Burdened by the green bubble isolation that an Android device builds in its users over time (and that frankly might even be a part of its brand appeal), I finally caved and ordered an iPhone to replace my Google Pixel of two years. After an initial snafu where I ordered it to my parents’ address by mistake, called Verizon to cancel the order, and had my parents call me three days later to tell me they received a literal empty box from Verizon, I finally got my iPhone 12 Mini delivered to my house.
Within minutes, I was back on iMessage. Old group chats that dropped me when I switched to Android resurfaced automatically, like I’d never left. Everyone cheered, so supportive of my transition. Even iCloud. Like a loyal friend, iCloud welcomed me back with the stash of old photos I took on the old iPhone 7 I had in college. Memories flooded back after I opened the Photos app. Pictures of me with my college roommates, all younger, smoother-faced, and squished together on old dilapidated furniture in our senior year house, reminded me of the life my Android phone hid from me.
FaceTime is much easier, too. I no longer need to ask my friends to use Facebook messenger or WhatsApp video chat, which is always just a sad conversation, like asking someone to hang out at the suburban mall around the corner instead of downtown. I can just peruse my contacts list and pop a quick video call when I feel like seeing a face. Plus, generally, some apps, like Clubhouse and Among Us become available on the Apple Store before Android. What’s weird in all these cases is that even though these apps are either ephemeral, replaceable, or soon to die, it still feels like I’m missing out, like I’m looking at the the world through a window, hearing conversations or seeing Twitter threads about useless shit I’ll never experience.
It’s still surreal to me how the devices we use gently buffer our experience of self and others. It’s a boring take that our rapidly growing online world will soon fossilize, but it’s an honest one that the pandemic’s reliance on virtual conversations has brought into sharp relief for me. It is both completely understandable and also absolutely ludicrous that having an Android device in Apple’s world slows down your life. It is absurd to me, yet also bogglingly intuitive that people will hesitate to maintain a green-bubble text conversation because they can’t send reactions, that connecting over video chat creates a bit more friction. I’m not saying I’m any more popular now with an iPhone than I was before (let alone that I’m popular at all)—I’m just saying that when I had an Android device, my virtual life had a lot less buzz.
It’s perhaps most bizarre to me in hindsight that I switched from my old iPhone 7 to a Google Pixel because I was sick of Apple yanking our chains, constantly churning out new iPhones and iOS upgrades and slowing down our current experience so we’d be forced to pay up and upgrade. It was a losing protest. I missed commiserating over Apple too much. And I really missed group chats.
Other Things Of Note
In memoriam of my Google Pixel, soon to be traded in for a discount, here are some of the things I’ll miss the most about it:
The size
The fingerprint unlock on the back (way better than face ID)
The always-listening music recognition software—step aside, Shazam
The “back” button
The good times & memories
The way it gently sang lullabies to me before bed
The way it looked at me from across the room
The way it did the dishes for me without being asked ♥️ miss you Pixie
Only Child is a bi-weekly newsletter where I find excitement in the mundane. Tell your friends and enemies to subscribe!
—Chuckry Vengadam (@churrthing)
Of note only in the US is being outside of the apple phone sphere a thing. Pretty sure Android is dominant in literally every other country (idk bout Canada)