The iPod didn’t just change the way we listened to music, it changed the way we related to technology. I still remember the one I had in middle school. It was that tiny square model, probably an iPod Shuffle, and it was only about the size of two thumbs side by side. Super light, super compact. I could clip it to my sleeve or slip it into a pocket and forget it was even there. But to me, it wasn’t just a music player—it was a little emotional container, filled with my playlists, my moods, and memories from that time.
It didn’t last long. I remember Apple discontinued it pretty quickly, which somehow makes it feel even more special—like a brief, pure moment in tech history. No screen, no notifications, no distractions. Just music and me.
Then the iPhone came, and everything changed again. It transformed technology from a “tool” into something that’s woven into everyday life. A phone, a camera, a browser, a gaming device—all in one. From my point of view, the iPhone blurred the line between human and machine. We stopped “using” tech and started living with it, constantly connected.
This shift had a huge impact on interaction design. Interfaces had to become more intuitive, more seamless, almost invisible. People no longer read manuals—they just tap, swipe, scroll, and expect everything to work instantly. I think designers stopped creating just functions—they started designing habits, rhythms, even emotional attachments.
For me, it all began with that tiny iPod. It was small, short-lived, and simple—but it completely changed the way I feel about technology.