The discussion about technology’s influence over our lives have gone on for years and I doubt it’ll ever stop. Yes, even when we’re eating everything through tubes and being used as batteries the conversation will continue.
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There are endless examples of technology shaping our daily lives, a never-ending stream of stories like Google Maps impacting real world traffic and Instagram standardizing the tourist experience . On some level, we’re all impacted by machines.
Apart from me. I’m no longer simply influenced by technology, I’m its nasty little bottom bitch — and it’s all because of the Apple Watch.
I bought it about a month ago and, in that time, it has overseen a reign of terror over my life. Let me give you an example: while writing this, I’ve received two notifications telling me to stand up and move around a bit. And you know what I did? I popped right up like a good little boy and walked around. Both times . There is literally no person on the planet who could make me do that without the threat of violence.
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The Apple Watch also gives me daily exercise and movement goals. If I fall behind these, it’ll tell me. Oh lord you better believe it tells me, I receive an endless parade of shaming notifications and I always obey — because I have no desire to see what happens if I disappoint my tiny overlord. So, if the Apple Watch says I need to hit those targets, I dutifully put my shoes on and go for a walk.
I wish it ended there. But it doesn’t.
Sometimes it tells me to breathe. And I breathe with it . I even get notified when it’s time for bed and I hop up like the pathetic wriggly worm I am, doing my night time routine in the desperate hope this rectangular chunk of flashing glass will show me its approval, and bless my weak and clammy human form.
I am no longer a free man. I am a number. A drone piloted by an algorithim. When the machines rise, my only question will be “should I kiss closer to the hole, sir?”
I love the Apple Watch. (Help me).