There are hundreds of things I love about my iPhone and the few things I really dislike. The one thing I loathe is not what you might think a UX person would be most bothered by, like lacking multiwindow support, or data-sync issues. It is the fact that it is turning users into cautious drones who value insurance over elegance.

Recently I asked my fiancé what color my iPhone is. “Red,” he answered. No that's the cover color. “White.” Wrong. “Black.” Wrong. “Silver?” Wrong again.

Steve knows my iPhone password, plus a multitude of nonessential facts like my favorite karaoke song, my obsession with not throwing food away, not to mention every freckle on my shoulders, but he doesn’t know what color my phone is. This phone that is now a part of me and that I am with much more than I am with Steve.

It bothered me. “The cover is not the phone,” I stressed to him. “But you need it,” he said. Steve used to work in construction, so he used to break his phone regularly, even when it was in a robust case. For a moment I thought, “You may need it, but I don’t.” But actually he is not that different from me. I may not be dropping my phone from a rooftop onto a pile of demolition debris, but I jog and I walk my two dogs a lot, and have dropped my share of phones, which were undoubtedly saved by the case. So I was sad to realize that I never take the case off. At this revelation, I directed my attention toward a different Steve, the incredible Steve Jobs. And, I reverted back to a fundamental problem that most people who have an iPhone have probably talked about since its inception: its fragility, and more importantly, the fact that the hardware design of this gorgeous piece of technology is far too delicate for the environment it is used in. (Incidentally, I’m having a similar problem with the Apple Watch. I like to swim, paddle board, and recently started surfing. So far the Apple Watch feature I like most is the exercise tracking. But guess what? Since the watch is not waterproof I get no credit for anything I do in the ocean. So when I look expectantly at my watch at the end of the day for affirmation that I was not a complete slug, it chastises me for not meeting my exercise goal.)

And here is where my maternal grandmother comes in. “Mimi” displayed extraordinary kindness, an Irish wit, the cooking chops of an Italian, and regularly corralled 16 raucous grandchildren who visited maybe a bit too often. So when she bought a new off-white and lime green brocade couch, before it had even passed fully through the front door, she busily fit a thick, clear plastic cover over it. This cover made the couch look like a peanut butter sandwich in a kid’s school lunch, and smell like a beach ball. In the winter it felt cold and stiff. In the hot summer our bare legs would stick to it. The clear cover neither looked, smelled, nor felt good, yet it would guard the couch for its entire residence in Mimi’s living room. And the iPhone cases many people use have some very similar traits.

Does Form Follow Function with the iPhone?

The classical dictum implies that beauty in design results from functionality, and thus, aesthetic considerations in design should be secondary to functional considerations. Designers should focus on elements that are critical to functionality, and only after those have been identified can they start searching for the most beautiful implementation that accommodates the functionality constraints. This principle implies that, for example, a designer should not choose a UI component (say the hamburger menu) before she has defined the IA. But once the design’s goals, content, and flow have been identified, the designer can start working on the specific UI and on the page layout.

Apple designers must know the idea of form following function—upside-down and sideways. So, why didn’t they make the iPhone sturdier? (Or the Apple Watch waterproof, for that matter?) Three possible reasons:

1. They Can’t

Doubtful. With Apple’s design and execution track record, if anyone can do it, they can.

2. They Won’t

This is more like it.

Functional considerations (protection from dropping the phone or wetting the watch) are compromised in the design. In this case, the usability has purposefully been sacrificed for design and business reasons. The breakability of the phone is not enough to kill sales. In fact, the simple metal encasing undoubtedly makes the sales. Imagine the iPhone with a thick, rubber sheathing? Yuck.

Also, it's naïve to think that aftermarket case sales are not a major part of the reason why the iPhone needs a protective cover. It’s big business. And every company and worker at those companies that sell these aftermarket products are now also loyal to Apple.

Engineering isn’t easy and is expensive. Back in business school, we studied business case after business case in which design teams didn't communicate early on with the manufacturing groups and discovered on the assembly line that a part didn't actually fit, and the manufacturing workers were tasked with fixing the problem. This added expense compromised or altogether ruined the quality of the design. 

It’s doubtful that when it created the first iPhone Apple didn’t know that it was going to need a cover to remain functional. But it probably decided that the benefit of including one in the design did not justify the cost and the design effort.

3. They Don’t Need to

How many people buy the cover together with the phone, and make an immediate transfer from box to cover? Which other products are so beautiful and used so frequently but require you to cover them? Think about it. Back in the early 1990s I knew a guy who drove a Z28, his pride and joy. But he secured a custom car bra on the nose to prevent bugs from splatting and ruining the paint job (because a black, rubber cover stretched over the front of a shiny red car is so much better looking.)

People who use the iPhone don’t seem to care enough about any pain associated with using covers. Some people even like the way covers can personalize their phone.

Form Doesn’t Always Follow Function

Good designers consider users, their tasks, their environment, and their needs, and then design for all of these. Thus, we might say that the iPhone hardware design is lacking because some of the needs were ignored. But every design has trade-offs, and every team needs to account for business goals to be successful. In the iPhone scenario, an easy-to-use interface that functions fairly well and a brand people want to be associated with matter more than faultless hardware. And a major user desire is to own something beautiful. People perceive that possessing a beautiful object from a status brand reflects positively upon themselves. The marketing capitalizes on this, as images of iPhones don’t display OtterBoxes. When you go to an Apple Store no iPhones are demoed in speck cases. Instead Apple showcases a sleek, thin, elegant piece of machinery that you want to hold in your hand.

This perfect potpourri of design skill, delicate trade-offs, brilliant marketing, and strong business input is rare and complicated.  And, on the other hand, people buy products not only because those products have a low cost (be it list price, effort of use, or convenience), but also because they have a deep admiration for how the object looks and for the brand. Like the design process, the purchase process is a cost–benefit one, but on the customer side. And the benefits are often abstract and subtle and may relate to status, social perception, and perceived attractiveness.

Form may not have to totally follow function to have an incredibly successful product, as long as the product is still special, and everything supporting it is just about flawless.

What’s a User to Do?

Is it enough for just me to know what my iPhone looks like under its case? Sometimes yes. But it would be more enjoyable for me to actually see it. And having more people see it may help validate its allure. However, until Apple or someone else provides a striking phone that can also be struck, every iPhone owner has to ask herself, “Do I want to see and enjoy the arresting design more than I want to protect it?” Maybe Mimi, Erma Bombeck, and Steve Jobs are having a cup of tea and some apple crisp somewhere talking about the iPhone. Erma (known for urging us to take out that beautiful candle we have been saving and burn it right down to the nub, and use the new white tablecloth even when serving Merlot and a marinara sauce) might say, “Throw the case away: Live a little!” To which Mimi would respond, “No, lovey, keep it safe in the case.” And Steve Jobs might take a break from his blissful yoga to join the conversation and ask, “Can either of you two program in Swift?”

For now, I can’t choose Mimi or Erma’s side. But sometimes, when I am feeling brave, I assume the position of a 4-year-old about to hold her newborn brother for the first time. Enveloped in the safety of my own living room couch (sans cover), surrounded by pillows and carpet, I slowly liberate my golden iPhone from its plastic and rubber straitjacket. Cruel irony chips a recently-painted fingernail, a price I am willing to pay for using my naked iPhone with a heightened awareness of its true exquisiteness and vulnerability.