Obsessive Interfaces
A Signal Burst about interface object reverence.
// Signal Burst 002 commencing…
There’s something off about it. The way people become obsessed with things that, you know, “normal people” let become invisible.
Pick up the bifold check holder and it falls out. The translucent plastic pen probably doesn’t even have a top. You pick it up, leave a tip, do some math, and scribble what looks like a signature? You probably didn’t even think about the pen.
Or maybe. Just maybe.
You picked up the check, gave it a thorough read, and set it down on the closed folder. You reached into your chest pocket, unclipping your bolt-action rollerball—hand-machined, of course, from a solid block of titanium. With an elegant snap, you exposed the writing nub, did your math, and signed. You savored the feel of the engineered rollerball pressing against the grain of the paper, sinking into the leather beneath. The feeling of it. You bolted it shut and returned it to your chest pocket, before replacing the neglected Bic Round Stic to its rightful slot between the covers.
That’s the kind of obsession I’m talking about. A relationship between user and tool that borders on sacred.
It’s obsession with feel, aesthetic design, the quality of raw material, reverence for the maker—whether that’s a person or a brand.
It’s not just writing materials. There are the pen-obsessed, yes. But there are also people (I’ve been one) obsessed with keyboards—the kind you type on. The kind you probably don't think much about unless it stops working. But the obsession goes deep. I’ve assembled mechanical boards with custom form factors. I’ve agonized over which switch—out of hundreds—to mount under my keycaps for a specific “clack.” I've programmed macros and layers in order to get the most capability possible from the fewest amount of keys. We joke that the keyboard at my office desk is the first line of defense. Even if you know my password, good luck typing it.
And then there’s the EDC crew. Their love of pens runs deep, but not as deep as their love for pocket knives, titanium wallets, or billion-lumen micro flashlights and the customized daily kit all put together.
Still not resonating? Maybe you know the sneakerheads. The ones who treat a pair of Air Force 1s like they hold ashes. A special place on the shelf. Never to be touched. Never worn—unless maybe, once, carefully, with intention. Walking in them becomes a choreographed anxiety ritual.
It might sound like I’m mocking them. Maybe I am. It’s ridiculous.
But I’m also one of them.
And there’s something beautiful about it: the reverence for the interface.
We all use tools daily. Most disappear into the periphery, and many would argue (and I do almost daily in my role as a UX Leader) that well-designed tools should do exactly that. But to stop, to notice the interface—maybe even obsess—is to acknowledge, to pay homage to what makes us who we are.
// the tool is no longer invisible. it becomes a mirror.These objects are extensions. They are entanglements. They’re part of us. And perhaps that's why they can bring us together.
Just go to Reddit. It's riddled with communities forged through these obsessive tendencies. r/mechanicalkeyboards used to be a haunt of mine. It took me months of contextual research just to *read* a post and understand it. Whole ontologies built around the kind of device I’m typing on now.
I’m not sure what it all means. But I know it matters.
To dissect the parts of our lives that so often succumb the sanguine death of normalcy… to fixate, connect, romanticize with them—
That’s a love letter to our cyborg selves.
What other interfaces get obsessed over? And do you pay attention to them, or call them ridiculous?
// end transmissionIllustrations by PL4S7IK. Generated and refined through cyborg collaboration — Midjourney prompting (co-developed with ChatGPT and human directorial chaos), Photoshop layering, Procreate detailing, and plenty of human signal shaping the static.