I’m a girl who is in love with her books, all her books: super-sized art books, life-changing novels, and tattered, secondhand paperbacks from college.  I live with them in piles, on shelves, and lying randomly throughout my home. Then last year, to save trees, I started reading the newspaper on a tablet, and then, because it was easier than running to the library, I started reading newly-released books on a tablet, and then, when I was packing for a summer getaway and realized that I was, suddenly, freed from lugging a separate tote bag with magazines and paperbacks, I had a revelation.  Who really needs books?

Now I’ve arrived at a more moderate position. Last night I downloaded a new novel onto my tablet, settled into my couch, and was poised to dive in when I realized that this book looked exactly like every the other book I’ve ever read on my tablet. I’m ready to surrender the pleasures of a physical book for the convenience of a tablet: an evocative dust jacket, the satisfaction of moving through a stack of pages, and the comforting bulk of the thing in you lap. But I’m frustrated with the reading software my library uses, that reduces a book to a stream of text without graphic hierarchy.  This makes it possible to download an entire book in less than a minute, which is important for accessibility.  But it renders all books in an identical font and format, so that War and Peace  looks exactly like Huckleberry Finn looks exactly like Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?  The software offers ways for a reader to adjust font size, screen brightness, and page orientation, but none to adjust page width and line spacing. The software simply floods the screen with text, and wading through it requires a special tenacity. The New Yorker and McSweeney’s have luscious, graphics-heavy apps that capture the feeling of physical issues of those magazine, but they require downloading files that are a hundred times the size of a book on my tablet.  This is one solution. But there has got to be a middle ground, a way to set font, kerning and paragraphs within an easily downloadable text file, so that each e-book is something special.

For a very long time, what inspired envy more than anything else were ladies I saw on the subway carrying authentic Hermes Birkin bags.  Now, what inspires envy more than anything else are kids I see on the subway sporting Dr. Dre Beats “Studio” headphones.  They’ve been designed by the rapper/producer to deliver recorded music in all its richness while reducing outside noise.  And they’ve been designed to call attention to themselves.  They’re huge – each earpad is fist-sized, and hides a pair of AAA batteries – and they’re awesome.  They come in all different colors but my favorite are the red ones, which are an impossible-to-avoid shade right between fire engine and Ferrari.  It’s a joyous, electric color.

Unlike a lot of fancy headphones, the “Studio” headphones are designed so that the headband, the earpads, and the connection between them all feel substantial.  These are headphones for a serious audiophile, that can cost more than an MP3 player, and that would look right on a DJ or a recording studio technician.  So it’s funny seeing them plugged into a tiny player or phone.  I remember the first generation of Walkmen, when the devices were showy and the headphones were small.  Since the release of the iPod and its little white earbuds, the listening device has became a discrete, precious object and the headphones have just about disappeared.  The Beats headphones turn that around, drawing attention away from the music player to the act of listening, and to the listener himself.  They turn headphones into fashion.