A few days ago, I misplaced my bag. I remember having it on Sunday, the day of my sister’s birthday breakfast, because I was the one to place my cards down. Sometimes I had it on Monday. I did n’t spend any money then aside from a Lyft ride home, which famously does n’t require you to swipe a card, so there’s no way to know for sure. Yet when I did invest funds, such as a case of La Croix at the bodega and an iced mocha as a reward for visiting the laundromat, my wallet was not taken into account. I use Apple Pay for almost every purchase, both because it’s easy and convenient and because, unlike my wallet, my phone is something I actually ca n’t live without.

It was n’t until Wednesday that my lack of a wallet became a problem. I did n’t need it to take the subway to a meeting, nor did I need it to get a coffee at said meeting. I did n’t need it to take the train downtown to The Verge’s office; rather, we found a way to get around that. It turns out I needed my ID to enter the building. ( I showed the receptionist a photo of my driver’s license on my phone. ) As I rode to the club to match my friends, I wondered if I would be turned away at the door or when I ordered a drink, which might have been a problem later that night. I was never. I used my phone to pay for a portion of the drink I split with a friend the next day at a wine club.

Wallet or no bag, I can still get about. Critically, I can still spent money. It’s a flawless process, one that has made it easier for me to be more introspective and careless about my spending.

In 2014, Apple unveiled its smart payment structure, promising to change the “fairly outdated payment system” of swipe a card. CEO Tim Cook said at the moment,” The entire process is based on this tiny piece of plastic, whether it’s a credit or debit card.” We’re completely dependent on the security codes, the antiquated and vulnerable electrical software, which are by the way five decades old, and the exposed numbers, which are all known to be unreliable.

I kept relying on the revealed statistics and antiquated software for years, mostly out of selfishness. I was 20 years older and bad with the little money I had when Apple Pay first became available. If anything, I needed my payments to have more tension, no less. Every cent I spent was beautiful. I’d write down all my bills in a small book, color-coding them for good measure. I shamed myself into spending less of it by making myself believe about where my money was going.

Perhaps then, I was losing my bag all the time. The following summers, I left it on the train, had it returned to me by a kind man who had found me on Facebook, and therefore left it at Yankee Stadium, where I never saw it once. But losing my bag used to have consequences, and the risk of those consequences — losing my MetroCard, not being able to get myself meal, not being able to go out with my friends— made me somewhat more cautious.

I eventually caved in April 2020, though not wholly by choice. You already know what was going on then; I do n’t need to remind you. But let’s get real: I had to walk 20 minutes to the great grocery store, and I had to wait another 30 hours in line to enter ( it was a distinct time! ). ), grabbed a week’s worth of food, and got to the front of the checkout line, where I realized … I did n’t have my wallet. My companion called me, who complied with my credit card number while Apple Pay was being inserted into Apple Pay. However, I never looked again.

Apple is at fault for making me lose my pocket so frequently, but it does bear some responsibility for ushering in a new universe where all you need is your phone. In some ways, I’m the kind of design Apple client: no bag, no ID, only Apple Pay and emotions.

And now I’m more confused than ever, aided and aided by a universe where smart payments have become the standard. This day, I discovered my pocket at the bottom of a backpack carrier. My credit card, however, is still missing, but it does n’t really even matter.