Most contemporary lamps are adjusted with a dimmer on the cord, a touch sensor on the base, or a slider in an app. That makes light feel like another setting in a menu, slightly detached from the object itself. There is something satisfying about changing light by physically moving parts, as if you are sculpting both the fixture and the atmosphere around it, which is what smart bulbs and app-controlled RGB strips quietly leave out.
At a time when memories are increasingly flattened into folders, feeds, and cloud backups, a new experimental device from MIT Media Lab proposes a far more intimate archive: scent. Developed by Cyrus Clarke, the Anemoia Device is a speculative yet functional prototype that translates photographs into bespoke fragrances using generative AI, inviting users not to view memories, but to inhabit them through the body.
Most utility knives work perfectly fine. They cut boxes, strip packages, slice tape, then disappear into drawers or pockets until the next mundane task arrives. They're functional, reliable, forgettable. The problem isn't that they fail at their job. The problem is they offer nothing beyond the cut itself, no texture or personality, no reason to reach for them when they're not strictly necessary. They exist in a utilitarian void where efficiency trumps experience.
The 2000s were Apple's golden era of tactile design. Physical keyboards meant something. The iPod's click wheel became cultural shorthand for cool. Even charging docks were desktop sculptures worth displaying. Then touchscreens erased it all, and we've been swiping through a world of smooth glass ever since. These seven accessories prove that the best design decisions don't need updating. Each one resurrects an iconic piece of Apple history while solving modern problems we didn't realize we still had.