Six Weeks with a Flip Phone: Slower Days, Sharper Moments

Why I Did It

I’m not sure if Portland’s spring is always this vibrant, or if I’ve changed. The array of flowers have been bursting to life in slow motion. Trees once bare and shivering are now humming with birdsong, and in those moments, I find myself lifted by the awareness of the melodies.

That sense of presence is what I was chasing when I put my smartphone in a drawer and opted for a flip phone six weeks ago. I wanted less “noise”. Less impulse. More space for reality. I expected to feel inconvenienced, and that I would miss out on social events.

Some Ups, Some Downs

I still instinctively reach for my phone when I wake up, but these days it’s just a glance to see if I have any texts from friends two and three time zones ahead. I instead turn my attention to my cat, Tuna, who has become even more of a companion. Without the pull of that easily accessible, glowing screen, I notice when Tuna is hungry for play or when he paws at the comforter to snuggle underneath. He’s always been a needy and demanding cat, but it’s easier to meet those needs with presence and understanding rather than frustration.

I still use my laptop to “surf the web” but the time feels different, more intentional. I no longer have the experience of going to check an email and then getting sucked into a 15 minute distraction like I often did on my phone before. I use Instagram on the laptop’s web browser to promote my photography, but it feels like a boring chore. A necessary evil. I can’t post stories, and the interface feels cumbersome and awkward to use with a mouse. I’m slowly realizing how psychologically satisfying a finger swipe can be.

Speaking of swiping, I initially moved Tinder to my iPad, but wasn’t checking it enough and missed out on a couple dates. I’ve since deleted the app and use the web browser version sparingly. I’m more inspired currently to manifest a “meetcute” after explaining online dating to my friend’s 8-year-old daughter and hearing the disdain in my voice and seeing the confusion on her face.

There are logistical hurdles. I literally call Uber from my phone to request a ride out for the night, unless it is outside of their operating hours. This means between 7pm and 1am, I have to use the web browser version on my laptop. If I need a ride home? I bus, ask for a ride from a friend, or Venmo someone later after they book me a ride from their phone.

I print tickets at the library six blocks away. I go to a soccer game and take the easier route of taking a picture of the QR code on my laptop screen with the phone’s mediocre camera and hope for the best. The ticket attendant is amused when I show him the QR code on the tiny screen and again when it actually scans.

People are generally delighted to see the Barbie phone. Seeing a flip phone is like seeing an old friend from high school or college. Pulling it out feels like a party trick and a conversation starter. People laugh at the mirror on the front and preen themselves. Some want to bask in the nostalgia of a relic from another time and feel the chunky buttons as they give me their number or type out a text message. A lot of people ask if it has t9. It does.

“Where did you even get this?”

“Does it work?”

“This is your actual phone? … Oh it’s Barbie themed!”

“I wish I could do this but…”

What I Lost (and Gained)

The flip phone has changed the way I interact with the world. I text the number on the bus stop and receive a message back with arrival times. I carry more things now-an iPod knockoff, a notepad, a map. Sometimes I write down directions on my arm to bike somewhere.

I only take a few pictures per week. I see things I want to photograph and if I don’t have my actual camera on me, I instead simply stare at them and appreciate them. A blooming tree or my friends looking cool. I notice a lot more this way, taking them in as they are.

I miss out on some things. Group texts don’t always work. I forget to check WhatsApp and Signal on my laptop. I accidentally double book myself because I don’t have an synced calendar on me at all times. I don’t get too upset by missing out, since I still feel socially full and that I’m still having worthwhile experiences.

Getting lost is a new challenge for me, and I eventually figure it out each time. The Google Maps app on the flip phone is more like a list of directions rather than a live turn by turn guidance tool. It’s sufficient enough to look up the time it takes to get somewhere, or where the closest bus stop is. of

I talk to people on the phone more often, especially if my text (or theirs) is more than 160 characters or so. I only have 60 emoji I can use, and I can’t view many more than that. Pictures are so tiny and I have to save them to zoom in. I can’t send voice messages but I can receive them. Web links don’t work but GIFs do. I text like a grandma, and I feel like a teenager. The days have grown longer.

I miss Shazam deeply, but instead listen to a song like I may never hear it again. I miss having a good camera on me at all times, but I look at the world like it may never look the same again. It’s all a tradeoff.

Unexpected Joys

I download one app on the phone: an internet radio player. That’s it. The weather app takes 30 seconds to load. I don’t use the browser or email.

I was aware of how people in public would look at me when I used it in the first couple weeks, but I’ve stopped paying attention. On the first day I have it, the server at dinner says the Barbie phone is on brand for me. I didn’t even look that gay that night, I don’t think.

The Barbie phone has inspired other “old tech” moments like borrowing CDs from the library and watching a Blu-Ray for the first time in years. There is something so deliciously slow and intentional about it all. I chose what to borrow or what to watch. No algorithm suggested it to me, each decision is my own.

I find myself reading more to replace the void. Books fill the space where feeds used to live. Bus stops and bus rides are now rich with literature. A book of Pablo Neruda poetry ends up as my company on the toilet. I smoke a few cigarettes during this time and find myself between book pages just staring at the grass, at the ground, at the clouds above.

What I Learned

I feel more at peace. Less in the loop. More okay with not knowing. There’s joy in asking someone for directions or hearing their thoughts instead of searching Google. I’m hoping to next modify my laptop screen time too. Baby steps with addictions! Gradual changes stick better than cold turkey.

The Barbie phone has sparked a cascade of slower choices and meaningful moments. A woman at a coffee shop complimented my handwriting when I was journaling this piece. She asked if I was a writer. I hesitated, explained my reluctance. She told me that writing itself makes me a writer, if it’s my medicine and my expression. Some people move like dancers. Others speak like writers.

She told me about her four-month experiment with a dumb phone, how she went back because the city moved too fast. It felt like an AA meeting for tech addiction. As I shared my journey, she pulled out The Dialogues of Plato and quoted: “I know that I know nothing.” She gave me the book, wrote her contact info inside, and told me that opting out of a prolific system is radical and revolutionary.

Would I Recommend It?

Yes, with nuance. It’s not easy. It’s often inconvenient. But it’s grounding in ways I didn’t expect. You don’t have to go full flip phone. Start by deleting apps. Try a day a week with your phone off. Walk without headphones. Let yourself be bored and let your mind wander!

My mood has felt more even-keeled and I appreciate more. My creativity has picked up a little bit when I find myself bored either at home or out in the world. I talk to more strangers and have an easier time with eye contact.

This was never about punishment, it was about rewiring my brain to be more present. I’ve been lucky to notice the magic that sneaks in when I’ve slowed down enough to notice.

Maybe spring hasn’t changed, but I have.