Shrines from Shanghai to San Francisco are testament to the fact
that, much like my iPod, Steve Jobs died way too soon. There is a cruel irony
in this. More than almost any other person on the planet, Jobs embraced the
ethos of built-in-obsolescence. Going to an early grave, sadly, appears to be
in keeping with his core beliefs. Indeed, it was Steve himself who said back in
2005 that “death is very likely the single best invention of life.”
I only know Jobs through the endless array of devices that I have
purchased from him. Going way back, I bought three Macintosh computers when,
flushed with pride and optimism but not much cash, I first set up my own small
business in the mid-nineties. Foolishly, I should have waited. It was only a
few months later that, to great fanfare, the ultra-cool translucent iMac came
out. Every advertising or film person worth their salt had to have one. Packing
the old ugly boxes away, I excitedly splashed out on this wonderful new curvaceous
plaything for our office.
Again, I should have waited. In an industry that values style and
fashion, our young company had barely celebrated its first birthday when I
realised its technology already looked out-of-date. The multi-coloured
clamshell shape of the iBook had arrived on the scene, utterly transforming the
way our industry worked. My proud iMac soon joined its clunky siblings tucked
away in the company broom cupboard, and our daily business was now conducted exclusively
on these stylish, portable new devices.
But not for long. For the next decade, like every other small
businessman, I struggled to find the cash to keep up with Steve's never-ending,
dazzling array of must-have products. The lolly-colours of the iBook range now
looked embarrassing in the new era of the PowerBook, where almost annually a
new design or feature superceded the last of these silver-plated miracles.
Battling to keep up, I shook my head in disbelief at firewires that no longer
fitted, connection ports that seemed to mysteriously change shape, functions that
worked on older operating systems but not the newer ones and so on. The list of
changes updates and new requirements has been endless. But it was worth it. To
be cutting edge.
Meanwhile, as the products became thinner and thinner, so too did
their maker.
I'm currently on to my seventh iPod. The first one proudly housed my
entire CD collection of many thousands of songs; I was devastated when it
abruptly kicked the bucket after about only eighteen months of service. It
still sits forlornly in its handsome dock, as dead as the great man himself.
Nowadays, we have a variety of iPods (some for jogging, some for
holidays, one for the car) as well as, of course, several iPhones. Some of them
work, some of them don’t. Fingers crossed I get to the end of writing this
article before my iPad decides to croak.
Beyond the style, the coolness, and of course the intuitive
technology, we can also thank Steve Jobs for turning the marketing philosophy
of built-in obsolescence into high art. Planned or otherwise, it’s certainly
been my experience that too many of his products come burdened with a
use-by-date that would make even the most fervent salesman blush. It’s feasible
these days that an apple you buy from your local supermarket may well have a
longer lifespan than the Apple you buy from your local electronics store.
The recent anti-climactic iPhone 4S release has
been criticized for being yet another example of Apple’s addiction to planned
obsolescence, along with tamper-resistant screws
and other “innovations”, such as the fact that the price of a replacement
battery for an iPod Shuffle is the same as a new device. Equally, the iPhone’s Lithium-Ion batteries have a finite life of 300 to 500 cycles, meaning with heavy use
they may only last a year. Before the iPhone, mobiles without user-replaceable
batteries were virtually unknown. Apple maintains that you can always pay to
replace the battery (at the so-called “Genius” bar; what happened to the word
“Repairs”?), but it costs more money, takes up to a week, and you lose your
phone’s entire memory. So – hang on! – why not just buy a new one?
In 1954, Brooks Stevens, an American industrial designer,
made popular the theory of "Planned obsolescence”, which he defined as
"instilling in the buyer the desire to own something a little newer, a
little better, a little sooner than is necessary."
Don't get me wrong. I'm a big Apple fan. (God forbid I should ever
have to buy a PC.) Each new Apple invention has clearly enriched my life, and
I'm grateful for that. It’s just that they never seem to stick around as long
as I think they should.
In death, as in life, Steve Jobs stayed true to his brand.
No comments:
Post a Comment