If your iPhone’s battery life has noticeably declined after updating to iOS 26.2, you’re not alone. Many users report increased battery drain following software updates, often due to new features, background processes, or outdated settings. Fortunately, there are several practical steps you can take to optimize your device and extend its battery life. The video […]
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Have you ever felt like your notes are scattered, incomplete, or just not working as hard as they could for you? Imagine a tool that doesn’t just store your ideas but actively helps you refine, organize, and act on them. Enter Apple Notes, a deceptively simple app that’s quietly transformed into a productivity powerhouse. From […]
The post New Apple Notes Tricks : Voice Clips, Audio to Text, Scan Pages & Work Faster appeared first on Geeky Gadgets.
What if your data could think for you? Imagine a world where your notes, research, and ideas don’t just sit idly in a folder but actively collaborate with you to solve problems, create content, and streamline your work. That’s exactly what Google’s latest update, integrating Gemini AI with Notebook LM—promises to deliver. This isn’t just […]
The post New NotebookLM Gemini 3 Integration : Write Plans, Reports, Content & Answers Fast appeared first on Geeky Gadgets.
Apple is reportedly preparing to unveil its first foldable iPhone, a device that could significantly influence the foldable smartphone market. Expected to debut in September next year, this highly anticipated product is set to combine Apple’s renowned design principles with advanced technology. Positioned as a direct competitor to existing foldable devices, the iPhone Fold is […]
The post The iPhone Fold: Apple’s Bold Leap into the Future of Smartphones appeared first on Geeky Gadgets.
Apple has introduced iOS and iPadOS 26.3 Beta 1, a release that prioritizes performance refinements and minor feature updates. As the final beta update of 2025, this version underscores Apple’s focus on system stability and usability improvements. For those contemplating its installation, understanding its features, limitations, and potential risks is essential. The video below from […]
The post iOS 26.3 & iPadOs 26.3 Beta 1: Hidden Features You Need to Know About! appeared first on Geeky Gadgets.
Tesla’s sales in California should be suspended for 30 days because its marketing around Autopilot and Full Self-Driving misled consumers, a California administrative law judge has ruled. Back in 2022, the California DMV accused the automaker of using deceptive language to advertise those products and making it seem like its vehicles are capable of level 5 autonomous driving. Tesla has since added the word “Supervised” to the name of its Full Self-Driving assistance technology.
As Bloomberg notes, the DMV asked the administrative law judge if a suspension is warranted based on the evidence it presented. Even though the judge has agreed that it is, the agency will give Tesla 90 days to explain its side and remove any untrue or misleading language in the marketing materials for the products. Tesla’s sales and manufacturing in California will only be suspended if it doesn’t comply within that timeframe.
“We’re really asking Tesla to do their job, as they’ve done in other markets, to properly brand these vehicles,” said California DMV director, Steve Gordon, in a statement.
A suspension in California could be devastating for the automaker. While new Tesla registrations in the state plummeted earlier this year, Reuters says California accounts for nearly a third of the company’s sales in the country. In addition, Tesla only manufactures its Model S and X vehicles in its Fremont plant, where it also produces Model 3 and Model Y units.
This article originally appeared on Engadget at https://www.engadget.com/transportation/evs/tesla-used-deceptive-language-to-market-autopilot-california-judge-rules-035826786.html?src=rssGetting a laptop or tablet onto a TV or projector usually involves digging for the right cable, switching inputs, or wrestling with built-in casting that drops connections at the worst moment. This happens in meeting rooms, classrooms, and living rooms, turning simple screen sharing into a minor technical puzzle. A small, dedicated wireless bridge feels like a relief when it just works without software or setup rituals that waste five minutes before anything appears.
YURON is a plug-and-play 4K transmitter and receiver pair that lives in a bag or drawer until needed. One end plugs into a device over USB-C or HDMI, the other into a display’s HDMI port, and the link comes up automatically over its own 5G Wi-Fi connection. No apps, no pairing, no joining a network, just a direct path for video and audio that starts working the moment both sides power on.
Designer: YURON
Click Here to Buy Now: $59 $129 (54% off). Hurry, only 67/1000 left! Raised over $158,000.
YURON handles 4K 60 Hz HDR10 video up to 45 m, using H.265 compression, adaptive 5G Wi-Fi, and error correction to keep the picture smooth. It is fast enough for presentations, movies, and casual gaming, with audio and video traveling together, so there is no awkward lag. The point is to make the wireless link feel as transparent as a cable, without the cable running across the floor or desk.
Walking into a meeting room or classroom, you plug the receiver into the display once, then let different laptops or tablets take turns with the transmitter. YURON supports both mirror and extended modes, so someone can present slides on the big screen while keeping notes or chat on their own display. The 45 m range means it works in larger rooms without needing to huddle near the projector.
In a living room or dorm setup, a laptop, handheld console, or streaming box can send 4K content to a TV without an HDMI run. The low latency and 60 Hz refresh make it comfortable for games and sports, and the lack of app dependencies means guests can plug in and share videos or photos without installing anything. It becomes a quiet upgrade to movie nights and couch sessions.
The one-click control lets you cut the link instantly from the transmitter, useful when switching between apps with sensitive content or when you want to check something privately before sharing it again. A single receiver can pair with up to eight transmitters, with a button press cycling through them. In a studio, office, or classroom, multiple people can share the same screen without swapping cables or logging into accounts.
The hardware is compact and light enough to live on a key shelf or in a laptop sleeve, with a USB-C port that supports up to 100W Power Delivery, so a laptop can stay charged through the same connection. The internal cooling design, with multiple thermal zones and ventilation holes, keeps performance stable during long 4K sessions. It is the kind of detail that makes a small device feel engineered rather than improvised.
YURON turns screen sharing from a minor technical hurdle into something almost invisible. Instead of planning around cables or hoping a TV’s casting feature cooperates, you plug in a small pair of devices and treat any display as if it were directly connected. For people who move between work, study, and play, that kind of quiet reliability is often what makes a tool worth keeping in the bag, especially when the alternative is fumbling with adapters or explaining why the screen is still blank three minutes after the meeting was supposed to start.
Click Here to Buy Now: $59 $129 (54% off). Hurry, only 67/1000 left! Raised over $158,000.
The post YURON 4K Transmitter Connects Instantly, No Network or App Required first appeared on Yanko Design.
First, it was cottagecore, filling our feeds with sourdough starters and rustic linen. Then came the sharp, symmetrical pastels of the Wes Anderson trend, followed by a tidal wave of Barbie pink that painted the internet for a summer. Each aesthetic arrived like a weather front, dominating the landscape completely for a short time before vanishing just as quickly, leaving behind only a faint digital echo. They were cultural costumes, tried on for a season and then relegated to the back of the closet.
Into this cycle stepped Studio Ghibli, its decades of patient, handcrafted animation compressed into a one-click selfie generator. The resulting “Ghibli-fication” of our profiles was not a deep engagement with Hayao Miyazaki’s themes of environmentalism and pacifism; it was simply the next costume off the rack. The speed with which we adopted and then abandoned it reveals a difficult truth. Our treatment of Ghibli was a symptom of a much larger cultural pattern, one where even the most profound art is rendered disposable by the internet’s insatiable appetite for the new.
Platforms thrive on legibility. Content needs to be instantly recognizable, easily categorized, and simple enough to reproduce at scale. This creates enormous pressure to reduce complex cultural artifacts into their most surface-level visual markers. A Wes Anderson film becomes “symmetrical shots in pastel.” A hit song from Raye (that marked her leaving a music label and following creative freedom) becomes just a fleeting 20-second TikTok dance about rings on fingers and finding husbands. Ghibli’s intricate storytelling about war, labor, and the natural world gets flattened into “soft colors and big eyes.”
The reduction is not accidental. It is the cost of entry into viral circulation. An aesthetic can only spread if it can be copied quickly, applied broadly, and understood immediately. Nuance, context, and depth are friction. They slow down the sharing, complicate the reproduction, and limit the audience. So they get stripped away, not out of malice, but out of structural necessity. What remains is a shell, a visual shorthand that gestures toward the original without containing any of its substance.
This process turns cultural works into raw material. A film, a book, a philosophical tradition, any of these can be mined for their most photogenic elements and reconfigured into something that fits neatly into a grid post or a TikTok filter. The original becomes less important than the aesthetic it can generate. Once the aesthetic stops performing well in terms of engagement metrics, the entire package gets discarded. The algorithm does not care about preservation or reverence. It cares about what is getting clicks and views today.
Social media platforms are built around a fundamental economic problem: they need to hold attention, but attention is finite and easily exhausted. The solution is constant novelty. If users get bored, they leave. If they leave, ad revenue drops. So the feed must always be serving something new, something that feels fresh enough to justify another scroll, another click, another few seconds of eyeball time.
This creates a culture of planned obsolescence for aesthetics. A look can only stay interesting for so long before it becomes familiar, then oversaturated, then tiresome. At that point, it has to be replaced. The cycle repeats endlessly, chewing through visual languages, artistic movements, and cultural traditions at a pace that would have been unthinkable even twenty years ago. What took decades to develop can be extracted, popularized, and discarded in a matter of weeks.
The speed of this churn has consequences. It trains us to engage with culture in a particular way: superficially, briefly, and without much attachment. We learn to skim surfaces rather than dig into depths. We participate in trends not because they resonate with us personally, but because participation itself is the point (the ice bucket challenge boosted ALS awareness for precisely 6 months). Being part of the moment, being visible within the current aesthetic wave, these become more valuable than any lasting connection to the work that aesthetic is borrowed from.
The irony is that while trends are disposable, the works they feed on often are not. Ghibli films continue to be watched, analyzed, and loved by new audiences long after the selfie filters have been forgotten. Wes Anderson’s movies did not become less meaningful because people used his color palettes for Instagram posts. The underlying art survives because it contains something that cannot be reduced to a visual shorthand.
What separates durable culture from disposable trends is substance that exceeds its surface. A Ghibli film rewards attention over time. The more you watch, the more you notice: the way labor is animated with dignity, the long quiet stretches that mirror real life’s pace, the refusal to offer simple moral answers. None of that fits in a filter. None of that can be mass-produced. It requires the viewer to bring time, focus, and openness to complexity.
This is what the trend cycle cannot replicate. It can borrow the look, but it cannot borrow the experience. It can create a momentary association with the aesthetic, but it cannot create the slow, layered engagement that builds lasting attachment. So the original work persists beneath the churn, waiting for the people who want more than a costume, who are looking for something to return to rather than something to discard.
Recognizing this pattern is not the same as escaping it. We are all embedded in systems that reward rapid consumption and constant novelty. The feed is designed to keep us moving, to prevent us from lingering too long on any one thing. Resisting that rhythm requires deliberate effort, a conscious choice to slow down when everything around us is accelerating.
That resistance can look small and personal: rewatching a film instead of merely watching a snippet of it on YouTube Shorts, reading longform essays instead of liking someone’s reel about it, spending time with art that does not immediately reveal itself. If anything, the pandemic allowed us to spend days culturing sourdough starter so we could bake our bread. The curfew ended and sourdough became a distant memory… but for those 6 months, we actually indulged in immersion. These acts do not change the structure of the platforms, but they change our relationship to culture. They create space for depth in an environment optimized for surface.
The broader question is whether we can build cultural spaces that do not treat everything as disposable. Platforms will not do this on their own; their incentives run in the opposite direction. But audiences, creators, and critics can push back by valuing longevity over virality, by rewarding substance over aesthetic repackaging, by choosing to engage with work in ways that cannot be reduced to a trend cycle.
Ghibli survived its moment as a disposable aesthetic because it was never fully captured by it. The films remain too slow, too strange, too resistant to easy consumption. They stand as a reminder that some things are built to last, even in an environment designed to make everything temporary. The real work is recognizing that difference and choosing to treat what matters accordingly.
The post Remember “The Ghiblification”? We Treated Ghibli As Disposable Because That’s How We Treat Everything first appeared on Yanko Design.
First, it was cottagecore, filling our feeds with sourdough starters and rustic linen. Then came the sharp, symmetrical pastels of the Wes Anderson trend, followed by a tidal wave of Barbie pink that painted the internet for a summer. Each aesthetic arrived like a weather front, dominating the landscape completely for a short time before vanishing just as quickly, leaving behind only a faint digital echo. They were cultural costumes, tried on for a season and then relegated to the back of the closet.
Into this cycle stepped Studio Ghibli, its decades of patient, handcrafted animation compressed into a one-click selfie generator. The resulting “Ghibli-fication” of our profiles was not a deep engagement with Hayao Miyazaki’s themes of environmentalism and pacifism; it was simply the next costume off the rack. The speed with which we adopted and then abandoned it reveals a difficult truth. Our treatment of Ghibli was a symptom of a much larger cultural pattern, one where even the most profound art is rendered disposable by the internet’s insatiable appetite for the new.
Platforms thrive on legibility. Content needs to be instantly recognizable, easily categorized, and simple enough to reproduce at scale. This creates enormous pressure to reduce complex cultural artifacts into their most surface-level visual markers. A Wes Anderson film becomes “symmetrical shots in pastel.” A hit song from Raye (that marked her leaving a music label and following creative freedom) becomes just a fleeting 20-second TikTok dance about rings on fingers and finding husbands. Ghibli’s intricate storytelling about war, labor, and the natural world gets flattened into “soft colors and big eyes.”
The reduction is not accidental. It is the cost of entry into viral circulation. An aesthetic can only spread if it can be copied quickly, applied broadly, and understood immediately. Nuance, context, and depth are friction. They slow down the sharing, complicate the reproduction, and limit the audience. So they get stripped away, not out of malice, but out of structural necessity. What remains is a shell, a visual shorthand that gestures toward the original without containing any of its substance.
This process turns cultural works into raw material. A film, a book, a philosophical tradition, any of these can be mined for their most photogenic elements and reconfigured into something that fits neatly into a grid post or a TikTok filter. The original becomes less important than the aesthetic it can generate. Once the aesthetic stops performing well in terms of engagement metrics, the entire package gets discarded. The algorithm does not care about preservation or reverence. It cares about what is getting clicks and views today.
Social media platforms are built around a fundamental economic problem: they need to hold attention, but attention is finite and easily exhausted. The solution is constant novelty. If users get bored, they leave. If they leave, ad revenue drops. So the feed must always be serving something new, something that feels fresh enough to justify another scroll, another click, another few seconds of eyeball time.
This creates a culture of planned obsolescence for aesthetics. A look can only stay interesting for so long before it becomes familiar, then oversaturated, then tiresome. At that point, it has to be replaced. The cycle repeats endlessly, chewing through visual languages, artistic movements, and cultural traditions at a pace that would have been unthinkable even twenty years ago. What took decades to develop can be extracted, popularized, and discarded in a matter of weeks.
The speed of this churn has consequences. It trains us to engage with culture in a particular way: superficially, briefly, and without much attachment. We learn to skim surfaces rather than dig into depths. We participate in trends not because they resonate with us personally, but because participation itself is the point (the ice bucket challenge boosted ALS awareness for precisely 6 months). Being part of the moment, being visible within the current aesthetic wave, these become more valuable than any lasting connection to the work that aesthetic is borrowed from.
The irony is that while trends are disposable, the works they feed on often are not. Ghibli films continue to be watched, analyzed, and loved by new audiences long after the selfie filters have been forgotten. Wes Anderson’s movies did not become less meaningful because people used his color palettes for Instagram posts. The underlying art survives because it contains something that cannot be reduced to a visual shorthand.
What separates durable culture from disposable trends is substance that exceeds its surface. A Ghibli film rewards attention over time. The more you watch, the more you notice: the way labor is animated with dignity, the long quiet stretches that mirror real life’s pace, the refusal to offer simple moral answers. None of that fits in a filter. None of that can be mass-produced. It requires the viewer to bring time, focus, and openness to complexity.
This is what the trend cycle cannot replicate. It can borrow the look, but it cannot borrow the experience. It can create a momentary association with the aesthetic, but it cannot create the slow, layered engagement that builds lasting attachment. So the original work persists beneath the churn, waiting for the people who want more than a costume, who are looking for something to return to rather than something to discard.
Recognizing this pattern is not the same as escaping it. We are all embedded in systems that reward rapid consumption and constant novelty. The feed is designed to keep us moving, to prevent us from lingering too long on any one thing. Resisting that rhythm requires deliberate effort, a conscious choice to slow down when everything around us is accelerating.
That resistance can look small and personal: rewatching a film instead of merely watching a snippet of it on YouTube Shorts, reading longform essays instead of liking someone’s reel about it, spending time with art that does not immediately reveal itself. If anything, the pandemic allowed us to spend days culturing sourdough starter so we could bake our bread. The curfew ended and sourdough became a distant memory… but for those 6 months, we actually indulged in immersion. These acts do not change the structure of the platforms, but they change our relationship to culture. They create space for depth in an environment optimized for surface.
The broader question is whether we can build cultural spaces that do not treat everything as disposable. Platforms will not do this on their own; their incentives run in the opposite direction. But audiences, creators, and critics can push back by valuing longevity over virality, by rewarding substance over aesthetic repackaging, by choosing to engage with work in ways that cannot be reduced to a trend cycle.
Ghibli survived its moment as a disposable aesthetic because it was never fully captured by it. The films remain too slow, too strange, too resistant to easy consumption. They stand as a reminder that some things are built to last, even in an environment designed to make everything temporary. The real work is recognizing that difference and choosing to treat what matters accordingly.
The post Remember “The Ghiblification”? We Treated Ghibli As Disposable Because That’s How We Treat Everything first appeared on Yanko Design.