I was rummaging through a box of old tech last weekend—specifically a dusty, silver Sony Walkman from 2002—when I was struck by the sheer tactile simplicity of it. There were no push notifications, no...
I was elbow-deep in a drawer of tangled charging cables and mismatched spice tins last Tuesday, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of frustration that felt remarkably like trying to debug a piece of legacy ...
I was sitting on my floor last Sunday, surrounded by a chaotic pile of tangled charging cables and a particularly stubborn, dust-caked Sony Walkman, when I realized how much we’ve outsourced our sense...
I was sitting on my floor yesterday, meticulously cleaning the dust out of a first-generation iPod Nano—that tiny, silver relic of a simpler era—when I realized that our relationship with “perma...
I was digging through a dusty box of my old tech collection last weekend—specifically a clunky, translucent blue iMac G3—when I realized how much we’ve misinterpreted the concept of “innovation....
I was digging through a dusty cardboard box in my attic last weekend—the kind of treasure hunt that usually yields nothing but old receipts—when I stumbled upon my first handheld GPS unit from the ear...
I was digging through a cardboard box of “relics” last weekend—specifically a handful of translucent blue pagers from the late nineties—when I realized how much our relationship with invis...
I was sitting on the floor of a terminal in Berlin last autumn, surrounded by the frantic energy of travelers, staring at my old Sony Walkman as if it could somehow anchor me to the earth. There is a ...
I was sitting on my floor yesterday, surrounded by the skeletal remains of a disassembled 1998 Discman, when I caught sight of it: a jagged, unsightly puncture in my living room wall. It felt like a s...
I was digging through a box of my old tech treasures last weekend—specifically a chunky, silver MP3 player from the early 2000s—when I realized how much our relationship with “stuff” has s...