I love the iPod. Its sleek design, its shiny and unbelievably vivid color display. Just looking at the marvel of consumer technology sends me into daydreams: caressing the clickwheel, my thumb ever-so-gently navigating through 30 gigabytes of music and movies and photographs, rocking out to Belle and Sebastian, showing off home movies and snapshots of our vacation to England…
Such a shame, then, that I’m afraid to actually touch the thing.
My first iPod, a 20-gigabyte 4G, didn’t get iSkinned for about three months. By the time I covered it in a warm and protective silicon womb, it was battered and dented. The metal back was scratched beyond recognition.
When that iPod died, about eleven months later, I got a replacement, and was waiting at the mailbox with a protective case. As soon as the package arrived, I opened it, and, carefully, without touching the iPod, slid it into its new home. I didn’t want to mar it with the oils from my own skin; fingerprints make both the plastic and metal casings look like crap.
Now, I’ve got a 5G. It’s beautiful and black and has 10 extra gigabytes, can play video, display photos, etc. And, yes, Jonathan Ive‘s gorgeous industrial design is pleasant on the eyes. But it really inspires a sense of despair and panic whenever you want to actually use the thing. I mean, what if you scratched it? What if your carefully-chosen personalized inscription chipped off? So many things running through my head, I’m afraid to skip a song or turn up the volume, lest I damage the clickwheel.
Apple has a great image. Sometimes I wish they’d sacrifice a teeny-weeny bit of it, though, for some workhorse function. It doesn’t have to be coated in yellow-and-black protective rubber or anything. I’d like to be able to put it in my damned pocket, though, without fear that it will be scratched by the lint therein.
That’s all.
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