Like many others, I’m growing tired of all the “new” tech that’s been coming out. We get updated phones every single year, but what have the vast improvements been lately? AI assistants? A slightly better camera than last year’s model? It feels like phone innovation has stagnated, yet we keep buying. Who can even afford a new phone these days?

I believe capitalism has ruined tech and the internet. To keep consumers spending, companies phase out support for older devices—sometimes even throttling performance to push upgrades. Features disappear, and you practically need an IT degree to work around the restrictions.

A few weeks ago, I bought a Samsung Galaxy A01 off eBay, intending to use it for media storage and casting videos to my TVs. Instead, I ran into endless issues. First, the phone wouldn’t let me use the SD card as default storage. Once the internal 16GB filled up, I couldn’t download anything else. Sure, I could transfer files via my computer, but that defeated the purpose. I didn’t even have enough space for all the streaming apps I wanted.

I scoured tutorials, Reddit threads, and decade-old forums—even asked AI—trying to fix the SD card issue with & without rooting the phone. Every “solution” led to another problem, stacking troubleshooting rabbit holes until I was four layers deep. Why is it so hard to make older tech work? Why do we have less control over the products we own?

This frustration isn’t new. As a longtime iPhone user (since 2010), I hit a breaking point a few years ago. I can’t remember the exact issue, but I remember the rage at Apple’s restrictions: the perpetual “buy more iCloud storage” notification, the inability to simply transfer files via PC, the walled garden of approved apps, the headache of receiving files from Android friends.

In 2022, I switched to Android and never looked back. The freedom is liberating—custom accessories, sideloading apps, changing defaults, even scheduling texts. I’ll never return to iPhone.

This year has been wild for everyone, including me. When Trump took office surrounded by Big Tech execs (Meta, X, Google, Amazon, etc.), I decided I wouldn’t support mega-billionaires bending the knee to a tyrant. Avoiding them entirely isn’t realistic, but I’ve taken steps to distance myself.

I signed up for Proton (they have a free tier)—a far better suite than Google’s, with a password manager, VPN, email, and cloud storage. I switched to Firefox, which blocks ads and tracking, and I sideload apps via F-Droid instead of the Play Store. I’ve replaced Google Messages, Maps, and Keyboard with open-source alternatives and revoked unnecessary app permissions.

I also debated deleting Facebook and Instagram. FB is my lifeline to friends and local events, but it infuriates me after a short time of scrolling. I deleted Threads (RIP to the cool people I met there) and removed social apps from my phone—though I kept the accounts… for now. For an Instagram alternative, I’m trying out Pixelfed, which introduced me to the Fediverse.

The Fediverse is the future: decentralized, interconnected social media without walled gardens. Imagine Facebook as a gated resort; the Fediverse is an open beach where platforms communicate freely. Right now, it’s not very user-friendly, but once polished, it could dethrone corporate giants.

Experimenting with alternative apps was exhausting—managing multiple accounts, cross-posting, staying updated. I eventually pared it down to microblogging, news, and an RSS feed. Then, I deleted all social apps from my phone, accessing them only on my computer. The mental health boost was immediate: less doomscrolling, more clarity.

Around this time, I read an NPR article about an ex-influencer who ditched smartphones for a “dumbphone”—pre-smartphone-era devices, usually flip phones without apps. The idea fascinated me. I browsed r/dumbphones, loving the nostalgia of EDC (every day carry) posts featuring Motorola Razrs, notebooks, and digital cameras. The late 2000s were a time when phone designs were wild and varied—sliders, flip phones, QWERTY keyboards, even weird experimental shapes. Now, every smartphone looks the same, and companies deliberately design them to break or slow down so you’ll buy a new one.

In a burst of excitement, I ordered a CAT S22—only to cancel it after conflicting reports on carrier compatibility. The research was a maze of “maybes,” reminding me of the Galaxy A01 ordeal. Companies don’t want dumbphones to succeed; they profit from forcing upgrades, killing removable storage, and pushing cloud subscriptions.

Instead, I “dumbified” my current phone: no games, no flashy wallpapers, only essential apps (GPS, music, banking, authenticator). Notifications are limited to calls and texts. It’s a compromise, but it works—less distraction, more utility.

The market no longer serves customers. We’ve tolerated anti-consumer practices for years—1,000 phones that barely last, 100 “special edition” games with battle passes, shops, and subscriptions on top. But there’s hope: the “anti-buy year” trend, boycotts (looking at you, Target), and collective pushback show people care about ethics, fair wages, and autonomy.

We’re waking up. We don’t have to blindly fund tech oligarchs. Every Amazon order skipped, every Facebook ad blocked, every Google product replaced with open-source alternatives is a small victory. Vote with your wallet. The system is rigged for the 1%, but we can choose simplicity—dust off that old TV, revisit your DVD collection, step back from the grind.

The world races forward. Sometimes, it’s okay to stay behind.