Aleen Mean

I think most readers of my blog know that yesterday was the first day of Apple’s World Wide Developer Conference, which kicked off with their usual keynote address.

The keynote is Apple’s chance to showcase what changes we can expect from their software in the year to come. Usually, we see incremental updates and improvements to Apple’s operating systems and apps. This year, the people at Apple announced a fundamental redesign across all of their platforms, centered on “a new material called Liquid Glass” (so says their press release).

The reception to the redesign has been varied,

¹ as is to be expected (I have quite a few concerns about accessibility and the legibility of text throughout the system). What has surprised me this year is the number of times I’ve seen people encouraging others to hold their complaints until Apple finalizes the <platform>OS 26 releases in the fall.

“Things will change, these are not the final designs! Just wait,” they’ve been saying.

²

I’m telling you, unequivocally, that these people are wrong.

Now is the time to tell the folks at Apple where their design needs improvement. Their operating systems are in the earliest of early betas, when feedback is both expected and appreciated. This is when large changes to the way things look will be possible. In fact, now is probably the only time this will be possible for many design decisions.

As we get closer to the actual OS 26 releases, Apple’s engineers will focus on making sure that the operating systems are secure, stable, and as bug-free as they can. If we wait to voice our concerns, it will be too late. With every moment that passes, the operating systems become less malleable as everything gets locked in.

I’ve also seen people advising critics to not voice concerns on social media, saying Apple’s Product Feedback tool is the only proper feedback channel. While I agree that people should use the official route to submit suggestions and bug reports, I

³ have had far better luck in resolving issues when I’ve been vocal about them on social media. Providing official Product Feedback and hoping the system will work in my favor has never yielded great results. There’s something to be said for being a squeaky wheel, and having a critical mass of public comments on an issue provides support for the people inside Apple who are trying to effect change.

We can and should take this opportunity to help steer the boat; we’re going to be stuck with many of these changes for years to come.

I wasn’t surprised to learn that Tim Cook donated a million bucks to Trump’s inaugural fund.

I don’t claim to know how Cook ranks his life’s priorities, but it’s a pretty safe bet that Apple’s ongoing success is pretty high on the list. I’m sure he thinks it’s better to start out 2025 in Trump’s good graces and hope that it’ll at least help keep Apple Inc. out of the aspiring autocrat’s future fits of pique. A million dollars is a lot of money, but it’s nothing when the future of your nearly $4,000,000,000,000 company is at stake. (Yes, that is TWELVE ZEROES.)

Cook is not the only big name in tech to contribute to the fund. He joins Amazon, Meta, and Sam Altman in donating a million dollars to the inauguration committee. Robinhood is donating two million. Uber and its CEO have each donated a million. (This is all per Reuters a couple of weeks ago.)

Frankly, while I think it’s incredibly important for us to know that Cook has donated a massive chunk of change to Trump, I don’t think it’s interesting to speculate about what he hopes to get in return for making this contribution—it seems pretty evident that he’s hedging his bets and trying to save Apple (and therefore himself) from Trump’s mercurial nature. To me, the more important question is, “How did Cook reach the decision to donate any amount of money to Trump’s inaugural fund?”

Was Cook feeling pressure because other tech companies and CEOs were contributing? Did someone on Apple’s board suggest that he make this move? Did Trump himself call and make a demand, thinly veiled or overt? Did Cook just wake up one morning and feel like blowing a cool million in support of one of the world’s most repugnant people?

Why would he make a donation to someone who is the antithesis of everything Apple has been espousing for years? We’ll never know, but the context leading up to his decision to donate feels important.

¹

Welp.

It’s 2025.

I’m not looking forward to this year—I anticipate that it will be a challenge for many of us, especially in the United States and other countries where we can well and truly see the whites of fascism’s eyes.

I don’t want to start the year with dread, though. I want to step forward with at least a modicum of hope. So here, dear reader, are my wishes for us in the days and weeks to come:

May we judiciously engage with social media and media outlets. Let’s mute key words and block bad actors with abandon. Let’s close browser tabs and put down our phones more often than we are driven to continue drowning in misery and despair.

May we have enough money to cover our own needs and help provide for others. Let’s contribute to mutual aid funds and donate to organizations doing the work we cannot and cover prescription costs for friends who need help…and maybe buy some LEGO for ourselves, as a treat.

May we rest well. May our sleep be restorative and our down time energizing so that we can fight the many battles that lie ahead.

May we learn more about the people and world around us. Society cannot get better if we do not understand how things are broken to begin with, and we are in desperate need of change.

May we speak up for those who need our voices and amplify the voices of those who need our support.

May we find community to support and uplift us.

May we find glimmers of joy in the dark.

I don’t know if it’s possible to thrive in the year ahead, but let’s try.

I’m laying in bed, trying to work up the force of will to get up and prepare for the day. Yesterday, Justin’s mom was transported from the hospital bed she’d been occupying for a week to her bed in a hospice facility. She’s not drinking much or eating at all, so I doubt she’ll be there long. This is the end of three years of chemotherapy and immunotherapy and radiation and paracenteses and nutrient infusions and blood transfusions.

I’m not ready to talk about her as she was or to unpack my complicated feelings about the last few years. We’ll be in a world where she was soon enough, and I’m happy to live in a world where she still is for a while longer.

Over the last week, as it’s become more and more apparent that modern medicine has no more help to offer my mother-in-law, I’ve been thinking a lot about grief and grieving.

I always block out, in the days and weeks and months after a friend or family member dies, that mourning is not one big event. Rather, it’s a million million series of little grievances; it’s mourning by a thousand paper cuts.

Some of these cuts we knew we’d acquire. Last night, we said goodbye to her dogs when we gave them to their new owner. We’re searching for good homes for her cats. We’re thinking about what to do with the things in her house—all the mementoes of her 70 years on the planet.

Some of these cuts are acquired only in retrospect, a series of small finalities we didn’t know would hurt so much. We’ve already banded together to pick on Justin for the last time. Commented on the choices people made on home improvement shows. Compared Wordle results. Laughed at her pets. Shared a meal. Had a conversation.

Eventually, I’ll stop noticing the tiny things that mark the world without her in it. And then I’ll notice that I’m noticing less, which is a cut of its own. Life will move on, but it will never be the same.

How is it 2023 and our color choices for Apple devices are still either “garish baby shower” or “Victorian woman in the late stages of mourning”?