Going analog

Buttons, knobs, and how purposeful aesthetics create meaningful experiences

I often think of an Instagram story a friend posted about a year ago. He’s sitting in his car, admiring the lack of digital buttons on his dashboard; the clean design, the physical feel of every knob; the analog. It made me think about how design shapes not only what we touch, but how we experience the world.

Since then, I’ve paid more attention to the analog in my own life. Not out of nostalgia, but because it points to something deeper.

Analog design isn’t just functional. It cultivates focus. Each turn serves a single purpose.

Today, we face the opposite.

Our phones now replace thousands of devices: calculators, notepads, recorders, flashlights, health monitors, and more.

Digital tools bring efficiency and access, but at the cost of clarity and peace. As J.B. Priestley wrote in Thoughts in the Wilderness, “The more we elaborate our means of communication, the less we communicate.”

The iPhone is only one example. So are social media apps. Each one is a text messenger, marketplace, video platform, and publisher all at once.

It’s too much for the human mind, and the results are visible: lower happiness, higher anxiety, and rising suicide rates.

But we have the option to decide how much we let modern technology impact us.

“It’s the gradual, slight, imperceptible change in your behavior and perception that is the product.” — Jaron Lanier, The Social Dilemma

Perhaps the answer is returning to a simpler time in technology.

Analog isn’t just about design. It’s a mindset; one that values friction, focus, and physical presence in an age of limitless inputs.

II. The drift away from analog technology

“What was lost was lost. There was no retrieving it, however you schemed, no returning to how things were, no going back.”
— Haruki Murakami, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World

To me, the decline of analog experiences began with the iPod.

The click wheel still offered a tactile experience, but its smooth, touch-like design marked our first step away from physical mechanisms. Then came the iPod Touch and iPhone, and we accelerated into a world of touchscreens and glowing icons.

It was a remarkable leap forward, but one that pushed every tech company toward a touchscreen-only future.

You can trace this evolution across countless devices and forums dedicated to tech nostalgia (Source: Reddit)

The goal for touchscreens was to create a natural and intuitive experience. Not only could users get all the data and applications they needed on minimal devices, but they could do it so effortlessly, as if it were part of their body.

Unfortunately, digital technologies have not unified the body and mind with these devices. In fact, they’ve split them, and that in itself produces its own kind of chaos.

Haruki Murakami’s Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World explores this exact split.

One half of the novel unfolds in a hyper-digital Tokyo filled with data control and algorithmic excitement. The other takes place in a quiet, walled village stripped of memory, where people engage in physical, sensory routines. Murakami seems to ask: what do we lose when we trade presence for processing power?

In many ways, this village mirrors analog life. It’s slower, grounded, and free from distraction, even if it lacks the stimulation of the digital world.

Murakami’s imagined split between mind and body reflects the same disconnection we now live daily between digital life and physical presence.

The real problem of modern tech is that it pulls us away from now.

If the iPod marked our drift from the tactile world, perhaps rediscovering analog’s value can anchor us again in it.

III. What is the value of analog?

Analog can be slower. More limited. But in a world of constant input, those constraints are exactly what create depth and clarity.

One example of analog technology that I always appreciate is my grandfather’s Addiator Addfeet Junior calculator, which I display in my office.

You mechanically add and subtract numbers using a metal stylus to get an answer. The aesthetic and lack of digital experience remind me of the simplicity of physical gadgets, void of notifications.

Analog functions have a single, clear purpose. A button turns the radio on and off. A knob adjusts the volume. Each has defined boundaries, and it does only what it was designed to do.

Take, for instance, the hourglass.

I use a fifteen-minute version to see time pass in a tangible, literal sense. This time is real. It’s present with each grain of sand. On a small scale, anyone using an hourglass experiences what H. G. Wells wrote of a time traveler in The Time Machine when he says, “I saw huge buildings rise up faint and fair, and pass like dreams.”

But in an abstract, dopamine-induced, digital reality, this is rarely the experience.

Perhaps in digital devices and social media culture, we’ve relied too heavily on the merging of purposes.

There’s no distinction between times, spaces, or personal boundaries. Anyone can call you at any time. You can receive a notification for an email, Facebook message, text message, voicemail, and more, all in your pocket.

This constant blurring of lines creates confusion and makes it difficult to focus on what matters in the moment.

This is the value of analog choices.

The analog lifestyle knows there is a time to rest.

It knows there is a time to receive calls.

And it understands that the most valuable part of life is the present.

You feel the turn. The switch. The click. As King Solomon said:

“There is a time for everything [...] a time to be silent and a time to speak.”

And it’s by focusing on the simplicity and functional purpose of both time and our devices that we can enjoy the present, like Winnie the Pooh does when he says:

“What day is it?” asked Pooh.
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.

IV. How to incorporate more analog designs

Recognizing analog’s value isn’t enough. We need ways to bring it back into daily life.

In many ways, digital and social technologies will always be part of our lives, and our exposure to them is out of our control. As Marshall McLuhan stated in The Medium Is the Message:

“It is the medium that shapes and controls the scale and form of human association and action.”

But how we consume tools does not have to be unrestrained.

Your tolerance depends on your needs, self-control, and desire—each of which shifts over time.

For example, if an iPhone is necessary for you, then perhaps you can put restrictions on usage, notifications, and when people can reach you.

Or, there are products like the Rabbit R1, which I have yet to try, that provide the essentials you need, like GPS and voice assistance, through an analog, distraction-free experience.

Writers too don’t have to choose between a computer and a notepad to write. There is a middle ground that focuses on no interruptions. The Freewrite uses e-ink and a typewriter design so you can write your thoughts. No notifications to worry about.

One small step I recently took was purchasing a small toy camera based on a vintage design. It’s severely limited. I can’t zoom in. If I try to record a video, there is no audio. The only real option I have is choosing between color or black-and-white media.

Yet, I love it.

There are no attentional drains. If I see something in nature, I have to walk as close as possible to it, experiencing life intimately. And what I capture is the best I can do within those limitations, with the memory of how I took it bound into the image itself.

This little camera is more than just a nostalgic gadget. It’s a reminder that technological limits can deepen presence.

V. What it looks like to live an analog life

I have the privilege of unplugging in remote parts of the world. This experience, which often includes no cell phone or Wi-Fi connection and minimal technology, nudges me to experience what a simpler, stripped-down version of life is like.

These experiences, like in the remote mountains of Chile, powered only by limited solar panels, stick with me for months. But little by little, this simplicity fades away with materialism and false pressures about what I should do and how I should spend my time.

The Chilean mountains

To live an analog life, one must convert the mind first. And through regular experiences and mindful exercises, retain that shift.

Here is what living an analog life means:

• Decide what’s important to you. If you like to travel, it might mean owning older cars so you have the right budget, which goes against expectations in your community.

• Choose zero-based device goals. That means starting with a blank piece of paper and asking what devices and habits actually add value to you, and which don’t. Then cut out the negative ones.

• Go remote. Visit a remote area in your country or town for a few days and journal what you enjoy about it and how you feel. Then, while you’re there, write down how you can carry as much of that experience as possible back home.

An analog lifestyle should give you more confidence in who you are, more focus on what you want to do, and less stress in your life. It should also give you freedom, regardless of your budget, to enjoy life in a natural and more fulfilling way.

VI. How to encourage analog within your community

As you shift toward a more analog lifestyle, you’ll feel subtle pressure from those around you. Neighbors talk about the next gadget to buy. Friends scroll through their phones at the café. And it’s hard to live contrary to these expectations.

The best thing to do is not fight this. Accept the reality. Then be the difference.

For example, in a café, if your friends are using their phones, ask more engaging questions. Instead of “How was your day?”—which makes it easy to zone out—ask what projects they’re excited about today. Or ask, “What was the craziest thing that happened to you this week?” This spikes dopamine and competes with what they’re getting from scrolling.

In essence, be the light and be the difference. If your approach is desirable, they’ll slowly understand and perhaps make changes in their own lives because of your inspiration. Regardless, focus on yourself and how you manage your situation.

Most people don’t reach for their phones because they’re bored. They do it because they want a human connection. Analog living challenges us to find that connection in the present instead—and it’s well worth it.

You can practice an analog lifestyle and encourage others to follow suit, at least with you, for a more pleasurable experience in life.

Maybe one day, someone will post a story not about the newest device, but about the quiet pleasure of one that does only what it’s meant to do.

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Discussion: How have you minimized technology in your life? How has it changed you?