At the start of the year, I purchased an Innioasis Y1, a modern remake of the classic iPod, whose patent just recently expired. I’d been feeling forlorn about my finances and the general state of opening social media, and had finally decided to return to physical media.
Maybe it was just my algorithm, but my pages were flooded with videos of people showcasing how they ditched streaming services and returned to the late 2000s charm of media that was physical and owned only by them. I was hooked. I already had a hefty vinyl and CD collection, so why not?
I soon discovered that, while it’s at times a tedious shift, I really love prioritizing physical media in my life, though I’m still finding balance with the streaming world.
Intentionality Behind Consumption
I have a doomscrolling problem, and not just when I’m lying in bed on Instagram Reels. Even when I’m trying to pick a movie to watch at home, I find myself paralyzed by choice, and I eventually end up spending half an hour scrolling through my watchlist and recommendations.
It’s this habit that made me realize I’d lost intention behind media consumption. I throw on one of my six-plus-hour-long Spotify playlists and go on autopilot, or I let YouTube autoplay while I do laundry. Sure, turning your brain off once in a while is nice, but I certainly don’t feel good about it afterwards.
With physical media, though, there’s a ritual to it. Each time I pick out a vinyl to listen to, there’s the same comforting routine of placing the needle, memorizing the track list, flipping it, repeating it, and brushing it before I put it back in the sleeve. It’s tactile and grounds me in the reality of the music.
It’s the same with my MP3 player. While I admit that creating playlists here is a bit more tedious than on Spotify, each song is meticulously selected to craft my playlist. Listening to songs on this device, I can hear the first few seconds and instantly tell you which song it is. There’s almost always that brief, joyful moment of, “Oh, I love this song!”
Spotify, meanwhile? I definitely couldn’t name all the songs on my playlists, let alone confidently sing along with the lyrics. Maybe that’s just a me problem.
The Financial Difference
The uncomfortable truth about streaming culture is that even with so many options, we don’t own any of them. The “Leaving Soon” banner on Netflix is the bane of my existence, because what do you mean I’m paying you to give me a countdown of how long I have left to access a show? Then they dare to introduce payment plans and ads to the platform.
When you pay for platforms like Prime Video, Spotify, or Max, you’re only really paying for access to what they provide. When they decide to stop providing certain content, it’s gone, and you no longer have access.
The same goes for digital game downloads, with consoles like PlayStation delisting content from users’ libraries. I love Capcom as much as the next person, but why would I pay $70 for the digital download of the latest Resident Evil when the physical copy is just as much?
Instead, I’ve started prioritizing DVDs. There is, of course, the practical reason for this. I love, for example, Clue: The Movie (1985). It’s not available anywhere, unless you want to pay $5 to rent it on Prime Video, which would be fine for some people. However, I know that it’s a favorite, and I don’t want to pay $5 every time I want to rewatch it. Thankfully, I have the DVD, so I don’t have to do this!
Granted, I still keep one streaming service, plus maybe a login from a family member, but that’s a secret. The point is, I’ve gradually shifted to cutting back on how much I spend on media.
I use the free version of Spotify now when I want to find new songs, but other than that, I get CDs and downloads from the artists directly, either on their websites or on Bandcamp. I use Tubi, which started ironically, but now I love that it’s free and has insane movies that no one else has. I still pay for AMC A-List so I can see movies as they come out, plus I prefer watching in theatres to streaming, anyway.
There is, however, the sillier, more whimsical reason. I love having a display of my physical media. Physical media displays are fun, they’re decorative, and they can tell you a lot about a person. Imagine you walk into my apartment, and see that alongside two crates of vinyl, I have DVDs of Chicago (2002), Seven (1995), How to Train Your Dragon (2010), and Cats (2019). You probably just gathered a lot about me.
Prioritizing Whimsy
If you know me, you know that I’m always talking about “joy and whimsy.” It’s one of those things that’s ironic until it’s not. I want to romanticize my life and do the little quirky things that make me laugh or smile.
When I throw on a vinyl, I’ll grab my hairbrush and dance around my bedroom. When I’m walking through the city, I’ll pull out my MP3 player and wired earbuds. These little moments make me feel like I’m the lead of an early 2000s romcom, and I love it.
Recently, a friend revealed to me that an upcoming gift she’d be giving me was a personalized vinyl with songs I love on it. To be honest, I teared up! This was a bumblebee tights moment. She could’ve just made a playlist and sent it to me, but the time and creativity it takes to craft a physical gift make it that much more meaningful to me.
Physical media creates the opportunity to feel centered when we otherwise might be overwhelmed. It provides a physical representation of the art that we love, allowing us to literally hold and cherish it. Now, I can easily take the moment to appreciate the media I’m consuming, even if it’s during that quick vinyl flip or DVD menu page.
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