I wouldn’t call myself an early adopter. I feel no desire to line up for two days to get the latest gadget that you can order online and have delivered to your door, later… THAT SAME WEEK. But I am a sucker for products that promise to make my life easier and have been known to complain about how if I just had [INSERT EXPENSIVE GADGET HERE] life would be so much easier/more fun/productive (I’m looking at you, Vitamix).
So, when the Apple Watch entered our world a couple of months ago, I was bombarded with messages about its health and fitness capabilities and I knew I had to have one on my wrist rightthissecond or else be doomed to a life of un-fit, un-healthy grossness.
So I got one. And for the first few days, life was sweet. It was actually pretty nice looking! I could read my messages on it (if I looked really closely and squinted a bit)! The band was tricky and magnetic! People stopped me in the street to have a look (and mock me)! I was living the dream.
But once the euphoria had settled, something started to happen—my Apple Watch started fat-shaming me.
“Stand up and move around for one minute!”, Watch barked every hour.
“You’re getting closer to your stand goal, Kim—8% of the way there”. LIARRRRR!!!
“You’ve achieved 4 minutes towards your 210 minute exercise goal this week”. Sob.
With all the wrist-buzzing reminding me to “Move! Exercise! Stand!” (and my absolute failure to do any of those things) I was starting to feel pretty crap. I was starting to hate my Apple Watch a little bit.
“I’m in a meeting!!!” I would silently scream as Watch buzzed me to get up from my seat. To my paranoid mind each buzz was a criticism, “Get off the couch you lazy bitch! Netflix is not your friend!”
Where I once looked to my Watch to enhance my life, it was ruining it—constantly reminding me that I am a lazy slacker who sits all day (yeahyeah sitting is the new smoking blah blah ssh), walks embarrassingly few steps for an adult human, and burns a completely insufficient amount of calories to burn off that burger I ate for lunch today (and yesterday).
And while I guess I could have viewed my new accessory as just an over-eager friend that just really really wants the best for you, I didn’t. I hate that friend.
As time passed, the fat shaming became so intense my lazy mind started to look for ways to beat the clock. I know, I thought, I’ll stand up before it tells me to—take that, sucker! Before I knew it I was orchestrating an office-wide standing desk challenge, announcing loudly to the room when it was time to stretch our legs, and generally eliciting healthy behaviours from everyone around me. I even joined a mother-flippin’ Pilates class. I had become, for lack of a better phrase, more active. What the actual.
Two months in to my judgmental accessory experience, and it turns out it might be me with the judgment issues.
This little watch has, after-all, made me part of the trend-setting elite/wanker set, relieved from the ridiculously tedious task of having to rifle around in our bags for our phones when we want to read a text. I can send my heartbeat to my loved ones—who must also have an Apple Watch—to show them I’m thinking of them. Practical? No. So cute it hurts? You betcha. And I am now, against all odds, more health conscious than I was before.
So while I still chuckle fondly to myself when it tells me it’s time to “stand and move around for one minute” WHILE I’M DRIVING, I have to give props where props are due. Apple Watch, you’re all right.
Image credit: Wired