Everything started off simple enough. A small notification marked in red appeared on my settings icon, which said that to “update” would enable me to live an improved life through 14.7.3 Software Update. “This update includes important security improvements and bug fixes,” the notification gave me a cheerful reminder.
Estimated download time: 8 minutes. Installation: 10 minutes. Total commitment: less than the time to cook a frozen microwave dinner.
Fast forward two hours later, I found myself hunched over my device like a code-breaking cryptographer, restlessly trying to figure out the password to my Apple ID while the device had already set 49 different settings to default. I was consuming my evening with such intent that I did not know when the “quick update” evolved into a full blown need for a digital renovation. Whatever had happened to my evening was slowly fading away much like a black hole consuming nearby stars.
Ever since then, the scenario has become a recurring phenomenon within my life. Now, I approach all software updates with the same comfort as people approach disarming explosive devices. Being somehow triggered and alerted as soon as I see the innocently titled “update available” is shocking.
It definitely raises my blood pressure similar to when spotting a saber-toothed tiger while out in nature. What bothers me the most about these updates is how they keep bothering you. Decline once, and they step back, but just temporarily, like a television salesman who says they’ll visit at a ‘better’ time.
As you would expect, better time is always 11:43 PM when you’re drifting off to sleep or 6:12 AM when you grab your phone to turn off the alarm. “Update now?” it says, as if the device hasn’t been waiting for this moment for days. Eventually, you find yourself worn down and decide to give in.
“Fine,” you mumble to no one in particular, resigning yourself to the reality. “Let’s get this over with.” Feeling good about the update process, you click “Install Now” hoping it takes only a few minutes. This, of course, is but the first in a string of technological lies that would put even the most crafty politician to shame.
The progress bar moves forward like a ”sleepy tortoise.” It gets to 80% and seems to be moving at a decent pace which gives you some optimism that you can try to salvage what’s left of the day. Then it simply freezes. You begin to stare at your screen and anything within a 15 kilometer radius for a couple of minutes.
The bar doesn’t budge. At this point, you’re probably asking yourself whether it has frozen or its secretly progressing and choosing to not update you. If I may ask, should you – heaven forbid – try turning it off and back on?
It’s hard to believe this but just as you go for the power button, the bar decides to surprise you and make a one inch movement towards the next step. It feels like the cursor was testing your patience level and guess what? You nearly failed!
To your surprise when the update finally concludes and your device reboots, you’re somehow met not with the digital ecosystem you have astutely built over years or months, but instead by the deranged version of your previous technology life. Apps have relocated to new locations like nomads, however, settings have been “improved” which means they have been hidden, renamed or removed entirely. As if that wasn’t enough, your selected wallpaper has been swapped out for the standard image, that seems to mock the loss of your possessional overboard nature scenery.
Next up is the password gauntlet. In case some data goes missing–for whatever the reason you think–you are asked to provide each and every password you’ve set and chances are you would not recall more than one. Most passwords are situated in that cloudy section of your head where you also keep the names of far-off relatives and lyrics to a one-hit-wonder from early 2000’s.
Then you get the quote, “Your password must contain at least one uppercase letter, one lowercase letter, one number, one special character, one Egyptian hieroglyph, and the middle name of your third-grade teacher.” I begin to try out a few variations, each attempt sorely increasing my blood pressure. By attempt number five, while I was on the verge of complete rage and streaming the nearest television outside my window, it accepts a passcode that I was positive before denying. But as most people know by now, the endless list of hiccups and tweaks makes the true mess of smartphone updates show up hours later and reveal all the smaller yet immensely annoying alterations that have been made without your approval.
Last month, I updated my phone trying to get an “improved user experience.” After doing so, I found out my phone now had narcolepsy and was instantly dozing off mid-way through a task notwithstanding my setting that allowed the device to be idle for 5 minutes. A setting that originally existed under “Display & Brightness” had now changed to “Accessibility,” then deep down into “Advanced Features,” and finally locked in a dungeon called “Beware of the Leopard” (or something equally as ridiculous). To find and fix this setting, I had to go on a thirty-minute digital scavenger hunt, which did not bear fruit, as I was left in a state that would make a sailor blush.
“Enhanced user experience,” was more like giving users new and creative ways on how to use profanity. Certain features you enjoyed and liked to use routinely would completely disappear without a reason, only to be replaced with something you didn’t ask for. After one particularly irritating update, I noticed the calculator app I frequently used had undergone massive changes and was utterly unrecognizable, with buttons now jumbled in a way that resembled a digital tornado had swept through.
“Why?” I asked my phone, and it was like I was speaking into a void where there were customer service chatbots and puzzled users on online forums. The official answer, buried somewhere under update notes in the form of dumb corporate jargon, was that it provided “improved ergonomics and accessibility.” Meaning, a designer with too much free time decided to fix something that didn’t need fixing. At least some updates annoying serve a purpose, but the worst updates are those that occur for the sake of occuring and radically change how the device functions without the user’s goals in mind.
My phone, for example, tries to be ‘helpful’ by automatically opening links in new apps instead of the browser, and after just that one update, I was left in a wild version of worples where while trying to read an article, I was bombarded with app download prompts and redirects that left me seven applications away from being able to start reading. It is like a more digital version of “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.”
Looking for the toggle for this setting took me down a rabbit hole, and I was expecting the white rabbit who was getting his pocket watch out at some point as well. When I found the option eventually, it was buried under three layers of menus that got progressively tougher to figure out, and when I finally did, it was labeled ‘Open links in associated apps.’ That is so vague, and annoying, considering it could mean anything from ‘launch the appropriate app when you tap a link’ to ‘sell your data to Martian telemarketers.’
One need not wonder why smartphone updates are annoying, because their gradual change in the user experience is the reason.
Features that are dreams and appalling changes in a couple of years, allow the user to be resurrected without having to feel sorry or worried from their obnoxiously updated devices. My phone has started suggesting I make calls to people I had a conversation with yesterday, as if it has some insights into my life. It complains about my screen time like a parent that is steppong on my boundaries.
It tries to move my apps around and, more often than not, gets it completely wrong. After every update, I will spend weeks getting rid of these assumptions, turning off the so-called “helpful” features, and training my phone to be more useful and less like a headstrong personal assistant. Just when I get everything to my liking, another update comes in, starting the cycle over and making me do the work all over again.
This kind of digital adjustment does not come without some kind of psychological damage. There’s a unique kind of irritability that accompanies the never-ending need to control a device that was designed to aid you. It’s like having a butler who moves all your furniture around saying that he is going to do it for your own good.
I’ve created screenshots of the most crucial settings I had before updates. Think of it as setting up a trail of breadcrumbs that allows me to return to my preferred configuration after the update. I meticulously maintain a document that notes the vital locations of certain software settings, all while imagining myself as a medieval monk dressed in waring robes, detailing the movements of notorious invaders.
Just remember, it is not a pretty sight. It’s going to feel very grim in real life. The most amusing part is that I have begun marking my updates like a medical patient on a surgery table, actively blocking out time while mentally preparing myself for the frustration to come.
“You see, it’s simple. I won’t be able to make dinner on Thursday. I will need to update my phone and the evening will get busy for me.”.
But at the end of the day, what astounds me is that we as a society have decided that this version of our lives is normal. We have decided to surrender to a reality where our devices have the supreme power to decide how often they need their users to maintain them so that taxation can be made compulsory. To all the devices out there, congratulations!
You are granted the permission of collecting taxes now. We have accepted as reasonable that our devices, i.e. the computers and phones, will enforce changes on settings that we have meticulously crafted ‘against our will’ without permission and set the parameters so that basic features need to be recollected.
Just think of it as digging for digital ruins, and, like an archaeologist possess the tools. What’s visible, what affects our daily digital lives is the reset preferences – the missing features, the unwelcome changes, and the unneeded reset. It’s like our technology is possessed, and that the mind is undoubtedly uncaring about our preferences- like it waged a war on our choice.
The irony, of course, is that these updates often claim to deliver better performance or improved security – benefits that are non-existent to the average user. Imagine what my grandfather would be thinking about the current technological era. His car didn’t periodically rearrange its dashboard, and his toaster didn’t need software updates to keep converting bread into toast.
His television didn’t wake him at midnight to proclaim that it had transformed overnight and bring nightmares with it. I often wonder what grandpa, who loved his rotary phone for its reliability, would think of our ISPs. My smartphone is enormously more able than any device my grandfather owned – but it’s also crazily more demanding.
It now needs constant attention to operate. There’s something to be said for the stability of those earlier technologies and other devices that didn’t require the user to provide constant attention, and operated on their own. My phone is notifying me that an update is available and naturally it sounds like the other updates “renewing system components”.
This features a newer form of vague language that is apparently carved into the very core of my phone. Just like the last dozen upgrades, this too will increase the chances of decreased performance alongside staring at a notification that informs me of the new features. There is a chance I will update it today.
Sticking to an outdated operating system, much like the rest of my peers, comes with its own share of restrictions and risks. But regardless of the choice, I am forced to tackle the realm of digital chores, hunting down hidden settings, and hope for the best. I recently discovered a radically new habit.
I simply shut my phone off. Nope not mute. Not airplane mode.
Properly off. Surprisingly quite, isn’t it? It makes me reminisce on the time when humans weren’t completely glued to their phones and tools did not require constant supervision.
What follows are a few hours devoid of the smothering feeling of having a phone on me which surprisingly turns out to be pleasant. However, the second I turn my phone back on I am greeted with a horrid sight. 14 messages, 3 app updates and a cheerful notification stating that the new system update has arrived.
This is life within our new world of digital, where “fix” and “break” have somehow become the same words, and where the only thing consistent is the constant cycle of adapt, update, and repeat.
