The other day, I had the weirdest feeling.
I was in the kitchen, preparing my lunch, when I felt what I think was some heat on my right wrist, where I wear my watch. My first reaction, as the huge nerd that I am would have, was that my watch must be overheating.
Two years ago, when I had an Apple Watch, this train of thought could have made sense. After all, we all know too well that computers, at some point, go crazy and overheat, kernel panics and whatnot, or that batteries one day struggle during charging. So I looked down at my watch and put my left hand on it, as my mum used to do to check if I had any fever while showing the first signs of sickness.
The watch was not hot. It was the expected temperature, which I guess is body temperature? This is when I realised that my watch cannot, in fact, overheat. There is no processor, no computer, no digital screen, no battery. It is a mechanical watch, and for a few seconds, I had forgotten and assumed that it was yet again another computer failing on me.
This little anecdote makes me smile thinking about it, and I think it is a testament to both how we kind of expect the worst in technology — I know I do — and to how we take reliable tools for granted, to the point of not noticing how great they actually are.
When I expect the worst in technology, it usually goes like this: at one point, my phone will not register a touch input. I will immediately think that some app is eating all of the memory and now my phone is lagging. Most of the time, it’s not that; it’s just that my touch didn’t register for a benign reason like rain, lack of precision, or my hand touching another part of the screen. But my mind will go to the “this is failing and everything sucks” conclusion first.
At the same time, I don’t really think about how good everyday reliable objects like light switches are. If one day the light doesn’t turn on when I press that switch, my mind will not go to the “this is failing and everything sucks” conclusion. I will assume that there is no electricity in the flat or that the lamp has finally died. I would almost certainly never doubt that the switch itself is failing. The same goes for my coffee maker or my nail clippers: they work so well and so reliably that I don’t appreciate them enough, not as much as they deserve.
This is not fair. I write at length on this blog about how some apps can be compared to others in terms of reliability, but compared to the everyday objects and tools we use, even the most reliable app is basically rubbish. I know an app is far more complex than a coffee maker (even a very fancy one), and therefore, when it reaches a reasonable point of reliability, we are in awe.
I get it.
For example, just the other day, I accidentally force quit BBEdit while I had a few new documents open that were not even saved once. It was such a joy to find all of them intact in a specific backup folder on my computer. I mentally clapped my hands, praising the reliability of this app.
Thinking about this reliability thing also made me realise that it has a lot to do with trust, durability, and quality.
For example, I am in the market for a nice, all-in-one speaker for our next living room. I will obviously use it via Wi-Fi or Bluetooth, but I don’t want to rely on these technologies alone. I am only shortlisting devices that include an auxiliary input or line-in, just in case.
This reason alone is more than enough for me to not even consider buying a HomePod. The rest of the device would be perfect for my needs, but I don’t trust Apple to make it work reliably in the long run. What will I do with my fancy HomePod in five years if they decide to change the way AirPlay works?
I have the same feeling towards everything labelled “smart home.” Sure, controlling the lights and the blinds with an app is cool and automating their actions is useful, but I think I’ll stick to the good old reliable light switches and cords for now. They sure can break too, they sure can fail, but if they do, the source of the issue will be easily identified, and long minutes won’t be needed to figure out if this is the app failing, or the Wi-Fi, or the battery of the hub device, or the light or blind itself.
I’ve written about this before, but as I grow older, I am more and more attracted to quality, reliable, and trust-worthy, simple tools. I previously shared Bradley Taunt’s article on the topic, in which he writes about the idea of reducing the points of failure, and I’ve been thinking about that a lot: the more sophisticated something is, the more complicated its failures will be, and the more effort it will take to fix it.
Every tool and object we use will eventually fail. Understanding why and where the failure comes from doesn’t have to be complicated and therefore a source of stress.
I still don’t know where the sensation of heat on my wrist came from, but I know for sure my dear watch had nothing to do with it, and that, on its own, deserves an approving nod.
