Please Don’t Make Me Download Another App

Fifteen years ago, an Apple ad campaign issued a paean to the triumph of the smartphone: There’s an app for that, it said. Today, that message sounds less like a promise than a threat. There’s an app for that? If only there weren’t.

Apps are all around us now. McDonald’s has an app. Dunkin’ has an app. Every chain restaurant has an app. Every food-delivery service too: Grubhub, Uber Eats, DoorDash, Chowbus. Every supermarket and big-box store. I currently have 139 apps on my phone. These include: Menards, Home Depot, Lowe’s, Joann Fabric, Dierbergs, Target, IKEA, Walmart, Whole Foods. I recently re-downloaded the Michaels app while I was in the Michaels checkout line just so I could apply a $5 coupon that the register failed to read from the app anyway.

Even when you’re lacking in a store-specific app, your apps will let you pay by app. You just need to figure out (or remember, if you ever knew) whether your gardener or your hair salon takes Venmo, Cash App, PayPal, or one of the new bank-provided services such as Zelle and Paze.

It’s enough to drive you crazy, which is a process you can also track with apps for mental health, such as Headspace and Calm. Lots of apps are aiming to help you feel your best. My iPhone comes with Apple Health, but you might also find yourself with Garmin or Strava or maybe Peloton if you’re into that, or whichever app you need to scan into your local gym, or Under Armour, a polyester-shirt app that is also a jogging app. The MyChart app may help you reach a subset of your doctors and check a portion of your medical-test results. As for the rest? Different apps!

The tree of apps is always growing, always sending out its seeds. I have an app for every airline I have ever flown. And in every place I ever go, I use fresh apps to get around. In New York, I scan into the subway using just my phone, but the subway app tells me which lines are out of service. For D.C., I have the SmarTrip app. At home, in St. Louis, I have a physical pass for the Metrolink, but if I want to buy a ticket for my kid, I need to use the Transit app. For hiring a car, I’ve got the Uber app, which works almost anywhere, but I also have the app for Lyft, and Curb for taxis, just in case. Also, parking: I have ParkMobile, PayByPhone, and one other app whose name I can’t keep straight because it doesn’t sound like a parking app. (The app is called Passport. It took me many minutes of browsing on my phone to figure that out.)

If you’ve got kids, you’ll know they are the Johnny Appleseeds of pointless apps. An app may connect you to their school for accessing their schoolwork or connecting to their teachers; only thing is, you might be assigned a different app each year, or different apps for different kids in different classes. It could be Class Dojo, Brightwheel, Bloomz, or TalkingPoints. It could be ClassLink, SchoolStatus, or PowerSchool. The school bus might also have an app, so you can track it. And if your kids play sports, God help you. A friend has an app, SportsEngine, that describes itself as “the one app that does it all.” And yet, she has several more youth-sports apps on top of that.

Let’s talk about the office. Yes, there’s an app for that. There are a thousand apps for that. Google Docs has an app, as do Google Sheets, Slides, Mail, and Search. Microsoft is highly app-enabled, with separate apps for Outlook, Word, and Excel. Then, of course, you’ve got the groupware apps that allow you to coordinate with colleagues, such as Slack, Teams, Zoho, and Pumble. And the office-infrastructure apps that your employer may be using to, you know, make your job easier: Workday, Salesforce, Notion, Zendesk, Jira, Box, Loom, Okta.

[Read: The app that monetized doing nothing]

And what about all the other apps that I haven’t yet brought up, the ones that may now be cluttering your phone? What about Doova, Nork, PingPong, and Genzillo?  Those are not actually apps (as far as I’m aware), but we all know that they could be, which is my point. Apps are now so numerous, and so ubiquitous, that they’ve become a form of nonsense.

Their premise is, of course, quite reasonable. Apps replaced clunky mobile websites with something clean and custom-made. They helped companies forge more direct connections with their customers, especially once push notifications came on the scene. They also made new kinds of services possible, such as geolocating nearby shops or restaurants, and camera-scanning your items for self-checkout. Apps could serve as branding too, because their icons—which are also business logos—were sitting on your smartphone screen. And apps allowed companies to collect a lot more data about their customers than websites ever did, including users’ locations, contacts, calendars, health information, and what other apps they might use and how often.

By 2021, when Apple started taking steps to curtail that data harvest, the app economy was already well established. Smartphones had become so widespread, companies could assume that any customer probably had one. That meant they could use their apps to off-load effort. Instead of printing boarding passes, Delta or American Airlines encouraged passengers to use their apps. At Ikea, customers could prepay for items in the app and speed through checkout. At Chipotle or Starbucks, an app allowed each customer to specify exactly which salsa or what kind of milk they wanted without holding people up. An apartment building that adopted a laundry app (ShinePay, LaundryView, WASH-Connect, etc.) spared itself the trouble of managing payments at its machines.

In other words, apps became bureaucratized. What started as a source of fun, efficiency, and convenience became enmeshed in daily life. Now it seems like every ordinary activity has been turned into an app, while the benefit of those apps has diminished.

Parking apps offer one example of this transformation. Back before ParkMobile and its ilk, you might still have had to drop coins into a street meter. Some of those meters had credit-card readers, but you couldn’t count on finding one (or one that worked). Parking apps did away with these annoyances. They could also remind you when your time was up and, in some cases, allow you to extend your parking session remotely. Everyone seemed to win: individuals, businesses, municipalities, and, of course, the app-driven services taking their cut. But like everything, app parking grew creaky as it aged. Different parking apps took over in different places as cities chose the vendors that gave them the best deals. These days, I use ParkMobile in some parts of town and Passport in others, a detail about the world I must keep in mind if I want to station my vehicle within it. The apps themselves became more complex too, burdened by greater customization and control at the user and municipal level. Sometimes I can use Apple Pay to park with ParkMobile; other times I can’t. Street signage has changed or vanished, so now I find myself relying on the app to determine whether I even have to pay after 6 p.m. on a weekday. (Confusingly, sometimes an app will say that parking is unavailable when it really means that payment is unavailable—because payment isn’t required.) The apps sometimes sign me out, and then I have to use my password-manager app just to log back in. Or, worse, my phone might have “off-loaded” whichever parking app I need because I haven’t used it in a while, such that I have to re-download it before leaving the car.

Similar frustrations play out across many of the apps that one can—or must—use to live a normal life. Even activities that once seemed simple may get you stuck inside a thicket of competing apps. I used to open the Hulu app to watch streaming content on Hulu—an app equivalent of an old television channel. Recently, Hulu became a part of Disney+, so I now watch Hulu via the Disney+ app instead. When HBO introduced a premium service, I got the HBO Go app so I could stream its shows. Then HBO became HBO Max, and I got that app, before HBO Max turned into  Max, a situation so knotty that HBO had to publish an FAQ about it.

I’d like to think that this hellscape is a temporary one. As the number of apps multiplies beyond all logic or utility, won’t people start resisting them? And if platform owners such as Apple ratchet up their privacy restrictions, won’t businesses adjust? Don’t count on it. Our app-ocalypse is much too far along already. Every crevice of contemporary life has been colonized. At every branch in your life, and with each new responsibility, apps will keep sprouting from your phone. You can't escape them. You won’t escape them, not even as you die, because—of course—there’s an app for that too.