I wanted it to work. I wanted to fall in love, like so many of my friends. "It takes a while," they said. "Don't expect a coup de foudre. Let it build over time."
So I did. I knew other people looked at what I had with envy. But a month and a half after we first got together, I have decided it is time to -- well, call time.
I am breaking up with my Apple Watch. The relationship was, despite all expectations, not what I needed. All the focus on San Francisco and Apple's next big innovation (streaming!) made me realize it was not playing my song.
There is a reason that I carry the same (no logo) handbag everywhere I go; a reason my (pre-Apple) watch had no bells or tourbillon whistles; a reason I gravitate toward clothes that are not identifiable by season or designer and do not appear in any advertisements I have ever seen.
I spend a lot of time in a world where products are shorthand for people, and I know too well the risks of having such semiology attached to myself (although I fully acknowledge my willingness to attach it to others).
But when I started wearing the Apple Watch (the 38-millimeter case with a Milanese Loop band, which is the smaller size with a flexible stainless-steel bracelet), it became a subject of conversation no matter where I was: in meetings at work, at the bagel store, at my son's track meet. It has been so everywhere, marketed to so many people, there was just no mistaking it.
First everyone wanted to know about it. Then they wanted to try it. Then they made certain assumptions about me.
Which, frankly, I would have made about any woman like myself walking around with a big black box on her arm.
Because no matter how attractive the Apple Watch is in the context of other smartwatches or smartbands, no matter how much of an aesthetic advance its rounded corners and rectangular display, it still looks like a gadget.
Not only does its face effectively span the width of my forearm, but the cool little screen saver that so many reviewers have lauded -- is also functionally sleeping most of the time.
Every time I see it, I want to shriek, "Beam me up, Scotty!"
Not that it would do much good. Typing doesn't awaken the picture. Even when I rock my arm back and forth energetically, it often takes a few tries before the Earth pops up. The default position is blank.
Just as my default position when trying to read an email or the text of a headline on the small screen involves raising my wrist to near eye level -- or, if a phone call is involved and my actual phone is not reachable, talking into thin air.
Granted, all of this would likely pale in importance if the watch were truly transforming my life, as my iPhone has. But I have never had a problem turning away from my emails when I need to concentrate on something else so I need specific alerts as to what is important.
And the small screen is simply too small to really read on, so I've been more annoyed than happy when it alerted me to texts from my loved ones; and when I saw a headline, all I wanted to do was find the rest of the story.
I did like the fact that I could turn my phone ringer off, and the watch would vibrate when, say, my children were on the line and I needed to take the call. But in the end that wasn't enough.
When I told a colleague about the breakup, he observed that perhaps I wasn't the target for the Apple Watch. That I should be sure to tell the Siri on my wrist, "It's not you, it's me." He may be right.
But here's the thing: The watch isn't a fashion accessory for the tech-happy. It's a tech accessory pretending to be a fashion accessory. I just couldn't fall for it.
Style on 07/07/2015