Apple is basically that kid in school who always had the nicest backpack, but wouldn’t let you borrow a pencil unless you agreed to buy their brand of paper to write on.
They’re the only company that can say, “We removed the headphone jack to make your life better,” and then sell you a $29 dongle so you can get your life back. Their idea of innovation is sometimes just deleting something, shrugging, and then calling it “courage.”
Apple events feel like a sermon where a man in a black turtleneck (or his spiritual descendants) gently tells you that this rectangle is slightly shinier, slightly rounder, and—most importantly—$200 more expensive than the last rectangle. And somehow, you nod along and clap like you’ve just witnessed a miracle.
Their ecosystem is basically a velvet-lined cage: beautifully designed, incredibly smooth, but the moment you try to escape, you realize the bars are made out of lightning cables, iCloud storage fees, and that one green bubble friend ruining group chats.
In short: Apple doesn’t just sell you products. They sell you the dream of being slightly cooler than everyone else while trying not to admit you spent $1,200 on a phone that can fall asleep in under 2 seconds if it sees a drop of water.