from december 22nd, 2025, to april 4th, 2026, i carried a nokia 2780.

i could make calls, send rcs messages (no group chats), navigate with a pared-down version of google maps, take grainy photos, activate hotspots, and play snake.

i thought little of the decision. i figured it was typical impulsivity that led me to stick a clothespin on my iphone and switch the sim. looking back, it was anything but. i got my first smartphone before my freshman year homecoming dance in 2016. what started as posting class schedules on snapchat and playing nba live mobile became something i didn't remember agreeing to. i had lost track of how much i had given up to it. i also resented the expectation of constant availability. watching shows from the 90s like seinfeld and sex and the city, i became nostalgic for an era of being digitally apart and then reconvening with new stories.

it was entertaining at the beginning. i enjoyed updating my friends on this change and seeing their reactions, which ranged from impressed to openly derisive.

i had switched over while back home for the holidays, and the novelty wore off once i returned to new york. i was unfazed.

within a week, i had a new system up. division of labor was key. i used my flip phone for calls and logistical texts. i migrated all my group chats and frequently used dms to the icloud account on my macbook. i bought a weekly planner and a garmin watch to track runs. my old ipad had stopped receiving software updates, but could manage my work's two-factor authentication app. this was my system.

my behavior changed completely. i started calling people more often because texting was painful (i looked up youtube tutorials on predictive texting on a t9 keyboard, but all were from 2007 and fuzzy). my texts became blunt. the economy of letters became key. navigation shifted as well. traveling to pre-determined locations was straightforward. finding a semi-specific place to eat nearby was impossible. i couldn't type "thai restaurants near me" because the flip phone google maps wasn't designed for someone trying to find dinner. i adjusted, becoming comfortable walking around and finding a place based on vibes. it became ok if the spot i ended up in didn't have a beli cosign. i started carrying my laptop often in case i required the internet. more than once, i found myself on the sidewalk, laptop open, hotspot running. photos were a challenge at first: i could take them, but no way to get them off the nokia myself. then i started messaging soorya to move them to a shared photo album. i always loved how they turned out, hazy in the best way. smiles looked natural, in the way they must've before getting caught in 4k. absurdity is disarming.

the novelty had worn off for me, but not for other people. my manager and the rest of my coworkers were bemused by my choice. people in my life and on the street were curious and always asked me questions about my experience. the strangest moment came at a rave in bushwick with my friend ria, when multiple strangers approached me, asking if they could take pictures with my phone. stolen valor.

sneha had a word for what i was chasing: friction. the idea that obstacles could be a source of meaning rather than an inconvenience. that resonated with me. it was uncomfortable, but that was the point. was this worth it? for a long time, i would've said yes. there was a sunday in january when i went sledding with my friends with nothing but a flip phone in my pocket. no music, no texts coming in, no notifications or pull to document anything. staying in the moment is the easiest thing in the world when there's nothing that could draw your attention away. i took no pictures. i could've, but it would've been pointless. after hours on the hills, i walked back and noticed that i hadn't checked anything all day. there was nothing to check. it felt like childhood. for those three months, it felt like that often.

from the beginning, i was aware of the load i was placing on people around me. close friends juggled two separate chats with me, my number and my icloud. during hangouts, navigation fell entirely on whoever i was with. after late nights, friends would call me ubers home, and i'd venmo them back in the morning. it felt like a reasonable tax on the experiment.

then march came. i was moving from washington heights to williamsburg and stumped by simple logistics. i received the security deposit check from my old place and realized i couldn't deposit it. this led me to download my banking app on my roommate sarah's phone, deposit the check, and zelle soorya hundreds of dollars so he could split it back to my old roommates. apartment hunting brought its own challenges. messaging realtors, organizing showings, moving fast enough to sign, all of it required internet i didn't have, and fell on luke. i was a draymond green-level liability. thinkpieces and youtube videos about dumbphones never talk about this: the implicit, communal burden.

more importantly, disconnection is a two-way street. i hadn't realized how much of my closeness with people ran through small digital gestures: sending a reel to a friend, facetiming my mom on a whim, texting a new number the morning after meeting someone instead of folding to inertia. without those, things got quieter in ways i hadn't anticipated. the people closest to me seemed less sure of when and how to reach out. check-ins happened less. i thought i wanted digital distance, but by the end, i realized i hadn't thought through what that cost the people on the other side.

so i switched back. i walked over to target, picked up a pack of clothespins, and popped my sim card back into my iphone. i expected relief. instead, i felt anxious. the flip phone had become a part of my identity faster than i'd realized, and i felt thrown off. when i posted that i'd switched back on my instagram story, the reaction was surprisingly sad. it did feel like defeat.

i spent a couple of hours that night second-guessing myself. and then, at one-thirty in the morning, i facetimed swati for the first time in weeks. and then i messaged annetta, and she sent me pictures of beautiful churches she'd been seeing on her trip to munich. it surprises me how quickly i knew i'd made the right decision. maybe i shouldn't be.

it's been nearly two weeks. i've deactivated the browser, deleted every app with a web version, and cleared my home page except for a widget that displays my screen time for the day. instagram stays for now. it's been good to keep up with my friends with whom i had fallen out of touch, but it's on thin ice. in a round-about way, i've kept what i want and cut what i don't, which was the point all along.

but life is long. the nokia is safe in my desk drawer. i have a feeling this won't be the last time i switch back to it.

substack back