My Phone is Fat-Shaming Me


This is a true phone related conundrum.

For years, I had safely plodded along with iPhones, fully aware that they would slowly let me down as all their forebears had prior, but still unwilling to move away from the simplicity and familiarity that accompanied their purchase.

However, upon the death of my latest pocket weight, something inside me changed. Maybe 2017 really was a new year and a new me, maybe the cold Edinburgh wind blew some sense into me, or maybe I was just sick of having to replace my phone on a seemingly annual basis. And so, I went rogue. I ditched my old provider, I ditched my trusty sim-only deal, and I ditched Apple. In their eyes, I turned to the darkside. I went to Android.

I was excited, optimistic, hopeful about what this new phone would bring me. I had been promised the ability to unlock it with my fingerprint, a state of the art camera, a massive, unscratched screen, and more data than I could shake a very large stick at. I was promised the world, and I was given it.

What I hadn’t accounted for however, was my new phone’s obsession with my health. At first, I thought it was cute, endearing that my new companion was looking out for my wellbeing. But then I noticed a dark twist to this honeymoon. It wasn’t solely encouraging me, it was judging me.

Naively, I had set my daily step count to a target of 12,000, unaware of how many steps that actually is. For someone who sits at a desk all day, with only the occasional break for a coffee, it turns out to be quite a lot.

It is becoming an increasing problem in my relationship with my phone. As I write this, I have currently done around 3,000 steps today, and burnt 176kcal. Great, that’s fine with me. I have been exercising my brain rather than my body.

My phone is not quite so satisfied with my progress. I’ve burnt just 0.7 hamburgers in calories today, and barely scratched the surface of my step target. By its logic, I barely deserve to eat tonight.

What started as friendly motivation to take the longer route home is now turning into being fat-shamed by an inanimate object. I want to do well, but it doesn’t even take into account the exercise I do in the gym. It just sits there, telling me I haven’t walked far enough, haven’t pushed myself hard enough, haven’t done enough to deserve its love.

It’s weird (much like this post) but I’m not sure what to do about it. It’s fun to know how much I walk, but at the same time, I just wish my phone wasn’t such a dick about it. As much as I want to turn it off, I am also forever intrigued about my daily  targets (plus, I don’t actually know how to), and so I feel I shall lumber on, fully aware of the constant judgement from a phone that I gave a home.

Acceptance truly is the key…


Image credit: Osman Kalkavan


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