I No Longer Believe in "Buy Once, Buy Right"

I used to be an easy target for “buy once, buy right.” If I was already spending the money, why not add a little more for the top model? Get enough performance and storage, and perhaps I could ignore launch events for the next five years. It almost sounded frugal.

Looking back, I often bought the top model for reassurance. The higher the numbers, the more they seemed to promise that this time I would not regret anything.

The first phone that gave me that feeling was the iPhone XS Max. It looked right from every angle when it was new: big screen, high specs, and even “Max” in the name. The money felt thoroughly spent.

Living with it was less romantic. It was genuinely heavy, and many of the features I was sure I would need someday went mostly unused until the phone broke. By then I had forgotten the pleasure of buying the top model. The repair quote made its price memorable again.

The iPhone 12 quietly won me over

I later switched to an iPhone 12. It was supposed to be an ordinary stopgap, but I kept it for five years. It never gave me the satisfaction of owning the strongest model in the room. It was simply lighter, easier to hold, and less annoying every time I picked it up. Somehow, the phone that excited me less lasted the longest.

For something I touch dozens of times a day, comfort matters far more than specifications. I inspect the numbers before buying; I live with the weight every day afterward.

Recently I traded the iPhone 12 for an iPhone 17 and replaced my Apple Watch as well. The reasons were not heroic: JD's trade-in was convenient, the subsidy made sense, and the old devices still had value before they failed completely. These days I care more about how a device will eventually leave me than whether I bought the strongest one.

Top spec at checkout, zero at trade-in

The computer finally broke the spell. My 2019 15-inch MacBook Pro had an i9, 32GB of memory, and a Vega 20. Configuring it felt serious at the time. As a frontend developer I rarely needed all of that power, but the spec sheet still made the extra money feel like useful headroom.

Performance never forced me to replace it. The machine simply failed first. I booked an at-home trade-in inspection, expecting a former top-end model to retain at least some value. The technician tried it, found that it would not boot, and rejected it.

That was hard not to laugh at. The i9, 32GB, and Vega 20 I had compared so carefully stopped meaning anything at the trade-in appointment. In a few minutes, “top of the line” became an aluminium slab nobody could price.

I still read spec sheets, and I still like good hardware. I would not happily buy something cheap that feels obviously wrong. The difference is that I no longer expect a more expensive tier to remove the possibility of regret.

Before buying, I now spend more time on questions that do not sound very technological: will it be tiring to use every day, how painful will a repair be, and can I sell it cleanly in two years? I can worry about the extra benchmark points after that.

“Buy once, buy right” sounds reassuring; hardware does not cooperate. It breaks, leaves warranty, and sometimes refuses to boot in front of the trade-in technician. Something comfortable today that still has a clean exit later is good enough for me.