Looking back at pictures of the first iPhone, released nearly twenty years ago, is a bit disorienting. The device that marked the dawn of the smartphone era looks nothing like we remember. It’s a tad heart-wrenching, a hefty dose of reality check. And it’s not just the compact size, the chunky bezels, or the modest screen where you decipher the network of pixels. The shock is visual. It can be summed up in one word: skeuomorphism. Remember graphical interfaces that mimicked real-world objects? That was all the rage at Apple in those years. Remember the calculator with its blatantly three-dimensional keys, or how notes looked like pages from a notebook? Even voice memos had a charming microphone background. Books sat neatly on wooden shelves, and each icon simulated a tactile quality that now feels quaint and awkward and, at least in Western markets, reeks of “old.” Like the vaguely unsettling sunflower on the Photo app button in its first iteration.
All the things we lost because of the smartphone
In two decades, the smartphone has not only revolutionized communication but also dramatically transformed the physical world around us. Here’s how.
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- Alessandro Scarano
- 29 May 2024
Skeuomorphism was unapologetically sincere: it mirrored the cannibalistic instinct of the smartphone, which over time has gradually “absorbed” physical objects that have either vanished or morphed beyond recognition in the real world. These objects weren’t merely things; they were hubs of interactions or the culmination of entire chains of interactions, modes of commerce or communication. Their replacement has irreversibly altered people and their relationships.
Some examples of these “cannibalized objects” are so obvious that they hardly warrant mention. The telephone, from which the smartphone explicitly evolved. The computer, whose myriad functions it has usurped – believe it or not, there was a time when we returned home to check our emails. And then there’s the ubiquity of smartphones, coupled with evolving technologies, paving the way for the dematerialization of data into the cloud, causing not only physical but also digital objects to vanish. Think of those MP3 collections or video files, now replaced by music and movies streamed on demand.
The quintessential “cannibalized” object is undoubtedly the camera. Not only has the smartphone effectively made it obsolete in the mass market, putting both large and small manufacturers out of business, but for years before AI became the new focus of storytelling around which smartphone manufacturers built their marketing campaigns, the “cameraphone” reigned supreme. The idea was that the smartphone was primarily a camera with a phone attached. And there was always a phone that took better photos, with more megapixels, sharper low-light shots, and finer bokeh in portrait mode. It was through cameras that we first encountered the explicit and widespread mention of optimization through machine learning and AI.
It’s not uncommon, particularly in bustling city streets, to spot someone with an SLR slung around their neck or an old analog compact camera like an Olympus MJU or a Yashica T4 resting on a cafe table nearby. For every major trend, there are pockets of resistance. And over the years, the media has often overstated the younger generation’s – Gen Z’s, Gen Alpha’s, or whatever else – fondness for retro technologies of yesteryear, from vinyl records to Walkmans, from “dumb” clamshell phones to stacks of paper manga volumes, or any other artifact that might have provided comfort to pre-digital journalists facing the inexorable dissolution of much of the material world they grew up with into trivial gadgets designed to fit in their pockets.
Opening images: Steve Jobs. Photo Justin Sullivan from GettyImages
The smartphone reigns supreme as the ultimate gaming device, with more games now played on phones than on consoles, and even dedicated gaming models available. The phone has realized the dream of the Game Boy: most of the games we play, we play on our phones. Even classics like chess – or Pokémon.
Forget paper maps – already usurped by GPS navigators – smartphones, with apps like Google Maps, have nearly eradicated a crucial link between locals and visitors: asking for directions. Nowadays, if someone inquires about a street or landmark, you immediately wonder if it’s due to a dead battery or a scam.
For a brief moment, digital publishing seemed poised to overtake print, perhaps as an iPad replica. It didn’t. Printed books and comics are thriving, as are Moleskines. Yet we’re surrounded by less and less paper. And we’ll continue to see less of it because our reading habits have changed radically: more compulsive, more fragmented, and still largely on our phones. But if you subscribe to Domus in print, rest assured that you’ll be getting it for a while yet.
Why lug around a compact mirror when you can simply flip open your phone’s selfie camera for a quick touch-up?
No longer just for cash, credit cards, train or plane tickets, business cards, or the ESTA app. The phone has gradually assumed nearly all the functions of the wallet, with even identity documents poised to go digital. Even those little scraps of paper where we jot down quick notes or snapshots of family members have found a new home on our smartphones. After all, we’ll be remembered as the generations who had photos of their children as lock screen wallpapers on their smartphones.
They’ve found their way into our phones, too. Some never seem to leave. Others, you keep rediscovering, sometimes even in real life. They come in all shapes and sizes. And distinguishing between “friend” and “follower” has become increasingly difficult. But that’s a story for another day.
Today, it’s a tab in the Notes app; gone are the days of scribbling on a piece of paper in the kitchen, often taped to the wall or fridge, updating it as items ran low. Groceries weren’t ordered online; back then, you’d go to those ancient places known as “markets” and “supermarkets,” a few of which still linger.
Legend has it that the first iPhone bore a striking resemblance to the iPod. Sure, Apple’s smartphone may have rendered the music player obsolete, but the real game-changer was the advent of the cloud: music now streams from somewhere, whereas before, you had to either purchase or pirate it and transfer it to your phone. It’s a transition that some still relish, as evidenced by Cindy Lee and her critically acclaimed Diamond Jubilee, boasting a stellar 9.1 rating on Pitchfork, released this year in .wav format and downloadable from Geocities, a site that exudes Y2K nostalgia and that we didn’t even remember still existed.
Gone are the glory (and hairy) days of VHS tapes and magazines, now coveted collector’s items with a vintage flavor. For decades, many newsstands had sections off-limits to minors. But those newsstands have vanished; in their place, we have Pornhub, YouPorn, an explosion of amateur and reality porn, and the rise of DIY erotica on platforms like Onlyfans. And let’s face it, Instagram is often enough.
Oh yes, used to be a standalone tool, now just a feature on your phone.
TV shows are now streamed on laptops in bed, and the only screen that matters is the one connected to the PlayStation. If you ask a millennial, this has been the norm for at least a decade. Let’s add another layer: the way we consume television has completely shifted. Not just because of Netflix’s on-demand model usurping traditional schedules, but because TV has become Instagram and TikTok reels, following an era of abundant YouTube videos. You can keep up with the game on your phone just as you used to listen to it on a pocket radio.
The golden age of the epistolary novel peaked in the 18th century, symbolically closing with works like Dracula (1897) and occasionally resurfacing in postmodern iterations into the 20th century (think Carrie or House of Leaves). We continued writing letters to each other, with love letters being the most memorable, often embellished with drawings, photographs, or even dried flowers and scents. Paper was meticulously chosen. It used to be that after a romantic breakup, you’d get a stack of paper; now it’s a few voice notes and a DM on Instagram.
Why carry around keys when you can unlock your car and even your house with your phone? But if the battery dies?
With Siri, Alexa, Google Assistant, Bixby, and their ilk, a luxury symbol (and a staple in Batman lore) has been democratized into digital form, accessible to everyone. The next frontier? Ever more powerful AI, possibly even replacing the smartphone itself one day.
Why wear a watch when you can check the time on your phone? It’s become a fashion statement or a fitness tracker. But you can leave it at home and your life won’t skip a beat.
Explain to a Gen Z that voicemail used to be a physical object, usually sitting next to the “landline” phone that everyone still talks about.
Oh yes, this too used to be a standalone device, now just another feature on your phone. There was even a variant: the clock-radio, which integrated a radio – what? You don’t know what a radio is?
Let’s not play ignorant; online shopping is a significant part of our lives now. Whether it’s Amazon, groceries from Esselunga, a dress from Vinted, or vinyl from Discogs, the shift to online purchasing is undeniable.
Thanks to the pandemic, menus have morphed into QR codes. But why bother dining out when you can order in from your phone?