There’s something about old machines that fascinates me. Machines that have character and personality. Machines that are just as involved in the process as I am. Machines that feel like that they give it their all, and then some. Machines that have a soul. There’s something so utterly satisfying about using such a machine. It could be a car, a plane, a computer, or even a watch. Sometimes, it’s because of their flaws, or because they were created under special circumstances. The Concorde, a machine which sits quietly in museums around the world, remains to this day an engineering marvel, a feat of human ingenuity. Designed in a time before computers, with pencils and drafting boards, it can do things no other machine can.

The simple Casio F91W, a digital watch which can last for generations is yet another machine with a soul. Introduced in 1989, it’s a device which is outmatched by others in every single way, unlike the Concorde, yet there’s something special about it. It’s cheap and humble origins along with a chequered history have blessed this watch with a unique heritage.

I feel the same way about my parent’s car. It’s a humdrum city runabout, with an incredible set of flaws, but there’s something special about it. Everytime I drive it, it feels different. It doesn’t feel like I’m operating a machine, rather it feels like I’m meeting someone. On somedays it feels lethargic, lazy, and sleepy, on other days it feels lively, and excited. I learnt to drive with this car, I grew up with it. As a result, if my parents even think about selling this car, I shall immediately disown them.

It’s the same with a laptop I used until last year. It was a small, basic laptop, nothing special. But I felt that the laptop was eager to push beyond its weight class, and do things it wasn’t expected to do. It suffered multiple failures, but I stuck with it, by repairing it, or living with it’s flaws. The speakers stopped working, the bluetooth disappeared, the DVD drive gave up, and then the wifi started to doubt it’s existence. Never did I once feel inclined to get a new laptop. Eventually it simply started failing intermittently, and then one day, died. The diagnosis was grim: all that could go wrong had. It was surprising that it worked for as long as it did. I like to believe that the laptop hung on for as long as it could, for my sake.

I appreciate these meaningful relationships with the machines and tools I use. Not only does it make for a more satisfying user experience, it also encourages me to repair them and use them for as long as possible. I also tend to feel more involved in the process of maintaining the device and keeping it functional. This keeps me invested in the health of the device and incentivises me to keep using it. As we rush headlong into a world where machine learning devices will soon enter every aspect of our lives, it might be a good idea to evaluate our relationship with machines and actively shape our future together.

I also see the process of creating and making as an important part of this new relationship. The process of creating gives the creator a deep sense of involvement and control. This is not only important for forming a meaningful relationship, but to also open up the opportunity to create new kinds of machines and devices. The ebbs and flows of the market have led to a widespread homogeneity in the variety of machines being produced. There isn’t much diversity, and very little real choice in the machines available.

Although the intent is to create meaningful and fulfilling relationships with machines, I’d also like to make for a sustainable and healthier relationship, which is non-negotiable at this point. It’s much easier to follow sustainable practices when it’s far more enjoyable to do so. How am I to get to that point? I’m not quite sure, but it might help to visit the Concorde and reflect on why it means so much to me, even though I’ve never been on it, or seen it fly in anger.