Last year, like all of us, I was looking for peace, quiet, and a real life. When I came across this project, I got really excited and ordered the phone in that gorgeous pebble color. After a while the experiments started: other launchers, extra apps that I thought would make my life better — and eventually I even managed to install and use my banking app, Kindle — yes, podcasts — yes! Music, radio, and so on. After a while the honeymoon phase ended and everyday married life began. And that’s when I started noticing various unpleasant quirks of the device. The first thing that jumped out at me was the awful white backlight — oh man, how mad I was at the company, like, how could you release a device that’s frying my brain with that damn blue light, would yellow LEDs really have driven up the cost that much? Why can Chinese brands like BigMe pull it off, but the European company I bet on and trusted — can’t? I should note I’m not the type who reaches for their phone at night like an addict — it’s just that I go running in the evenings and listen to music while I do, and every interaction with the Mudita at dusk is pure pain. Granted, once daytime comes, this little screen and I are made for each other.
Then a point came where I couldn’t stand the black bezels anymore, and I started cursing the manufacturer again: How could you?! — I’d say to myself, shaking my fists — how could you ruin such a clean, minimal, pleasant design like that? Soft-touch pebble-colored plastic on the back, nice and firm to the touch, the perfect size and thickness, the mesh keys, and a 3.5mm jack for my favorite headphones. And then you flip it over and see those black bezels — this little black coffin housing a gorgeous “newsprint” screen. It breaks my heart. Why not just make a version where the bezel and the screen are the same color? It’s such an obvious fix.
Sure, of course I would’ve liked a higher-resolution screen, a better audio chip, or a bigger battery — there’s clearly room for one in that casing — but there’s no point going into any of that, because it was really onl
y the first two things — the backlight and the bezels — that killed the emotional connection between me and the Kompakt.
Then came the breakup — I told myself I didn’t need this. And… I bought an iPhone…
Within a few days I realized it was a mistake, but what’s done is done… Back to scrolling, back to notifications, except now it’s all wrapped in gorgeous design, beautiful materials, and endless colorful ribbons and icons. And somehow you feel more satisfied, because for your money you’re getting a finished product — comfortable and beautiful — whereas with the Kompakt, I kept catching myself having to justify its price.
It’s been a year now since I held the Mudita Kompakt in my hands, and I really miss that feeling. I’ve looked at other “dumbphones” — there are quite a few of them now — but I don’t want to own any of them.
Unfortunately, I can’t afford a big purchase right now (and on top of that I live in a country Mudita doesn’t ship to, which drives the cost up even more) — otherwise I’d buy this wonderful device again in a heartbeat: controversial, overrated to some, underrated to others, but always lovable in its own way.
Thanks to the team for this experience — I’ve been fondly remembering it for a whole year now. Moments like these are what make you feel alive.
