In my research before buying the Light Phone II, a browserless e-paper device on the premium end of “dumbphone” options, I was surprised by how few of its reviewers had decided to stick with it.
Jordan Hart of Business Insider gave it only a week. Unconvinced by the company’s founders, The Verge’s Michael Zelenko asked around; only the crunchiest-granola of friends said they’d try it. CNET’s Jessica Fierro was inspired by the concept, but didn’t make the switch, citing the social media demands of their work. Fast Company and The Guardian gave tepid scores, and Mashable’s Gen Z reviewer could hardly hide their disgust with the device by the end of the week. Common complaints included the tinny voice calling and unusual form factor, an absence of quick navigation, and missing out on texted photos of weddings and vacations. There was a sense that the light phone was an aesthetic; something that a wealthy tech hipster might aspire to have, rather than being genuinely appropriate to use.
It’s a good reminder that not everyone is me. The reviewers didn’t think they needed the phone - they were curious, maybe, but for them it was a device, and as a device the features were lacking. Their complaints were reasonable, from that perspective. But I didn’t find them especially relevant, because for me, buying the lightphone feels like breaking the glass on a fire extinguisher. I’m using the Light II because my smart phone is fucking me up.
Put aside the evidence that the presence of smartphones has cut our attention spans to sub-goldfish levels, or that just having them nearby causes a significant reduction in your cognitive capacity, or that excessive passive screen use might lead to increased dementia risk. The only justification I need for this switch is that smartphone makes me miserable every single day. I’m tired of wasting my mornings wading through misinformation and seething, scissor-statement-esque, over political ragebait. I hate jolting out of an internet hole at a visibly different time of day than when I started, with no clear memory of why I got on in the first place. Long stints leave me feeling dizzy and dissociated, with a lingering worry that I’m causing permanent damage. Maybe there are hipsters out there buying the phone just for the aesthetic; for me, it’s a pretty slipcover over life-saving medication.
In other words, I’m ready to use the Light Phone II forever. Or at least until it breaks - it doesn’t seem quite as invincible as a Nokia - but, point is, a permanent lifestyle change to a less capable everyday communcations device. It turns out this takes some planning, in practice. One big obstacle is that the entire world now has complete confidence that you have a smartphone, and not meeting that expectation can cause serious problems. It only took a few seconds to realize I would need to have a “wifi smartphone” on deck, or face giving up travel navigation, crucial work-related mobile authenticators, and even the ability to do laundry in my city apartment.
I ended up plotting all my smartphoney tasks on paper, planning how a minimalist phone lifestyle would work in practice. Many apps were either the exact kind of thing I was trying to avoid, or conveniences I didn’t mind giving up. Browser access was obviously first to go, same with social media and games. Extra Chipotle reward points and Spotify access were also not tragedies - a few lost burrito-bucks and reverting to my computer for music, no biggie. Some things could be easily compensated, like carrying a proper flashlight and getting a proper camera, and others were genuine pain points I’d just have to accept, like extra cash to cover for not having Venmo on hand. Some bummers, all doable.
And as for the Big Unavoidables, thankfully it seems like they’ll all be manageable through the Light Phone’s easily accessible hotspot. I don’t love having my iPhone in my bag, even in its new SIM-less state, but on days where I’m not reaching for a mobile auth app for web dev or trying to navigate to a Meetup bar, I can just as easily leave it in my car. I’m already noticing a difference in my information cravings, anyway; the inconvenience of having to pull my old phone out of the bag and fiddle with the settings is enough to discourage trivial interactions.
I do wonder if any of the Light Phone’s critics will ever end up revisiting their assessments of digital minimalism, given the growing sense that the internet is only getting worse. I’m puzzled by how people can be so resentful of doomscrolling and internet holes, but don’t consider confronting the issue the way they might with sudden weight gain or a drinking problem. Often these conversations are mixed with self-deprecation. “I have a terrible internet addiction”, goes the confession, “but it’s only because I’m garbage”.
Switching my SIM card from the iPhone SE to the Light II took weeks of Verizon phone support; the pages long guide on Verizon setup from the Light manufacturer only hammers home that the powers-that-be don’t want you to switch. The companies that make these things have a grip like a vice, so if you’re garbage for falling for their shenanigans, you’re in good company. I’ve considered dropping to a dumbphone for over two years, but was hampered each time by poor phone options and a lack of stock - my current purchase was finally enabled by a New Yorker feature on DumbWireless, a company specializing in guiding tech-free aspirants through the hostile and byzantine process of making their phones less capable. The feature by a major magazine had me hopeful. If there’s money to be made on stepping back, it might give this cottage industry some needed momentum; I’d still love to buy myself an e-paper typewriter that’s a little less trashy than mine.
In any case, I finally got through my setup difficulty, and I’m now on week three of using the Light. As per the plan, there are some inconveniences, but luckily no dealbreakers. For long car trips, I set up the hotspot and take an extra phone battery; I fidget and sketch in long meetings. I’m reading considerably more every day. My car is quiet on the way to work, and I’m helplessly bored as I wait for coffee at the nearby cafe.
It’s restrictive, but I do feel lighter. You might, too.