Appreciating character
I don’t own a protective case for my iPhone. I think most of them are ugly, bulky atrocities that impose upon the exquisite physical identity of the device. Do I need one? Probably. I buy things to use, not to look at, so inevitably there have been a few drops and run-ins with sharp objects. The world is a dangerous and indecent place for a device that gets used so often, especially in the hands of an (occasionally) inebriated owner such as myself.
But every one of those dents and scratches tells a story, whether it’s dumb—”it was in my pocket with my keys.”—or interesting—”I dropped it the night when we went out on our first date.” Those moments are engraved on the object and give it character, which appreciates as time passes. Whether it be my diesel jeans with the wallet indent or my brown couch with the coffee stain, these marks are a constant visual reminder of how I’ve been with these things long enough to make an impression. And those that have endured my occasional abuse and still been good to me over the years are the last that I’ll give up.
So why would I cover all that up with a pink piece of rubber?
