This summer, in an attempt to get fit (read: ensure I was eating the maximum calories I was physically allowed by the thigh gap gods based on how much I moved) I bought a Fitbit. It was a black Charge HR, purchased after weeks of carrying my phone to the bathroom so I wouldn’t miss any steps and lose my daily challenge with my friend Aaron. I realized that if I was going to be competitive in this pointless contest that distracted us from the meaninglessness of existence and inevitability of old-age grossness I will eventually just never come out of, I couldn’t rely on my phone and the Fitbitch app.
My FitBit Charge HR was great for a while—it made me feel good about myself, it made me feel bad about myself, and it understood my pre-getting-a-kitten anxiety that caused my heart rate to fluctuate from one minute to the next. But eventually, the fashion bloggers got to me. I decided I couldn’t cope with wearing this ugly black rectangle on my wrist anymore. Who had I been kidding? I wasn’t “fitness”. I was “walk steps to look good in skinny jeans”. But there is no point looking good in skinny jeans if all people can stare at is the block of plastic wrapped around your otherwise bird-like wrists.
Enter, the Steve Jobs Watch.
The Steve Jobs Watch does not function as easily as a fitness tracker. Its colorful rings, while enticing to the baby in me and useless to the bitch in me, aren’t particularly helpful. I trusted my Fitbit. Like Wozniak should not have trusted Steve Jobs, I do not trust my Steve Jobs Watch. There is no monthly step total on the activity app, meaning I need to come up with a way to convince my work health program that I met the required steps to get a Christmas bonus. Because in 2015, people need to be paid to move. (Further reading: The Movement.)
The Steve Jobs Watch also has a terrible battery life. I don’t use it for much more than telling the time and checking my step count every now and then, and it’s as dead as Steve after about 26 hours. This is in stark contrast to my FitBit, which could run and run and run and judge me for not running for five days straight while monitoring my heart rate every single second. (The SJW only measures your heart rate every 10 minutes, leaving it largely unaware of the rollercoaster of emotions I go through within such a period of time. Again, Steve cannot be trusted. He is blind to how people feel.)
The obvious reason to invest in a Steve Jobs Watch and throw your FitBit to the dogs, as aforementioned, is style: the SJW looks way better and screams, “I have an amount of money and/or a credit score that allows me to buy a $350 watch.” Can you put a price on that?
In addition, there have been two times when I have been washing dishes and my husband has called me from Walmart to ask what kind of muffins I want. With the SJW, I have been able to answer his calls using my tongue, which I firmly press on Steve’s Watch’s face. I am then, by holding my watch awkwardly between my general ear area and mouth, able to have a conversation vaguely resembling real life that communicates my desire for lemon poppy seed muffins. Score.
To conclude, here are some high-production video reviews I have made for each of these activity trackers: