I didn’t want to indulge my Apple Watch by writing a post about it, which is why this review arrives three weeks after its initial debut. That’s practically eons in Internet time, so if your fatigued eyes would prefer to be elsewhere — perhaps inside a Los Angeles refrigerator, contemplating a jumprope worn as a choker, or reading a book — I won’t judge you.
My Apple Watch, however, might. Lord knows it judges me.
“Time to Stand!” It says. “You’ve been sitting on your ass for eleven out of twelve hours today.” As if I wasn’t aware. 58% of my left buttock is numb, and you could eat a five course sushi dinner over the slump that is my spine.
I stand up. More so because the pop-up notification is irritating, less because my left buttock is all tingly.
Never before have I been so bossed around by technology. I programmed it, though, so I suppose that I’m to blame. I was too ambitious, drunk off superfluous consumerism, when I clocked in my active calorie burn goal at 710 per day. In hindsight, bad idea. But what’s technology good for if not to aid us in the prospect of achieving our most unrealistic goals?
Every evening, my Apple Watch reminds me that I am only a whopping 13% of the way there.
Pro: it doesn’t yell or throw vibrating tantrums. Rather, it emits passive aggressive nudges to signal an incoming CNN alert, a weather advisory or a calendar reminder. It keeps me informed. Prepared. Punctual. But I find myself looking at my watch without realizing what prompted me to do so, because I do not own the watch; the watch owns me.
Upcoming events are displayed on the home screen, like subtle but looming reminders of things I have to do. (If only I’d stand up.) My Apple Watch notifies me of activity on my social media channels, but prevents me from opening any of the apps — almost as if to say, “First, finish your homework.” Yes, mom.
It’s an exhilarating thing, feeling like Inspector Gadget, taking a call on your hand, parking your wrist by your ear like a double agent spy with the middle name Danger. I love talking to my Apple Watch, but I also hate that I love talking to my Apple Watch. I hate how much I love my Apply Watch. Because, damn, how’d they do it again?
I’d answer that but I can’t: it’s time for me to “move around for a minute!”
Thanks mom, I almost forgot.
Punctuality is important, tardiness is bad for your mental health and wrist accessories maketh the outfit. For watches that don’t make you look like Inspector Gadget, click here. And for more love-hate conflicts, click here.