Why I Switched From a Smartphone to a Dumb Phone
In 2009, when I was 10, I got my first cellphone: a Samsung Galaxy 551, with a tiny touchscreen and a keyboard that slid out from the side. It couldn’t connect to wi-fi, but back then it was the phone to have. My parents wanted me to be able to check in with them when I walked to and from school. That’s what my phone was: a communication tool that ensured my safety.
I got an iPhone three years later, when I was in Grade 8. I was on Tumblr a lot back then, and I’d joined Twitter because I was a big Justin Bieber fan; I wanted to follow him there and share content about his music. During class, I’d slip my phone into a book and scroll. I’d log two to three hours on my phone during the school day.
When I got to high school, I was using Twitter even more, becoming involved with activist communities there. After the first Black Lives Matter protests in 2013, I participated in every form of activism I could find online: intersectional feminism, racial equality and advocating for Black and Indigenous groups in Canada. At the height of my Twitter use, I was on the app for six to eight hours a day. This was where I expressed myself. I was constantly online drafting tweets, interacting with trolls and consuming loads of content. In school, I got involved in the movie and the radio clubs and spent a lot of time with my communications technology teacher, who oversaw these groups. He noticed how much I was on Twitter and was the first to tell me, “You are addicted to your phone; you need to get off of it.” I didn’t pay much attention to him at the time.
In the fall of 2020, I enrolled at St. Lawrence College in Kingston, Ontario, for salon and styling. After I graduated the following year, I worked at a salon for several months, but the job wasn’t for me and I left. Soon after, I sustained an intense back injury, which completely immobilized me. Suddenly I was unemployed, injured and had no idea what I was doing with my life. So I turned to my phone. I downloaded books, but I couldn’t absorb the information. Instead, I spent all my time on TikTok: I scrolled endlessly and consumed heaps of short-form videos, mostly about baking, art and camping. I was isolated, retreating back into myself. I had no friends, and couldn’t be a good friend to myself. My screen time during this period was 12 to 14 hours a day. I woke up and went to sleep with my phone.
Last summer, I started caregiving for an older man with dementia to earn some cash; I moved in with him and his wife a few months later. I had to be quiet on the job and, during my downtime, I could be quiet if I stayed on my phone. As the weeks passed, I realized how much time I was spending on it, because neither the wife nor the husband were on theirs, and the wife kept chiding me about my phone use. I kept thinking about a New York Times article on “Luddite” teens and their return to dumb phones. I realized that I’d built my identity around this portable glass brick—outside of it, I had no idea who I was. Mentally I was always in the online space, comparing myself to others. I knew I had to turn my life around.
I found the subreddit r/dumbphones, which featured a quiz to determine the best dumb phone for you. The quiz recommended the CatS22 flip phone, a popular pick for people who wanted to ditch their smartphones. I thought, why not? and bought it for $100 on Amazon. The CatS22 resembles a classic flip phone, with large buttons, a small screen and a basic camera. It runs on a lighter version of Android, which means I can still use apps like Spotify and Libby, where I reserve and listen to audiobooks from my local library. The screen is less than two inches, so I don’t feel the twitch in my fingers to pick it up constantly. I mainly use it for text and phone calls.
I didn’t immediately ditch my iPhone 12 when I got my dumb phone. At the start, I couldn’t help but check it when my friends around me were checking theirs. Whenever I was watching television or a movie, I’d feel an urge to scroll. During simple daily activities like walking or riding in a car, I’d feel a need to have my head down on my phone. For the first few weeks of the switch, I had to be intentional about recognizing and resisting those urges. I kept reminding myself that I spent $100 on the dumb phone and that carrying my iPhone around with me wasn’t going to help me switch over. After a while, it started to stick—and I was leaving my smartphone at home.
These days, I’ve been spending a lot of time reading novels; I recently finished Fahrenheit 451 and Cat’s Cradle. I can also now sit through an entire film without getting distracted on my phone. I love physical media, so I’ve been collecting records and film cameras. I’ve also been honing my photography skills.
Studies have shown that consuming a constant stream of information online often decreases patience and empathy. Staying off social media can help people relearn those skills. I’m much more patient now. I can let myself get angry without engaging. When people around me say something that I don’t agree with, instead of arguing and firing back, I am able to accept that their opinions are different from mine and move on. I’m also more present. I make a conscious effort to connect with the people around me and maintain those relationships. I don’t feel this constant need to be plugged in, consuming endless information.
I still use my laptop to check socials like Instagram (mainly to keep up with people I know), and I recently re-downloaded Twitter to get news and information. It’s important for me to stay informed on events happening across the globe. I don’t see myself going off-grid or leaving social media for good. I spend at most 40 minutes a day online now and hope to reduce it further. Lately, I’ve been thinking of switching to an even dumber phone, but I need a device that supports Spotify and WhatsApp, so I can communicate with family outside the country. Until I find something that supports those two apps, I’ll be sticking to my CatS22.
Now, I am hyper-aware of how much people check their phones. Last month, I went out to see Challengers with some friends, and we all went to a bar afterwards. When we sat down, one person picked up their phone, and then the next person, and then the next person, until everyone was on their phones. They wanted to get their reviews of the movie up on Letterboxd, a social media app for film reviews. Meanwhile, I was just sitting there. We were all together in the bar, but instead of talking about the film and to each other, everyone was plugged in.
Smartphones were created to help us connect with others, but now they are designed to be as addicting as possible. Instead of keeping us connected, they keep us in our own bubbles. I just started a job at a local movie theatre and, on my first day, I realized there was a whole community of like-minded queer film lovers in the place I’ve lived my entire life. I was just unaware because I’d never taken the time to look up from my phone and see the world around me.
—As told to Caroline Bellamy