I Just Want Less Air Blowing in My Face

In some cars, turning down the fan now means using a touchscreen. The air is blowing directly into your face, so you tap the screen, find the climate controls, and look for the little fan symbol. You are doing all this while sitting in a machine designed to move.

The old fan knob had its limitations. It couldn't show you a map or connect to your phone. It could only make the fan blow less when you turned it left. A narrow skill set, but it had mastered it.

A screen is useful for plenty of things in a car. Maps, for one. A backup camera. Information that actually benefits from being displayed. The fan speed does not need a display. It needs to stop attacking the left side of my face.

Instead, the control might be tucked into a row of icons along the bottom of the screen. Tap that, and a larger set of controls appears. Maybe you want the fan speed. Maybe you want the vent direction. They both involve pictures of air doing something, so take your time. The air certainly isn't.

And because it's a touchscreen, you have to look at it. You can find a physical knob with your hand while your eyes stay on the road. A smooth piece of glass doesn't offer many clues. You touch what you think is the fan control, then glance back to see whether you've turned down the air or changed the temperature to something suitable for storing fish.

This isn't an argument against screens. It's an argument for noticing when a screen makes a simple task harder. Nobody was standing beside the old fan knob saying, “This is fine, but I wish I could open a menu first.”

The strange part is how quickly the extra step starts to seem normal. We learn where the icon is. We learn which part of the screen opens the controls. We get reasonably good at operating the system that replaced turning a knob.

Then one day the passenger asks you to turn the fan down, and you say, “Hang on, I'm finding it.”

It's the fan. It's right there. You can feel it.