I know most people don’t care, but here’s the real answer.
Snapchat built a shitty Android app. On iOS, Snapchat uses the phone’s camera directly to take a picture, ensuring the highest possible quality.
On Android, Snapchat opens the camera, but then takes a screenshot, instead of telling the camera to take a picture. This means that the camera never gets to adjust it’s focus and lighting, or provide stabilization to the picture. Instead, you get the best that shaky human hands can get, which means low quality pictures.
Due to the popularity of Snapchat, this difference actually spreads the superiority complex of iOS. Android manufacturers have been innovating new hardware since the creation of cell phones. Apple only upgrades when they’re worried about being seen as outdated, or they need “new features” to push their phone. It also shows that iPhones are a status symbol, that have no reason to be as expensive as they are.
To be fair to Apple, they’ve built a consistent ecosystem. If you have an iPhone, you can pick up any other iPhone and know how it works. Android is different by design however, with literally anyone free to modify it as they want to. Whether that is to fit certain hardware, or add new features, or meet a specific artistic design, Android has more total devices, support for more hardware configurations (even laptops) and is available for anyone to use however they want.
Snapchat made a deliberate poor design decision, and should shoulder the blame for their shitty app. But that would require supporting the largest userbase in the world over their elite base of iPhone users.
Okay so this is my first piece for my creative writing class, and I’m fairly proud of it. Alright, back to hiding from tumblr.
White. As far as you can see the color white floods your vision. Whiter than freshly picked cotton, brighter than morning sun on fresh fallen snow, and more vibrant than the most precious diamond. Your mother had just dropped you off for your first day of kindergarten, and your new teacher met you at the curb. She walked you to the classroom, but once you were inside you could not find her. Only the white, and it was nothing like what your mom had told you it would be. You feel as if you should explore, but the cold grip of uncertainty holds you back. You turn around and notice another kid breaking Lego houses that someone else must have made. Dressed in black shorts and a black t-shirt, he beckons you over. As you take one step forward, intent on joining the boy, the ground in front of him falls away to reveal a cliff with a drop more abrupt than anything you have ever seen before. You blink, and as you open your eyes the boy is no longer breaking the creations, but he’s lunging for your arm. He grabs it, and you find yourself falling over the cliff. The bottom rushes towards you, and you can see the teacher you had just met with disappointment emanating from her face. You see your mother, upset and angry over the fact that it was just the first day and already you were bringing a note home. A voiceless scream escapes your lips, but before you hit the bottom–
the scene changes.
Thankful beyond measure that the day had finally come, you step off the bus anxious to begin your first day of middle school. The stream of kids leads into the school, but under the bleachers you notice a group of high schoolers dressed in black skinny jeans and dark hoodies with something rolled up between their fingers. They beckon you closer, and before you can act the white returns. The wedding dress of a queen could not compare to the purity of the white surrounding you. The teenagers were still under the bleachers, and as you took a few steps closer you notice that the paper between their fingers has smoke rising from it, and the smell that you thought had been coming from a skunk and its newest victim was in fact coming from their direction. You take another eager step forward, but you pause to think about what it was you were really doing. The thought of your mother and that fateful day cross your mind, but just as quickly as those thoughts had arrived they were gone. You run towards the bleachers, and as one of the high schoolers hands you the cigarette looking roll, you hear a deafening creak coming from the bleachers, and once again that cliff opens up and swallows the bleachers and high schoolers alike. You find yourself balancing precariously on an island of white surrounded by a black abyss, and without thinking you raise your fingers to your mouth. The island collapses, and you find yourself falling. An angry teacher, a furious principal, and a father coming home from work taking off his belt. You feel a sharp pain on your backside, and you’re brought back to reality. This time the scream isn’t voiceless. The ground rushes up, and you can almost feel yourself hitting before –
the scene changes.
A flash of light indicates the final picture being taken. You grab your date by the hand and hurriedly make your way to your car, your parents tearing up behind you. You almost didn’t make it, but senior prom was finally upon you. Traffic was horrible, but you and your date are finally making your way through the crowds and to the dancefloor. After much dancing and laughing, you excuse yourself to use the bathroom, but instead make your way to the spot where you stashed the bottle of vodka the day before. You find yourself before the black concessions table. The lights go dark for the slow dance, but the white returns as you open the bottle. Whiter than fresh shoelaces on a new pair of Jordan’s, and brighter than a freshly cleaned whiteboard. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. For once, you consider not being the one to mess everything up. You think about your mom, your dad, your teachers. There’s no way everyone wouldn’t know it was you who spiked the punch, but at the same time the idea of being the one to do it was more intoxicating than the vodka that you were already pouring into the punch. The table collapsed, and once again you were falling. The punch soaked your face as you were falling, and the air rushing up around you chilled you to the bone. You could see an ambulance pulling up, and a girl being rushed out on a stretcher. Another girl lying on the ground, a blanket covering her face, friends weeping around her. Others were throwing up in the bushes. How much vodka had you poured into the punch? Surely, you thought, it had been just one bottle, but as you look around you notice three falling around you. You slam into the ground and feel your entire body fracturing beneath the weight of the decision you had made. You feel yourself slipping up away, but –
the scene changes.
10 years behind bars has passed. Two killed. Your fault. It’s your first job, and a boring office cubicle. Two of your coworkers are standing by the water cooler, gossiping. They beckon for you to join them, and once again the white comes back. Whiter than the soap. Brighter than the fluorescent in your cell. You look at them, and once more the cliff opens. You look away, knowing that it’s not worth it. It never was. You see your coworkers fall. You hear their screams. You turn back to your computer. You do your work.
There is a gofundme for Kesha– so it would be great if you guys could reblog this to get the word out if you can’t donate yourself. There’s a FAQ on the gofundme itself so go there and look before you ask me any questions.
I am not affiliated with the creator of the gofundme, but I am all for it.
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