There are two things I would like to say about Steve Jobs.
The first is that when my sketch group Olde English formed at Bard College in 2002, we were able to create, edit, and distribute our videos only because of the digital video revolution that Steve and Apple had a major part in bringing about. We pulled all-nighters editing sketches in a computer lab full of Power Mac G4s. We captured our footage using FireWire cables, edited our sketches using Final Cut Pro, and published our first DVD using DVD Studio Pro. Four years before YouTube, our first video to go viral was displayed using the QuickTime web plugin. None of this could have happened three to five years previously. Steve didn’t invent all of the technologies that made this possible, but he had the vision to bring them together and integrate them into a solution that, incredibly, made it possible to edit and publish professional-level video on consumer equipment. My experience creating those sketches with Olde English changed the direction of my life like nothing else has; even now, I still make a large part of my living using the skills I learned on Steve’s hardware and software. If it weren’t for Steve Jobs’ products, I wouldn’t have a career in comedy.
The second is this. People love Steve Jobs’ products because they’re cool, and sleek, and powerful, and well-marketed, yes. But we also love them because they’re honest. We live in a world where half the products we use every day have hidden motives — Facebook wants us to use it so it can sell our information to advertisers; the news is designed to make us angry enough that we’ll keep watching through the break; the junk food we eat is designed to make us desire more. But Apple products are designed simply to be good. They say, “I am endeavoring to be the best product I can be.” And, astonishingly, they usually are.
Growing up, the fundamental moral distinction that was hammered into me — and I think most kids of my generation — was that some people care about doing things that make money, and other people care about doing things that are great. Right? Radiohead is great because they try to create art; Nickelback sucks because they’re out to make a buck. It’s a facile division — whose motives are that simple? — but it’s powerful, and it dominates our lives. So if you’re wondering why people could have such love for the C.E.O. of a major American corporation — because don’t we hate C.E.O.’s? — it’s because we’ve always known which side Steve fell on. Sure, he’d like to make some money doing it — and he made a lot — but fundamentally, we could tell he was a man who was driven to create, who saw the dotted outline of something that was new and beautiful and a genuine addition to life, and who wanted to bring that thing into existence and put it in your hand.
