Patinkin: Seriously, who still has AOL email? Why I held on until the shame was too much

It’s hard to believe, but back in the stone age of computers, AOL made me cool.

I was an early adopter when email was a novelty. While the Luddites around me waited days for envelopes to arrive, I dialed up my modem, waited for that screech, then heard the satisfying AOL phrase: “You’ve got mail!”

Flash forward three decades and I submit for your approval the most embarrassing of confessions.

I still use AOL email.

But finally, I’ve decided to let go.

After a happy 28-year marriage, we're getting a divorce. Which is sad because we still get along, AOL and I. Although she burdens me daily with spam, she’s devoted and reliable. Most important, I understand her. I know her interface intimately.

But unlike 1995, when people were impressed by her, she’s become an embarrassment. My millennial children say she shames the family. It’s almost a mantra of theirs. As in: “Seriously, Dad? Who still has AOL?”

Um, me?

“And probably no one else under 70.”

It seems strange that your email address, which is simply functional, is a key measure of cool, or in my case, the lack of it. But for a while now, “cool” has been defined by our tech.

Take the iPod. Early on, everyone rushed to get one, not just for music but to be hip. Yet tech moves fast. If you have an iPod today, you’re a fossil. And your phone had better be current. I have an iPhone 11, which, in the age of the 14, is starting to look old-school. A few years ago, I posted a photo of myself online holding my two-generations-earlier phone and a commenter zeroed right on it, asking, “Are you serious – what do you got, a 6?”

And if you see someone with a flip, you’re thinking it’s time to move them into the facility.

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For a while, AOL was almost as cool as Apple, a statement which may sound like I just got back from the cannabis store, but it’s true. Not only did it merge with Time Warner in 2000 in the “deal of the future,” it had such cache it was the lead name of the company: AOL Time Warner.

Then its cool and branding plummeted, so Time Warner dropped it like a bad habit.

But I didn’t.

Being an old dog, I don’t like change. Basically, I haven’t understood anything since 1974, so I cling to the past. Plus, a decades-long email address is like the Vietnam War: you’re so embedded in hundreds of accounts – banks, airlines, online shops – that it becomes a quagmire. What if I changed emails but can’t remember all the things to update? How will Avis ever find me?

So I lingered, despite realizing the AOL label had become so uncool I’d wince when people asked my personal email, knowing they’d judge me.

A final straw was after a recent high school reunion. I connected with an old same-aged friend and we later exchanged messages.

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Guess how his began?

“AOL??”

Et tu.

My millennial son Zach, 29, recently suggested AOL is keeping server space open just for me, since I’m likely the last person on the planet using it.

But why, I asked, should a simple, functional email address mark me as lame?

“Because your email says something about you.”

“Which is what?”

“In your case that you’re ancient and out of it. That you walk around with quarters in your pocket in case you need a phone booth.”

“That bad?”

“Totally. Like Netflix is still mailing you DVDs and you have 8-track tapes in your car.”

“Ouch.”

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Then I confessed some deep part of me has the same prejudice. Despite being a user, whenever I get a message from someone on AOL, I think, “What a relic.”

“So you’re a self-hating AOL user?” said Zach.

“I can’t deny it.” I always feel better handing out my Providence Journal email, but that's business, not personal.

That’s when I told him the breaking news. I’d, at last, decided to take the leap.

I switched to Gmail.

“Oh my God, finally.”

But I added it’s too hard to go cold turkey. It’ll take a while to transition.

He understood, saying it’s like the 12 steps. But he encouraged me – I was clearly past denial and on my way. But it's not easy. Someone needs to start a support group for AOL users trying to quit.

He had one more suggestion. As long as I was deciding to no longer be uncool, maybe I could also stop tucking my collared shirts into cargo shorts while wearing high white socks and New Balance sneakers.

Sorry son. One thing at a time.

An old dog can only handle so much change.

mpatinki@providencejournal.com

This article originally appeared on The Providence Journal: AOL email is no longer cool, and it's time to move on: Patinkin