I'll just start this post of with a video (contains profanity).
I have owned a lot of phones. Some would say an abnormal amount.
There's actually a phone missing from the photo as it's away for repairs, but even just these five is still a lot. I've also had two Pocket PCs, two iPod touches, and four PDAs. For those of you who don't know, this is what a smartphone looked like in 2005:
I don't get rid of my old devices partly for sentimental reasons and partly because the SMS standard doesn't really have a method for backing up, nor do most mobile operating systems. Not all of the devices have a bond with me though. The first smartphone was admirable for its time and built like a tank, so it'll always have a place in my heart. The next one, the Touch Pro2, the great-great-grandson to the first, was painfully slow in day-to-day use, so isn't held in such fond memories. The Trophy, while limited, continues to operate to this day, and stepped back in to replace the absent phone, the One S, for over a year. The last phone, the One (M8), has currently managed to consolidate what used to be three devices into one, so I'd say it has a strong future.
In the past, I would carry the One S for media/camera, the Trophy as an actual phone, and my 64GB iPod touch for all my music and podcasts. Out of those three devices, the one that means the most to me is my iPod. While I myself don't make music, listening to and appreciating music is a big part of my life and personality - to lose my iPod would be to lose a part of me.
Because the One S stopped working as a phone and was painfully slow, I treated it poorly. Add HTC's marketing deception with the body being oxidized in such a way it should never need a case (when in actuality it got marked more than any device I've ever owned), and there's a recipe for mistreatment. If a phone treats me well, I will treat it well. If it frustrates me and doesn't function as it ought to, it's going to get thrown around. Interestingly enough, the One S was also the first phone I owned that never really felt like it was mine. It was a strange feeling, looking at it and thinking "but is this really mine?". Yes, I paid for it, and yes, I used it, but unlike all the phones that had come before it, it never felt as connected to me.
That link, which really is an emotional one, is a fascinating thing. How can I feel so emotionally connected to an inanimate object? I think it's because of what the device can do for me - if it's fast, keeps me in contact with others, keeps me informed with what's going on in the world, and plays podcasts and my music, there's going to be a bond which, as strange as it may sound, is symbiotic.
When Al did that experiment where we put our phones in paper bags for the duration of a lecture, I felt nothing. Not once did I feel a desire to check my phone. That's partly because my MacBook was in front of me so I was still connected to emails, IRC, and Facebook; partly because I don't have much of a social life; and partly because the phone was still only four feet from me and passcode protected. If my phone had been in another room without a passcode, I would have had a nervous breakdown within minutes. For me to know where my phone is and know that nobody else is using it leaves me with peace of mind. To know that somebody could be using it, exploiting it, makes me exceedingly insecure and nervous. In a way, my phone is my security blanket, my comfort object.