The way author Adam Greenfield starts his essay, “A Sociology of the Smartphone” sounds almost like the beginning of a romantic poem: “They are the last thing we look at before sleep each night, and the first thing we reach for upon waking.” No, he isn’t talking about his lover’s arms, but the rectangular “sandwich of aluminosilicate glass, polycarbonate and aluminum” that usually accompany us in bed. I remember when the first iPhone launched in 2007. I was at two friends’ combined birthday party when the resident rich kid of our class brandished his thin, sleek touchscreen phone. At 14, I had gotten my first cell phone. It was a silver Razr phone, only given to me with the understanding that it was to be used for calling my parents only. At the time, I found it so odd that this kid’s parents deemed it necessary for their child to own a pocket-sized computer. Actually, I still think it’s weird. I honestly don’t know why anyone under 18 needs constant access to apps and the Internet. I was just fine without a smartphone or laptop until I started college. As the iPhone and other comparable smartphones replaced brick phones, each new model decreasing in size and weight, it seems that we haven’t noticed the total changes to our communicative landscape wrought by these newfangled smart devices. At that seventh-grade party/2007 iPhone unveiling, we teens spent the night dancing, laughing and eating cake. Had more of us owned iPhones, I have a strong feeling that that birthday party would’ve looked a lot more like the teen parties of today. We would’ve spent more time bent over our phones, analyzing texts from boys, finding the best Snapchat filter for our selfies, and ensuring all of our friends and followers on social media knew that we were at a party. I agree with Greenfield when he says that the smartphone has dominated most social spaces, acting as “an extension of our bodies”: “Equipped with these devices, we’re both here and somewhere else at the same time, joined to everything at once yet never fully anywhere at all.” The smartphone, Greenfield says, has replaced much of the traditional human interactions that connect us. Gone are the days of hearing about the latest current event at newspaper stands, gathering around a TV/electronic store to watch the results of the big game or election, or hailing a cab with a flick of the wrist -- there’s an app for that now. The smartphones have become the ultimate substitute for a number of tools we once carried in our purses. Contact lists have replaced the Rolodex, physical credit cards and bills have been swapped with credit card apps, roadmaps with Google Maps, and pocket photos of family and pets with digital photo albums. Surprisingly, Greenfield writes, few things remain irreplaceable even with the advent of smart technology, such as passports and driver’s licenses. I remember when I finally got my first iPhone (the second semester of my first year in college), I was grateful for the instant access to my email. I wouldn’t have to trudge up to my dorm to check my laptop for replies from professors. As I became more engrossed with my new toy, I began to appreciate its more unnecessary but fun features. Camera filters made photos of myself look tenfold better, I could avoid asking for directions thanks to my maps app, and I could use hilarious emojis to replace words. I had, in the words of Greenfield, traded my privacy for convenience. “For most of us, most of the time, the functionality on offer is so useful that this is a bargain we’re more than happy to strike, yet it remains distressing that its terms are rarely made explicit,” he writes. “When we move through the world with a smartphone in hand, then, we generate an enormous amount of data in the course of our ordinary activities, and we do so without noticing or thinking much about it.” I admit, the convenience of getting from Point A to Point B with help from Google’s satellites is beneficial enough to me that I don’t necessarily think about the cons of this smart technology. I rarely think about how someone out there in Silicon Valley knows exactly where I go, how I spend my time, the messages I send, what I buy, and the photos I send and receive. I also know that the relatively cheap cost of the iPhone comes at the expense of laborers overseas who put the phones together. They are often subjected to long hours, low wages, and dangerous working conditions. But because I don’t see this happening, it’s almost as if it’s not happening. Sadly, I liken the casual attitude I have towards general smartphone use to my use of plastic. I hate the fact that a lot of our plastic ends up in the ocean, and while I try to use less plastic in my own life, I don’t think I can eliminate it completely. With my iPhone, I hate knowing that someone has so much intel into my life, as well as the other problematic aspects of smart technology, like computer hacking. But not quite enough to go back to my old, 2006 Razr phone.
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