Our new television ranks up there with our phones as one of the most sophisticated pieces of technology in our house. Sure, it has a great screen. But it also has "smart" technology, making it as much computer as it is display. It can stream shows from various services. It can search for content wherever it may be. It has voice assistance which enabling it to respond to verbal cues. On top of all that, it can accept content my phone throws its way, it can link up with my Google account and it can tell me the weather. If I were Alexa, I would be very scared.
But for all that complexity it also shares a trait that more and more tech items have, or more accurately, do not have. For in spite of the fact that there is more computing power packed into this slab of pixels than put men on the moon, in spite of its clean lines and minimalist aesthetic, in spite of it weighing less than a labradoodle, it comes with almost no instructions.
To be fair, it has a safety guide, filled with legalese cautions and warnings, all but absolving its makers of any possible issues. It has a mounting template, showing where to drill holes to hang it up should we forgo the stand. And it has a user guide that at first blush looks comprehensive, until you realize it's the same 20 pages printed three times in English, French and Spanish.
But even within those twenty pages there is little in the way of "instructions." There are descriptions of the buttons on the remote, and a layout of the inputs on the rear. There is a diagram showing how to use the stand, and a troubleshooting guide for when things don't work. And there are pages of technical specifications and compliance notices. But if you were to wonder, "How do I open up the HBO app and find my favorite episode of ‘Game of Thrones?'" you would have an easier time finding information on how to handle White Walkers.
The culprits are many, but top of the list is Steve Jobs. I'm not an Apple devotee, but you have to give credit where credit is due. In his push to make Apple products sleek and innovative and intuitive, he made them simple. Not simple as in limited in intelligence, but simple as in unadorned and free of complications. The result is products that, if you have a basic knowledge of how to interact with "things," function as you would imagine. That's not to say that there aren't myriads of complexities buried under the hood. Apple's operating systems can be, to quote Winston Churchill, "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." But to make its products louder you push the volume switch up, and to make it softer you push it down. So there.
It's an infection that has spread in a good way. The result is that, for most well designed goods, things just make sense. That goes for TV's, but also for instapots and phones and vacuums. Should you need to know how to simmer, then braise, or how to connect a second Bluetooth device, or how to add the left-handed underwater deep scrubbing widget, it's all available online, along with tips and tricks to get that deep cleaning power. But if like 99.9% of the users out there, you never go beyond the factory default/out-of-the-box settings, you're good. Turn it on and it works.
Indeed, reading the manual used to be the mark of an enlightened consumer. But it's a hard habit to break, even if it no longer means anything. A friend told me of her elderly mother who was having a problem with her old car. Carol suggested taking it to the garage, but Mom insisted on reading the manual to diagnose the problem. Carol walked in to find Mom going through the book from cover to cover, after which she put it down, then said, "OK, now you can take it to get repaired." Well, she tried.
Mom, no pressure anymore. No manual, no expectation. Do like I did with my new television, indeed what most of us do: plug it in and turn it on. Odds are you'lll be fine. As Elon Musk said, "Any product that needs a manual to work is broken."
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford keeps manuals, but never looks at them. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
But for all that complexity it also shares a trait that more and more tech items have, or more accurately, do not have. For in spite of the fact that there is more computing power packed into this slab of pixels than put men on the moon, in spite of its clean lines and minimalist aesthetic, in spite of it weighing less than a labradoodle, it comes with almost no instructions.
To be fair, it has a safety guide, filled with legalese cautions and warnings, all but absolving its makers of any possible issues. It has a mounting template, showing where to drill holes to hang it up should we forgo the stand. And it has a user guide that at first blush looks comprehensive, until you realize it's the same 20 pages printed three times in English, French and Spanish.
But even within those twenty pages there is little in the way of "instructions." There are descriptions of the buttons on the remote, and a layout of the inputs on the rear. There is a diagram showing how to use the stand, and a troubleshooting guide for when things don't work. And there are pages of technical specifications and compliance notices. But if you were to wonder, "How do I open up the HBO app and find my favorite episode of ‘Game of Thrones?'" you would have an easier time finding information on how to handle White Walkers.
The culprits are many, but top of the list is Steve Jobs. I'm not an Apple devotee, but you have to give credit where credit is due. In his push to make Apple products sleek and innovative and intuitive, he made them simple. Not simple as in limited in intelligence, but simple as in unadorned and free of complications. The result is products that, if you have a basic knowledge of how to interact with "things," function as you would imagine. That's not to say that there aren't myriads of complexities buried under the hood. Apple's operating systems can be, to quote Winston Churchill, "a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." But to make its products louder you push the volume switch up, and to make it softer you push it down. So there.
It's an infection that has spread in a good way. The result is that, for most well designed goods, things just make sense. That goes for TV's, but also for instapots and phones and vacuums. Should you need to know how to simmer, then braise, or how to connect a second Bluetooth device, or how to add the left-handed underwater deep scrubbing widget, it's all available online, along with tips and tricks to get that deep cleaning power. But if like 99.9% of the users out there, you never go beyond the factory default/out-of-the-box settings, you're good. Turn it on and it works.
Indeed, reading the manual used to be the mark of an enlightened consumer. But it's a hard habit to break, even if it no longer means anything. A friend told me of her elderly mother who was having a problem with her old car. Carol suggested taking it to the garage, but Mom insisted on reading the manual to diagnose the problem. Carol walked in to find Mom going through the book from cover to cover, after which she put it down, then said, "OK, now you can take it to get repaired." Well, she tried.
Mom, no pressure anymore. No manual, no expectation. Do like I did with my new television, indeed what most of us do: plug it in and turn it on. Odds are you'lll be fine. As Elon Musk said, "Any product that needs a manual to work is broken."
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford keeps manuals, but never looks at them. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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