In a culture obsessed with sleekness and speed, L. M. Sacasas offers a jarring counter-narrative triggered by a single, disastrous Apple advertisement. Rather than dissecting the marketing failure itself, Sacasas uses the video's imagery of a hydraulic press crushing musical instruments and books to expose a deeper, more insidious philosophy: the systematic elimination of human skill in favor of effortless consumption.
The Device Paradigm on Display
Sacasas frames the ad, titled "Crush," not merely as bad taste but as an "incipient ideology" laid bare. The video depicts a variety of creative tools being flattened into a single, slim tablet. Sacasas writes, "The ad conveyed the company's incipient ideology with exquisite clarity: like the ring of Sauron, the iPad here appears as the one device to rule them all, chiefly by overthrowing and displacing them." This comparison to a fantasy artifact of domination is striking; it suggests the technology is not a neutral tool but an active agent of erasure. The author argues that the ad's failure was not a mistake in reading the room, but a confirmation of the room's deepest fears. As Sacasas puts it, "Apple came along and handed us a perfect visual metaphor for one of our most potent fears about big tech right now — namely, that it is crushing the arts and transmuting them into dull consumer products."
The core of Sacasas's analysis relies on the work of the late philosopher Albert Borgmann. Sacasas introduces Borgmann's "device paradigm," which describes how modern technology hides its complexity to offer goods that are "instantaneous, ubiquitous, safe, and easy." This logic is effective because it explains why we feel a sense of loss even when our lives become more convenient. Sacasas notes that under this paradigm, a commodity is "truly available" only when it is "unencumbered by means." The problem, Sacasas argues, is that by removing the "means"—the effort, the practice, the struggle—we also strip away the meaning derived from the process. A counterargument worth considering is that this view romanticizes struggle; for many, the barrier to entry for art or music is precisely what keeps them from participating, and technology's role in democratizing access is a valid good. However, Sacasas maintains that the trade-off is a reduction in human agency.
The experience of a [focal] thing is always and also a bodily and social engagement with the thing's world.
Focal Things vs. Mere Users
Sacasas contrasts the "device" with what Borgmann calls "focal things." These are objects that demand care, practice, and engagement, such as a guitar or a fiddle. Sacasas writes, "Focal things demand something of us. They require a measure of care, practice, and engagement that devices do not." The distinction is vital: a device turns us into passive users, while a focal thing invites us to become practitioners. Sacasas illustrates this with the example of a musician, noting that "no one would describe a musician as a user. Yes, they use the instrument, but the richness of the relationship between the musician and their instrument demands a different term." This framing effectively shifts the conversation from the utility of the object to the quality of the human experience it supports.
The author suggests that the universal scorn for the Apple ad proves that people intuitively understand this loss. Sacasas observes, "The near universal response to the ad... demonstrated another of Borgmann's core claims: our experience tends to be enriched by focal things and diminished by devices." The ad's visual metaphor of crushing instruments is powerful because it makes abstract philosophical concepts visceral. It forces the viewer to see the destruction of the very things that make life worth living. Sacasas writes, "The ad amounts to a compelling, visceral depiction of a device crushing an array of focal things and thus eliminating the corresponding focal practices and their attendant skills and pleasures." This is a bold claim, suggesting that the ad inadvertently revealed the end goal of the tech industry: a world where human skill is obsolete.
Critics might argue that Sacasas sets up a false dichotomy, implying that one must choose between the efficiency of devices and the richness of focal things. In reality, most people navigate a hybrid existence, using technology to support, rather than replace, their creative practices. Yet, the author's point remains that the vision presented by the ad is one of total replacement, not augmentation.
The Trap of Convenience
Sacasas acknowledges the seductive power of the device paradigm. "Granted, it is hard to resist the promise of ease, safety, efficiency, and convenience, particularly when many of us may already be operating with some degree of burnout," the author writes. This is the trap: when society is optimized for productivity and profit, the path of least resistance becomes the path of survival. Sacasas argues that we are "conditioned by the machine and have internalized its values," leading us to accept a life where we are "reduced to mere consumers of readily accessible digitally simulated goods." The author's warning is clear: a life indexed solely to the quantity of technological output is a life devoid of quality.
To illustrate the alternative, Sacasas describes a scene at a farmer's market where an elderly couple plays folk songs on a guitar and fiddle. "I can imagine the tale their instruments could tell, and I can imagine how much those relatively simple instruments must mean to them," Sacasas writes. This anecdote serves as a powerful counterpoint to the hydraulic press. While the ad showed destruction, the couple represents endurance and the deep, embodied connection that focal things foster. Sacasas concludes that these two paths are presented to us: one of "limitless and meaningless consumption" and another where we "reclaim focal things and practices along with the skills, satisfactions, and community they generate."
Bottom Line
L. M. Sacasas delivers a compelling critique that transcends the immediate controversy of a marketing blunder to address a fundamental crisis in how we relate to our tools. The argument's greatest strength is its ability to articulate the vague sense of unease many feel about digital saturation by grounding it in the concrete philosophy of Albert Borgmann. However, the piece risks overlooking the genuine accessibility gains technology provides to those excluded by traditional skill barriers. The reader should watch for how this tension between ease and engagement shapes the next generation of human-computer interaction, as the industry continues to chase the promise of frictionless existence.