Once, a well-worn 13-inch MacBook Pro finally gave up after years of loyal service, prompting its owner—a seasoned technology journalist—to consider whether Apple’s lauded M2 iPad Pro could rise as a modern replacement. On the surface, it was a battle of generational hardware: a decade-old veteran bowing out and an ultra-slim, ultra-fast tablet powered by Apple Silicon waiting in the wings. But quickly, it became clear that the matter wasn’t about processing muscle, screen resolution, battery stamina, or even brand loyalty. The true crossroads was philosophical: Could a tablet, however powerful, ever fully replace a traditional computer in the hands of users shaped by decades of computing habits?
Apple’s M2 iPad Pro bristles with the kind of power many would have called science fiction a few years ago. Its processor shares architecture with Apple’s latest MacBooks, its screen is dazzlingly crisp, and battery longevity puts even seasoned laptops to shame. On paper, there is no reason the iPad Pro shouldn’t be a capable stand-in for a MacBook. But real-world use tells a more complicated story—one that exposes the subtle, foundational differences between tablets and laptops.
What emerges is a sense of “capability dissonance”—a frustration that, while the raw power exists, the friction lies elsewhere. It’s found in muscle memory built over fifty years of using computers with full-size keyboards, pointer devices, command lines, terminals, and the expectation of flexibility and deep tinkering. Decades of design in both hardware and software don’t just create devices. They shape the ways we think about, approach, and solve problems using those tools.
It’s only in the last handful of years that iPadOS began accommodating keyboards and external pointing devices with the seriousness once reserved for clamshell laptops. Yet even with these improvements, hard boundaries remain. The iPad, even when paired with Apple’s Magic Keyboard and trackpad, retains its tablet DNA at a fundamental level. Terminal windows, root access, and the straightforward ability to type “python” and jump into a full-featured development shell are still tantalizingly out of reach. Emulators like iSH and aShell offer a taste, but they remain shadows of the power that users expect from “real computers”—especially those who run advanced workloads, like machine learning with PyTorch, straight on bare metal.
For both Apple and Microsoft, the defense is always the same: safety, security, and a higher quality experience. But to users on the inside, this starts to look less like paternalistic care and more like monopolistic enclosure. Security is valuable, but when enforced by artificial constraints, it doubles as a form of vendor control. If a company like CrowdStrike can accidentally sideline millions of PCs in one fell swoop, it’s clear: security isn’t just a technical problem solved by tight vendor management, but a social and economic one where users are locked into relationships defined entirely on the vendor’s terms.
Second, there’s the problem of stunted innovation. When users cannot easily install, modify, or experiment with their machines, the culture of tinkering and creative misapplication—a defining trait of personal computing for decades—atrophies. The ability to open a terminal, run arbitrary code, or bypass manufacturer restrictions is not just for the hacker set; it is part of a healthy digital ecosystem where creativity and unexpected solutions emerge from freedom.
Thirdly, by centralizing control, these companies create dangerous choke points for security failures and outages. With fewer independent ways to fix or even diagnose issues, users are left wholly dependent on their vendors—who may be incentivized more by quarterly results than robust long-term stewardship.
What’s at stake is the sense that our powerful modern devices are becoming “fake” computers—simulations that look and feel like full PCs or workstations, but ultimately only operate as long as the vendor says so, on the narrow rails they prescribe. The gains in usability and safety may be real, but the cost is a shrinking sphere of user autonomy.
But there’s a catch: if history teaches anything, it’s that the new bosses will be just as interested in control as the old ones. Building powerful AI assistants costs billions and centralizes technical expertise in the hands of a few actors, all motivated to guide users onto “breadcrumb paths” that ultimately lead, once more, into proprietary cages. The tools may be smarter, but the barbed wire may only get more subtle.
Beneath that choice, though, is a moment of nostalgia for a time when computers were less about service delivery and more about direct empowerment—a sense that what is lost in the march toward seamlessness and safety is sometimes the very thing that made computing thrilling and personal.
It invites uncomfortable questions. If desktop operating systems are becoming increasingly closed, and mobiles are locked down by design, what future remains for hobbyists, independent developers, or those relying on automation and repair? When consumable computing devices are defined not just by their specs, but by the vendor’s red lines and planned obsolescence, how much agency is left for the individual user?
Developments like right-to-repair laws, increased open-source advocacy, and even tiny victories in making devices more interoperable all suggest a world—not yet lost—where computers can be tools for empowerment again, rather than walled gardens for consumption.
Until then, every upgrade, every software update, and every new device is, in its own way, a negotiation—not just with companies, but with the broader idea of what it means to own and control your tools in a digital world always seeking to simplify, abstract, and ultimately control.
Perhaps, as the author sardonically notes, it’s time to look for an angle grinder—if not for the aluminum case of a MacBook, then at least for the ever-encroaching bars that come with every OS update and every new device. The journey from freedom to enclosure is always gradual, but awareness is the first spark for change. In the end, true innovation may well lie in recapturing not just what our machines can do, but what we are allowed—and trusted—to do with them.
Source: www.theregister.com Hardware locks us in Apple's and Microsoft's monopoly cages
The Hardware Paradox: When Specs Aren’t the Problem
Apple’s M2 iPad Pro bristles with the kind of power many would have called science fiction a few years ago. Its processor shares architecture with Apple’s latest MacBooks, its screen is dazzlingly crisp, and battery longevity puts even seasoned laptops to shame. On paper, there is no reason the iPad Pro shouldn’t be a capable stand-in for a MacBook. But real-world use tells a more complicated story—one that exposes the subtle, foundational differences between tablets and laptops.What emerges is a sense of “capability dissonance”—a frustration that, while the raw power exists, the friction lies elsewhere. It’s found in muscle memory built over fifty years of using computers with full-size keyboards, pointer devices, command lines, terminals, and the expectation of flexibility and deep tinkering. Decades of design in both hardware and software don’t just create devices. They shape the ways we think about, approach, and solve problems using those tools.
Operating Systems: The Soul of the Machine
Modern Apple Silicon MacBooks and iPads are separated not just by form factor but by the very personalities of their operating systems: macOS and iPadOS. This divergence is no accident. Apple’s separate development lines are a product of intentional, almost zealous, design philosophy. Steve Jobs famously delayed the iPad’s original launch until its operating system could feel authentically distinct and not just like a big iPhone. Apple believed the tablet should be about “push, poke, and drag”—distinctly tactile, direct, and accessible.It’s only in the last handful of years that iPadOS began accommodating keyboards and external pointing devices with the seriousness once reserved for clamshell laptops. Yet even with these improvements, hard boundaries remain. The iPad, even when paired with Apple’s Magic Keyboard and trackpad, retains its tablet DNA at a fundamental level. Terminal windows, root access, and the straightforward ability to type “python” and jump into a full-featured development shell are still tantalizingly out of reach. Emulators like iSH and aShell offer a taste, but they remain shadows of the power that users expect from “real computers”—especially those who run advanced workloads, like machine learning with PyTorch, straight on bare metal.
The Cage of Vendor-Locked Insecurity
The article doesn't stop at Apple. A similar sense of restriction is seen in Microsoft’s unwillingness to allow older hardware to upgrade to the latest operating system. The journalist’s own first-generation Surface Go, still fully functional, faces end-of-life status not through obsolescence but decree. It’s not a technical dead-end so much as a commercial one—a forced march toward e-waste because the manufacturer chose not to support its own hardware with its own software.For both Apple and Microsoft, the defense is always the same: safety, security, and a higher quality experience. But to users on the inside, this starts to look less like paternalistic care and more like monopolistic enclosure. Security is valuable, but when enforced by artificial constraints, it doubles as a form of vendor control. If a company like CrowdStrike can accidentally sideline millions of PCs in one fell swoop, it’s clear: security isn’t just a technical problem solved by tight vendor management, but a social and economic one where users are locked into relationships defined entirely on the vendor’s terms.
The Risks of Enforced Simplicity
Underneath the glossy marketing language, this model raises dangerous risks. First, there is the threat of forced obsolescence. Devices that function well can become landfill liabilities, not because they’re irreparable but because their makers shut off access. This drives unnecessary consumption, environmental waste, and locks users—sometimes entire organizations—into a cycle of constant upgrades dictated not by need, but manufacturer policy.Second, there’s the problem of stunted innovation. When users cannot easily install, modify, or experiment with their machines, the culture of tinkering and creative misapplication—a defining trait of personal computing for decades—atrophies. The ability to open a terminal, run arbitrary code, or bypass manufacturer restrictions is not just for the hacker set; it is part of a healthy digital ecosystem where creativity and unexpected solutions emerge from freedom.
Thirdly, by centralizing control, these companies create dangerous choke points for security failures and outages. With fewer independent ways to fix or even diagnose issues, users are left wholly dependent on their vendors—who may be incentivized more by quarterly results than robust long-term stewardship.
“Ensh*ttification” and the Path of Least User Power
The phenomenon at work is what some critics call “ensh*ttification,” a colorful term for the gradual decline of user freedom and product utility as companies extract more value from their installed base. This isn’t unique to Apple or Microsoft. Across the technology ecosystem, there’s an observable trend toward consolidation: fewer operating systems to choose from, less interoperability, more vertical integration, and, ironically, fewer meaningful choices.What’s at stake is the sense that our powerful modern devices are becoming “fake” computers—simulations that look and feel like full PCs or workstations, but ultimately only operate as long as the vendor says so, on the narrow rails they prescribe. The gains in usability and safety may be real, but the cost is a shrinking sphere of user autonomy.
Looking to the Future: Will AI and Agents Set Us Free?
As frustration simmers, some see hope in the rise of AI and assistant-driven interfaces—tools that promise to abstract away complexity and deliver a new kind of productivity with none of the old friction. If intelligent agents can bridge devices, negotiate for us, adapt UIs to our needs, perhaps the underlying OS, vendor, or even hardware itself will matter less.But there’s a catch: if history teaches anything, it’s that the new bosses will be just as interested in control as the old ones. Building powerful AI assistants costs billions and centralizes technical expertise in the hands of a few actors, all motivated to guide users onto “breadcrumb paths” that ultimately lead, once more, into proprietary cages. The tools may be smarter, but the barbed wire may only get more subtle.
A Persistent Affection for Apple Hardware
Despite these objections, the author’s ultimate solution is one of resigned pragmatism: ignore the misgivings and order a new M4 MacBook Air. Apple’s legendary build quality and attention to detail remain unmatched. Experience and expectation make it clear that, as flawed as the ecosystem may be, it still represents the best option for serious work. The laptop may last well into the next decade, a worthy successor to the MacBook Pro that has now become part of history.Beneath that choice, though, is a moment of nostalgia for a time when computers were less about service delivery and more about direct empowerment—a sense that what is lost in the march toward seamlessness and safety is sometimes the very thing that made computing thrilling and personal.
Where Does This Leave Windows Users?
For readers of WindowsForum.com, these trends are hardly unfamiliar. Windows, too, has lurched from a haven for tinkerers (recall the rich ecosystem of DOS, batch files, and registry hacks) to a platform asserting top-down control ever more firmly. The move to Windows 11—marked by much tighter hardware requirements, a shift to online accounts, and more centralization—mirrors many of Apple’s strategies. Even Microsoft's “magic” Surface Go, branded by its dual identity as both laptop and tablet, falls victim to these rising walls.It invites uncomfortable questions. If desktop operating systems are becoming increasingly closed, and mobiles are locked down by design, what future remains for hobbyists, independent developers, or those relying on automation and repair? When consumable computing devices are defined not just by their specs, but by the vendor’s red lines and planned obsolescence, how much agency is left for the individual user?
Advocating for Digital Self-Determination
The feature ends on a note of cautious hope, not for immediate liberation, but for renewed debate. The more visible and frustrating the limitations become, the more users—both professional and casual—may demand systems that are truly theirs, not rented under restrictive conditions. The mass frustration inspired by moves like Surface Go’s deprecation, or Apple's iPad walling-in, may ultimately be a catalyst for change.Developments like right-to-repair laws, increased open-source advocacy, and even tiny victories in making devices more interoperable all suggest a world—not yet lost—where computers can be tools for empowerment again, rather than walled gardens for consumption.
Conclusion: Between Capability and Control
The decade-old laptop’s death, and the failure of the iPad Pro to fill the gap, is less about hardware limitations and more about a fundamental tension between capability and control. Users have never had so much power in their devices, but they have never been so constrained in how they wield it. The question for the next generation—whether on macOS, Windows, or whatever new platforms emerge—is whether digital citizenship means the same thing it used to: The freedom not only to use technology, but to reshape it, even against the grain.Until then, every upgrade, every software update, and every new device is, in its own way, a negotiation—not just with companies, but with the broader idea of what it means to own and control your tools in a digital world always seeking to simplify, abstract, and ultimately control.
Perhaps, as the author sardonically notes, it’s time to look for an angle grinder—if not for the aluminum case of a MacBook, then at least for the ever-encroaching bars that come with every OS update and every new device. The journey from freedom to enclosure is always gradual, but awareness is the first spark for change. In the end, true innovation may well lie in recapturing not just what our machines can do, but what we are allowed—and trusted—to do with them.
Source: www.theregister.com Hardware locks us in Apple's and Microsoft's monopoly cages
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