Hot Pod Time Machine
I bought my first pair of wireless Apple AirPods in 2019. As a runner, the promise of a cable-free experience and intuitive controls built into the stem won me over. And honestly, they’ve held up better than I ever expected. I know the battery is supposed to wear down over time. But paradoxically, I maintain that the battery life has actually gotten better over the years. Every day I go for a run, these AirPods stubbornly refuse to let me down. Until recently…
My feet had barely stepped out the door when the dreaded ‘low battery’ tone echoed between my ears. Refusing to let my stride—pun maybe intended—be broken, I grabbed my 4th gen iPod Shuffle off the shelf in my office. With some trepidation, I slid the power switch over, untangled the white wired EarPods, and pressed play. Liftoff.
This wasn’t the first time in recent memory I’d run with this piece of bygone technology—but the experience continues to surprise and delight. How your fingers intuitively adapt to the orientation of the button pad to change tracks. The curiosity of what artists or songs made the cut on this playlist. But even more than that, there’s a sense of wonder at this colourful little engineering marvel barely larger than my thumbnail.
It made me think back on that era—particularly the mid-00’s when each year marked the unveiling of a new iteration of Apple’s iconic music player. Whether it was a complete form factor change or just a refresh of colours, I’m not alone in admitting there was a particular iPod you wanted so badly it was almost a personality trait.
Much of that excitement, in hindsight, was rooted in the design and tactile nature of those devices. There was a distinct emphasis on playfulness. Colour. Personality. Picking out an iPod almost felt like picking a piece of you. Even the packaging of many iPod generations—a clear plastic case—beautifully showcased the actual device from nearly every angle. And the music we loaded onto them? It had personality, too. Curated playlists, libraries, no algorithms in sight.
Back then, we knew what an iPod was for. And while some of the later models gained (or lost) features, like step-tracking or the ability to play videos, their purpose remained the same: to simply play your music. They evolved, but the core functionality never wavered.
iPods didn’t need your constant attention. Your input. Or your ‘location services enabled’.
To the extent they needed ‘updates’ it was subtly handled in the background by iTunes when syncing but it never created any friction—or worry. The iPod Touch blurred those lines, but most iPods simply did what they were made to do…and kept doing it.
Contrast that with today, where Apple (and the industry) has largely shifted toward a more sterile minimalism. Devices embrace colour more cautiously. Design has become uniform. Everything matte. Everything neutral. Everything very, very serious.
Modern devices arguably do more but they look like they want to be noticed less. And yet, they behave like they never want to be put down. It’s an interesting paradox: the quieter their appearance becomes, the louder their presence in our lives seems to be.
All of this had me feeling nostalgic for a time when tech was designed to fit into your life, rather than take over your attention. But would buying another iPod in 2025 just be chasing nostalgia, or could it actually shift how I relate to the tech I carry every day?
I owned a few iPods in this golden era of tech, but I’m not afraid to admit that Apple products were— and still are—expensive. Only in the past several years have I been able to confidently stroll into the Apple Store and pick up something I’ve had my eye on.
Which is how I recently found myself unwrapping a “NEW” 4th-gen iPod Nano I bought on eBay.
If your suspicions were raised at the idea of a 2008 device being sold as “NEW”, trust that. Regardless, the reason I chose this particular iPod is that—to me—the 4th and 5th gen epitomized the colorful, fun nature of these devices.
The colour I picked, a rich, pearly blue, practically glowed through the clear polycarbonate packaging. And while the contents included a decidedly more modern iteration of Apple’s wired EarPods, the tech-purist in me did not object. Otherwise, unboxing and setting up this device felt like I had turned the clock back 17 years.
With little more than a protest, I summoned my silver 2008 MacBook from its dormant state and loaded up iTunes. What version of MacOS and iTunes am I running? I couldn’t tell you—and wonderfully, neither could the iPod. The moment I plugged it in, iTunes flashed a ‘Welcome to Your New iPod’ screen and I knew that all was right with the universe. “NEW” might not have meant factory fresh, but clearly enough of the original hardware was intact to pass Apple’s handshake test without a hitch. No updates. No problems.
Over the past few months, this little device has been my go-to for listening to music around the house—even in the car, connected via USB. Is it more effort to keep charged? Yes. Do the corded EarPods snag on absolutely everything? Also, yes.
But the most refreshing part is that it doesn’t ask anything of me. No prompts. No pings for my attention.
The iPod has a lightness to it that isn’t just metaphorical. It feels like a sleek, little aluminum pebble I can slip into my sweatpants and go for a jog or walk with—barely aware of its presence.
In 2008, I wanted a shiny blue iPod but couldn’t justify the expense. Delayed gratification is a thing, but it’s rare that something you wanted nearly two decades ago delivers just as much utility and joy in the present.
It’s nice to hold onto something that doesn’t try to hold your attention.
Sharing this essay doesn’t require Bluetooth or even a USB cable 😃
