Fun review of the Apple Watch by Craig Mod:
It is on my wrist. Do I wish it to be? Not really. Did I crave it? No. Well, maybe a little. I am human. And it is new. And it contains media. And itself may be new media. And it is good to know about these things. So it is on my wrist. This thing, black like crude oil upon Daniel Day Lewis’ brow. Quiet until it pings, so gently, like a sound from the future, bringing only a message to stand up you lazy man.
I’ll eventually have a strong(er) desire for a thing. A thing for my wrist.
But not yet.
It needs to justify its existence no more than any other watch — mechanical or electronic — ever made. Of course you don’t need it. No one, not one person on the face of the earth, needs any $400 watch, Apple Watch or otherwise.
The right question is simply “Do you want one?”
It’s about desire, not necessity. Convenience, fun, and style are not needs. They’re wants. And people will gladly pay for what they want. The iPad faced similar misguided criticism. How many times did you hear or read someone say of the iPad, “Why would anyone who already has a phone and a laptop need an iPad?” That was the wrong question, because almost no one needed an iPad. The right question was “Why would someone who has a phone and laptop also want an iPad?”
The emotional and style aspects of the Apple Watch are the things many tech nerds and engineers just don’t get.
Dan Frommer on Apple Watch notifications:
I was expecting to be more annoyed by notifications.
It turns out that I’ve already done a good job turning off most in-app notifications—I haven’t been bothered at all by them.
Exactly as I said a few weeks ago, we are in charge of our gadgets, not the other way around.
I always enjoy listening to Jony Ive talk.
Little man, I give the watch to you.
“I can feel Van Patten and Bryce admiring the Apple Watch. Then Van Patten tells me Paul Allen has one. He says the yellow gold suits Allen’s coloring. I start to sweat.”
I’m trying to enjoy my new Apple Watch Edition but Evelyn, my so-called fiancée, keeps buzzing me with Facebook messages. Something about Terry Richardson.
I focus on the black leather, the 18-carat yellow gold, the way it looks on my tanned wrist. I appreciate that it is wipe clean. I ask Siri to dictate a message: Paul Allen is out of town for a few days. Siri, I say, play Sussudio.
I live in New York by Gehry on 8 Spruce Street on the 35th floor. My name is Patrick Bateman. I’m 27 years old. I believe in taking care of myself, a balanced diet and a rigorous exercise routine.