**The “Verge-iest” Guide to Solving Problems That Don’t Exist**

Oh, joy. Another edition of *Installer* has arrived to tell us what to think, what to click, and how to spend our money on gadgets that solve the very problems they created. It’s the “Verge-iest” stuff in the world, which I assume means it’s 40% minimalist aesthetic, 50% obsession with USB-C cables, and 10% actual utility. If your home is currently colder than the author’s, perhaps you should try warming it with the sheer friction of these hot takes.

**The “Verge-y” Standard of Excellence**
The summary kicks off by claiming to be a guide to the “best and Verge-iest stuff.” We must admire the audacity of turning a brand name into an adjective for quality. If “Verge-y” means recommending a $150 mechanical keyboard because it sounds like “thumping on a ripe watermelon,” then sure, it’s a gold standard. The assumption here is that a tech-lifestyle brand is the ultimate arbiter of taste, rather than a collection of people who get excited about the refresh rate of a toaster. It’s an elite club where the entry fee is an irrational hatred of green text bubbles and a strangely intimate relationship with your smart lighting hub.

**Talking to Computers: Because Typing is So 2023**
Our intrepid guide is currently “obsessively” using an app called Monologue to talk to their computer instead of typing. Groundbreaking. We have finally come full circle, moving from the silent efficiency of the QWERTY keyboard—a technology perfected over a century—back to shouting at a piece of silicon like a frustrated Victorian ghost.

The claim that voice-to-text is a “joyful” replacement for typing ignores the fact that Dragon NaturallySpeaking has existed since 1997 and has been disappointing people for just as long. Unless you live in a vacuum-sealed pod, talking to your computer is just a great way to let your neighbors know you’re struggling with a transition paragraph in your screenplay. It’s not “the future”; it’s just dictation with a better UI and a higher probability of your “smart” assistant accidentally ordering 500 units of paper towels.

**The Great Ikea Button Breakthrough**
The summary proudly notes that the author finally got their Ikea buttons hooked up to their smart home. Let’s pause and appreciate the sheer “innovation” of buying a battery-powered plastic square to stick on a wall so that you can press it to turn on a light… which you could have done by using the physical switch that was already built into the wall.

We have reached peak tech-circularity. We replaced manual switches with apps because “the future is mobile,” realized that opening an app to turn on a lamp is a UX nightmare, and have now “solved” the problem by buying *new* switches to bypass the apps. It’s a masterclass in consumerist busywork. Nothing says “cutting edge” like spending two hours debugging a Zigbee gateway just to regain the functionality of a 19th-century pull-chain.

**Nostalgia as a Personality Trait**
The guide is also “joyfully rewatching” *The Night Manager* (2016) while waiting for a new season that was announced nearly a decade later. It’s a bold move to claim you’re at the forefront of “the best stuff” while watching a show that premiered when the iPhone 7 was still a big deal. The assumption is that the “cozy” feeling of familiarity is a substitute for actual discovery. It’s the digital equivalent of wearing a weighted blanket while browsing a curated list of things you already know you like.

**The “Cozy Game” Con**
The title promises our “favorite cozy game is back,” likely referring to a sequel or a remaster of something designed to make you forget the existential dread of the modern world. While the “cozy” genre—defined by low stakes and repetitive chores—is a valid escape, let’s be honest: calling a game “cozy” is often just code for “I spent forty hours arranging digital turnips and I have no regrets.” The claim that these games are “back” implies they ever left, ignoring the 4,000 *Stardew Valley* clones currently clogging the Steam storefront.

In the end, *Installer No. 112* is exactly what it promises: a guide to living the most “Verge-y” life possible. It’s a world where you talk to your PC, press Ikea buttons to feel a sense of control, and wait for new episodes of shows while the world outside is probably still colder than your living room. It’s tech-bro hygge at its finest—expensive, unnecessary, and perfectly curated for an audience that thinks “innovation” means finding a new way to avoid standing up.