Steve Jobs, even in the afterlife, you can still get me to buy just about anything. I think there are many people out there who would buy iCat-Poop-in-a-Bag if it had a tiny little apple on it. Hell, I probably would.
The Apple store has always been somewhat of a playground to me, and I wouldn’t be upset if I worked there after college and did nothing with my degree.
Before I came to Binghamton, I spent all of my high school graduation party money on a MacBook, despite my parents’ wishes. And I’ve squandered away countless paychecks buying the newest and coolest iPod whenever Apple releases them.
I’m an unabashed Apple whore, and I wanted the iPhone to complete the trifecta.
I’ve had iPhone-envy ever since Apple blessed us with its release in 2007, but my dad’s chronic frugality and AT&T’s bullshit data plans prevented me from fulfilling my deepest cellular desires.
And without the iPhone, the history of my phone ownership was more embarrassing than Kevin James’ IMDb page. I’ve had every knockoff phone known to man — a fake LG Chocolate and a pseudo-HTC Inspire, just to name a few.
For a solid six months during my freshman year, I carried around my mother’s old hot pink Motorola Razr, complete with pink Swarovski crystals. The embarrassment I felt whenever I had to unearth that garish piece of Long Island guidette history from within my purse has yet to be surpassed.
And when my two roommates came back from winter break, each with an iPhone 4S in hand, I thought my heart would burst with longing. Watching them verbally assault Siri and upload hipster photos via Instagram only made me hate my phone even more. As I sat in Lecture Hall during the first week of classes, I found myself completely surrounded by iPhones and got a serious case of the loser-kid blues.
The allure of the iPhone is impossible to properly describe. It’s an odd combination of the basic desire for something shiny and expensive, the satisfaction of owning an impressive piece of machinery and the feeling that this phone is the phone of our generation.
It doesn’t help that Apple is basically the Jay-Z of marketing, because those geniuses make me want to buy EVERYTHING. The commercials, full of hipster kids in hipster clothes (Apple is the Prince Charles of hipsters) utilizing all of the iPhone’s features, sucked me in like the simpleton I am.
This past weekend, I couldn’t take it anymore. After sitting in Lecture Hall and seeing iPhones as far as the eye could see, I snapped and went into Apple withdrawal. I went to Best Buy and shelled out an exorbitant amount of money to buy the 4S without being eligible for an upgrade, despite my parent’s best wishes.
Sorry, Dad.