My Kindle turned 10

About 95% of all the books I've ever read, I read on my Kindle.

This estimate reveals two things about me: first, that I wasn't much of a bookworm in my teens, and second, that I've owned this device for a long time — a whole decade, actually, which is a milestone that I passed recently.

But more interesting than the anniversary itself was my reaction to it. Instead of throwing my beloved e-reader a little (birthday?) party, I went online to search for an upgrade; a better, faster, stronger model. I was about to click the purchase button when the feeling of guilt hit me at last — why would I replace my Kindle?

Is there something wrong with it?

Why I read on Kindle

Not at all. For the past 10 years, my Paperwhite 3 has been nothing but a reliable companion. I never had strong affection for printed books, so Kindle always felt like a natural way to read. And there's a lot to love about it.

In an age when all of our devices try to do everything, Kindle's single-purpose design feels refreshing. When you pick it up, it's with the clear intention of reading, not doomscrolling an algorithmically manipulated feed. If it weren't for its ultra-light form factor, holding it wouldn't feel much different from a printed book.

Of course, this design isn't for everybody. Some readers may argue that the lack of varying weight, signs of age, and materials is what makes an e-reader inferior to its analog predecessor. But to me, the sheer convenience of Kindle outweighs all that. I don't miss the fatigue of trying to keep a hardcover open. I've read so much at coffeeshops because the device fits in the pockets of most of my jackets — no matter the page count. And as someone who has to zoom in most news websites to 125%, the ability to customize the font settings is crucial for comfortable reading.

But the true game-changer is the front-lit screen. It allows me to keep my room pitch-black without giving up reading before bed. Sure, it's still not perfect sleep hygiene — but is it really so much worse than shining a lamp beside my face?

Are newer models much better?

Turns out, not by much. Sure, the latest Paperwhite is an improvement in nearly all aspects. But is the overall difference significant? I doubt I would notice it immediately, since my current Kindle is already good enough. The innovation in the e-ink space is either slow or doesn't meaningfully improve e-readers.

Admittedly, I'd prefer a longer battery life. Ten years ago, my Kindle could last a couple of weeks on a single charge — now it's down to just a few days. But charging it more frequently doesn't bother me. And if the battery dies completely, I can always replace it.

Even features that feel tailor-made for me, like dark mode and warm light, can't justify an upgrade. Neither will revolutionize my reading experience — especially since I never missed them until I saw them in an ad.

A more ethical replacement

Nowadays, dunking on Amazon is almost too easy, so I'll spare you the roast. But at the brief moment when I considered upgrading my Kindle, I also thought about buying an alternative e-reader — a symbolic middle finger to Mr. Bezos's behemoth.

With the limited research I've done, Kobo seems like a more ethical choice. The rare opportunity to vote with my wallet is very appealing. But this purchase would still turn my Paperwhite 3 into e-waste. If I ever need to replace it, I'll revisit Kobo's catalog. But for now, I'll stick with what I have.

What I could do to distance myself from Amazon is jailbreaking — a trend that gained traction after the company discontinued the ability to download books purchased on the Kindle Store and transfer them via USB. But as I already get from other bookstores and keep my Kindle in airplane mode at all times, this is a fun experiment that I can consider later.

This changed how I view my tech

Since reflecting on my Kindle's longevity, I've become more content with the tech I own. It doesn't matter if the latest model is marginally better as long as my current device does what I need. It's a freeing feeling — for both the mind and my wallet.

And now that I've publicly declared my loyalty to a decade-old device, it has the chance to do the funniest thing ever.