The Dumbest Thing I Spend Money On Is Cell Phone Cases

You only need one.

Heaven via Eric Parker

While cleaning out a dark drawer I had forgotten about in my desk the other day, I came upon a box of old electronics and things . Nestled amongst the iPhone 4 with a cracked screen and an infuriating BlackBerry Storm that was the bane of my existence for most of 2012, I found a dusty collection of cell phone covers, all obsolete now, and certainly purchased at full price.

I threw them away because I didn’t need them anymore; they were clutter and since I didn’t have the phones that went with them, they were also pointless.

Every time I go to the food court in the mall in Flushing with my sisters, I stop by the cell phone store on the third floor and see what there is to see. Last year, before eating more food than was necessary for the Lunar New Year, I got a waterfall case that rained holographic glitter every time the phone moved for $15 — a bargain! It cracked after I dropped my phone off the edge of my bed and I threw it away in fear of acid burns from the liquid within. I replaced it with something plasticky and free, given to me by the teen who repaired my phone and its cracked screen for $175 in a windowless rom in Koreatown. It worked, but it wasn’t cute, and it shames me to admit that that mattered.

One very hot day this summer, I found myself uptown, near an H&M and perilously close to a Best Buy. For reasons I cannot fully comprehend, these stores are my downfall. I buy clothing with an urgency befitting someone who is photographed every day by hordes of paparazzi, as if I can’t be seen in public wearing the same clothes more than once. Tech gadgets and the like always entice me, too. A night wasted on the internet always convinces me that I need a new mouse or an ergonomic something or other, or maybe a WiFI extender for the terrible internet in my house. Every time I go into one of these stores, I leave with something new.

At H&M, I bought a romper. At Best Buy, I stood in front of the cell phone cover display for what felt like an hour, comparison shopping on my phone while texting my favorite sounding board — my youngest sister, a level-headed saint who answers my panicked texts about whether or not I can spend the money and should spend the money every single time.

I needed a case that would actually protect my phone from the multiple drops it encounters every single day. An Otterbox was hideous and bulky and extremely expensive; a thin, chic case of rubber and not much else was impractical. I settled on something that felt protective enough — a plastic part and a rubber part! — and looked nice. Before purchasing it, I briefly remembered that I had at least three others at home. I pushed that thought of my head, handed over my debit card and left.

“It’s this one,” I texted my sister, clutching the Cherry Coke I always purchase in line before I check out. “This is fine right?”

“That’s not very protective,” she said. “Can you return it?”

It was on my phone already. I could not return it. Now, six months later, it’s dingy and dirty and scratched — great news, because that means my phone isn’t. But, I still want a new one. I want to walk into a Best Buy or stop by the man on the street by the Whole Foods with a table full of plastic and buy a new case. I don’t need it. But I want it. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.


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