It was, as they say, a ‘crossing the Rubicon’ moment.
I was trying to organise a short trip to Rome (speaking of Caesars, and Rubicons), and having trouble finding a hotel. One eventually appeared, perfect – so it seemed – in every way. Before making the booking, however, I thought I should check out the Google reviews.
The reviews glowed. What a find! A little gem in the heart of Rome! One reviewer, though, sounded a note of caution. Be aware, she wrote, that you’ll need to use your phone to open the hotel room – so make sure you have plenty of battery, in case you come back late at night.
This was potentially a problem – because I didn’t have a smartphone, and in fact I’d never had one.
Long story short, I did not make the booking. I assumed the hotel would have a Plan B, but they didn’t. The desk clerk, when I called, seemed initially confused – It’s fine, he assured me, you can just use the wi-fi – then, when he realised I had no smart device whatsoever, rather lost for words.
The pressure’s been building for years, of course – the previous red line having been the introduction of QR codes for restaurant menus. But a point of no return has been crossed when a tourist needs a digital connection just to stay in a hotel in one of the world’s great cities.
Three weeks ago, I bought my first-ever smartphone.
Friends and family have loudly applauded the move, telling me how much easier and more pleasant my life will be. After all, Cyprus’ love affair with smartphones is well documented.
According to a Cyprus Mail article from last March, market penetration of mobile phones on the island is 156 per cent, meaning more phones than people. There were 1.39 million mobile-cellular subscriptions in 2022.
That’s mobile phones in general, not necessarily smart ones – but, for instance, a Financial Mirror article from 2017 reported that 88 per cent of people accessing the internet in Cyprus had done so through their phones. The percentage today would be even higher.
In any case, you don’t need statistics to know how lonely it feels perusing messages on an old-school Nokia – and the reactions it frequently evokes, ranging from pity to barely disguised irritation.
Human nature is funny that way. Once something’s been established as a self-evident good, a herd instinct kicks in and people become irrationally resentful of those who may have weighed up pros and cons and come to a different conclusion.
After all, there are obvious disadvantages to smartphones – especially when you look at atomised families, or supposedly loving couples, sitting in a restaurant glued to their respective devices, barely communicating, or “those long-nailed women in bars and cafés scrolling down their phones desperate not to miss a single post,” as Jane Rushton, who works in media, told the Cyprus Mail.
“Do they talk to the people they’re with? No, the phone provides all the contact they need.”
Equally, there are obvious advantages to so-called ‘dumb’ phones.
“The battery lasts for one week, or even more,” Kamilla, who works as a cultural assistant in the diplomatic sector, told the Cyprus Mail. “You can drop it and it won’t get damaged – I’ve dropped mine many times already.” Also, she adds, “you’re not very anxious about it getting stolen.”
Indeed, it was the theft of her original smartphone six years ago that prompted her to buy the Nokia, because she needed something quickly and could only afford an old-school model. A few months later, she did buy a replacement, “but I got so used to the other one that I didn’t want to leave it”.
Kamilla still has both phones – proof, perhaps, that the Rubicon isn’t really so life-changing – using them about equally. “I only use the smart for the internet: for Viber, WhatsApp, and just searching on the internet. And I use the other one for phone calls and text messages.”
It’s often (and rather condescendingly) assumed that only old people have old-style phones – but Kamilla, for instance, is 32. “It really is not an age thing,” confirms Jane. “My father is 86 and he has a smartphone. I’m 62 and I still cling to my trusty Nokia.”
What it seems to be, rather, is a question of temperament.
On a basic level, some outliers just don’t enjoy the plastic, manufactured reality of social media and online distractions. Again and again, I was asked why I didn’t upgrade from my dumb phone, and again and again I gave the same – truthful – answer: I didn’t feel I wanted to, or that I was missing anything.
“I’m not very crazy about phones,” agrees Kamilla. “I just don’t like it. I don’t use Facebook, I don’t have too many applications – only if it’s really, really needed. Like, I have an application for my eBank, unfortunately.
“I have Viber and WhatsApp because I need it for work. I don’t play games on my phone.” How come? “Just a waste of time, for me,” she shrugs. “I don’t like to be on the phone constantly.”
Then there’s another, more philosophical level. Thirty years ago I recall having an argument with someone who predicted (correctly, of course) that mobile phones would take over and landlines would become obsolete.
I argued this would never happen – because people wouldn’t want to lose their anonymity and be reachable at all times by carrying a phone around with them.
To me, this seemed self-evident. But of course a mobile also meant that you could call when a loved one was late coming home, instead of sitting there stewing with worry. In the end, safety won out.
Nowadays, some phones allow users – parents, say – to track the precise location of other users. This would once have seemed dystopian. Today, it’s a feature.
Smartphones have propelled the philosophical debate to the next level. Not everyone cares about privacy – but some people do. Again, it’s a question of temperament. “It’s much harder for ‘them’ to keep track of me,” says Jane, adding one more reason to stick with dumb phones. “Yes, a Nokia leaves a trace, but I’m nowhere near as visible as the vast majority of people.”
The trouble, of course, is that ‘they’ (whether or not it’s the same ‘they’) are making it harder and harder to stick with Nokias, from bank apps to paperless tickets to QR codes – or indeed hotel-room doors that open only with a digital swipe.
The spin is always the same: more convenience, data security, customer choice. The reality, of course, is less choice – and increasingly unliveable conditions for those on the wrong side of the Rubicon.
“Can I survive long term? Debatable,” admits Jane. “Certainly not if I were in a city like app-filled London. But, at the moment, I can still cling on in Nicosia.”
“I’ve heard that, in China, everyone pays for everything through their phones,” muses Kamilla. “It would be difficult there, I guess. But we don’t live in a society like that.
“Yet,” she adds wryly.
