Anti-capitalist consumerism

Last summer, after we lost touch, I drove with my then-ex boyfriend from Baltimore to Syracuse, New York, to fetch my blue SUV from the airport parking garage. I abandoned Bluey for a few days after a series of Delta-related events sent my brother and I scrambling for return flights (if a few thousands of dollars in gift cards richer). I ended up car-less in Charm City while he, lacking a license, flew home to his wife. 

One thing led to another and I ended up buying a Nokia 6300 from a King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard fan in a gas station parking lot in Rome, New York. That my then-ex entertained this bullshit should have been my biggest clue our breakup was a critical error of judgment on my part, but I’ve never been the fastest draw in the West, nor has discernment really been my gift. 

But you’re not here to hear about all that. You’re here to hear about the joys of divesting from the attention economy, ways in which I’ve barred myself from the rising tide of attachment hacking, and how you can, too. Or maybe you just want to hear a story about someone else doing it, and all the someones I’ve encountered who are doing it, because for any number of reasons—work, school, romantic endeavors—you can’t, and that’s okay.

When last we spoke, I was rocking a dual-setup: smartphone and “dumb” phone, iPhone and CAT S22 Flip. During the ensuing personal, political, and technological upheavals, generative AI among them, I felt like it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to strike a balance between smart and dumb. I needed to deepen the moat between my fortress and the tech bro invaders. Buying the Nokia for forty dollars cash felt like a good step. However, when my then-ex and I got back to our hotel room in Corning, I told him I was actually scared to make the leap. If it were a movie, there’d be some analysis of the fact that I was avoiding two lifestyles that night: a stable relationship with another person, and a stable relationship with technology. So the Nokia sat, largely unused and untouched, in my bag. 

I cycled through three different models of “dumbphone” on my quest to digitally detox. It became a running gag in my friend group that the Nokia was this chain-smoking tattooed Hollywood cartoon, butting her cigarette on the wrought-iron railing to her stoop every time she saw me walking up, just to growl, “Look who’s come crawling back to me.” Every time I return to her, people treat her like she’s brand new. This Monday, my friend Zachary Michel asked, “Another phone? What are you on, some kind of anti-capitalist consumerist kick?” 

Up next: the case against switching to a dumbphone, more on attachment hacking, and all the disclaimers I give people whenever they want to follow me into the dark.