will: Steve Jobs and Jonathan (Jony) Ive and the designers of Apple Inc.
Propelled by boldness and audacity, they not only dangled radicalism in the technology and consumer products sectors, but they delivered it. There are many ways to describe this band of designers. We could call them avant-garde, iconic, boundary pushers, brilliant and even unprecedented. But we hardly ever call them rich, except in relation to the obvious financial gains they have made from their inventions. Perhaps we should. In the famous novel by Henry James, “The Portrait of a Lady,” a character said: “I call people rich when they are able to meet the requirements of their imagination.”
The inventions of Apple Inc. designers were evolutionary and far reaching. And they were designed to be relentless in making the predecessor devices obsolete. Given this, I think it is fair to say that these designers approached their craftsmanship with a philosophical attitude, each style of invention really an imagination as in the “i” in iMac, iPod, iPhone and iPad, and as a hypothesis to be investigated and tested. The limits of their imagination allowed them to imagine a world without the predecessor devices, a world remade by dumping the past and thinking differently. Small wonder their 1997 advert exhorted change by those “crazy enough” to imagine it.
As significant as what Apple Inc. designers invented is what they sought to replace. When they began inventing Apple Inc. devices, the Walkman, the turntable or gramophone, the LP and SP vinyl records, the 35mm film camera and the Discman, were affordable, commonly acquired, and commonly used so much that one or more of them were virtually in every home. But they were not a status symbol. If they were that they would have simply become objects of acquisition. Rather they were a symbol for one’s status at that time. Their outdated technology was long held and their utility long acknowledged. In fact, one owned and used them in a spirit of practicality, ease and enjoyment. In them, chunky-ness and usefulness were inseparable, each supporting the other and each trustworthy to work even in hard times. Although, unlike current technology, they were unintegrated with one another, these devices were not only functional, but they also honored their own sense of time and place. The Apple Inc. devices were intended to be addictive and ever-present, and thus get us to dump the predecessor devices. But, holding their own, these predecessor devices were emblematic of prior technology to be used as the occasion allowed or warranted. Given how much of the two technologies have defined the sequential lives of a lot of us (the middle-aged), I can’t help but seek praise of them, if not respect or acknowledgment.
There should be an expression to explain the sense that you have grown old with certain things in your life. There ought to be a word which describes your willingness to mark those things as part of your own history which is no more, but you are still in love with. The turn table or gramophone and the LP and SP vinyl records were a staple in our 1970s homes and life. Owning and using the Walkman, Discman and the 35mm film camera was a rite of passage for our 1980s and 1990s professional lives. These devices didn’t have the ease of functionality and the sleekness of their successor devices, but we always sensed their gravitas. We may have lost them or discarded them when we acquired the new products from Apple Inc. and its competitors, or we may have simply packed them somewhere safely in our homes as part of our legacy. Yet, it is in shared or recalled memories of our usage of them, not just our previous ownership of them that we carry with us into old age.
Dumped as they are, these devices will always hold a special place in our hearts. This will not be for one particular reason. Rather it is a sense of longing about them that will often remind us how far we have come. It is also our view of their usefulness to us in our past lives that ensures that despite their absence in our present lives, we continue to have undimmed excitement, spirit and affection concerning them.
As the world grows more digital and inflamed, and as many of us live longer and thus grow to old age, we look to the devices of our youth, adulthood and professional lives to remind us of life’s small joys, of clunky and chunky devices, and the simplicity of old technology. These devices open our minds to what used to be. They also soften our hearts about how lucky we are to still be here. Steve Jobs died at my current age, 13 years ago. Jony Ive, his co-designer, is my contemporary.
A recollection of Steve Jobs' death at middle age primarily reminded me of my own mortality. But it also got me to retrieve from boxes and use exclusively, for one whole memorable week, the devices that he and his team of designers succeeded in prompting us to dump for their technology.
Notwithstanding its obsolescence, that technology, recalled and reused from time to time, will always connect us with the love of our youth and past. The world's most common book was right: true love never dies.
*Radipati is a regular Mmegi contributor
