Five-hour queues and €1,000 prices for iPhone launch in Madrid

Five-hour queues and €1,000 prices for iPhone launch in Madrid

The scene repeats every September in central Madrid: a line starting at dawn, folding chairs, coffee thermoses, and a common goal—being first into an Apple store to buy a phone costing nearly €1,000. Yesterday’s Madrid store opening left the same image: five and a half hours of waiting to acquire a device that, according to attendees, does practically the same as the previous model. The first person in line, described early in the debate as a sort of taller Ibai with a pompadour, became the involuntary symbol of a liturgy that has more devotion than technology.

What is really bought at an Apple opening

The expense is not minor. Nearly €1,000 for a phone that, in the words of several present, "will do the same as previous versions." The lingering question is why someone dedicates half a day to a purchase they could make tomorrow without a queue and with the same result. The answer imposed in conversation is not technical but symbolic: entering first, leaving with the bag, being seen. The store organizes the ritual—employees come out in a circle, high-five customers, cheer the entry—and the buyer pays to participate in it.

Some compare it to other domestic openings. At an Ikea opening, one participant recalls, people were there from five in the morning because they gave away €50 to spend in the store. The difference is that there was a tangible incentive. Here, the incentive is the photo.

The status argument collapses on its own

The old idea that the iPhone confers social standing is dismantled by everyday data: if half the travelers on the subway have one, the object no longer distinguishes anyone. The concierge has one, the executive has one, the person returning from cleaning a house has one. The phone has become a standard, not a badge. Those who claim it remains a class marker face this evidence.

The counterargument that appears is different: it is not bought for status, but for habit, for ecosystem, for not leaving the apple. One participant says they saw Apple's operating system fifteen years ago on their then-partner's laptop and haven't touched anything from the brand since. Another admits that if given an iPhone, they wouldn't know what to do with it. Loyalty and rejection work here as two sides of the same coin: pure inertia.

Obsolescence, price, and the calculation that doesn't add up

The most repeated reproach points to durability. "Their product is so trash it isn't even worth using for two straight years," claims one participant, attributing it to planned obsolescence. Another frames it within what they call savage capitalism. The accusation is unproven and should be treated as what it is: a widespread perception among those who see each annual launch as a way to force renewal.

The economic calculation circulating in the conversation is simple: if the device lasts two years and costs €1,000, the monthly cost approaches forty euros, more than many phone plans. Those who change it every three or four years amortize better. Those who queue on the first day, worse. The paradox is that the early-rising buyer is precisely the one who gets the worst return on investment.

The curious case of €300 headphones

Among all the brand's products, there is one that baffles even the faithful: wireless headphones costing almost €300. The question posed by one participant—why do people buy them, if it's just to listen to reggaeton—summarizes the bewilderment. There is no technical answer that justifies the price jump over equivalent alternatives. There is a brand answer.

The phenomenon is not exclusive to Apple. The same logic applies to limited-edition sneakers, collectible dolls, and any object whose scarcity is artificially manufactured. The queue is part of the product. Without a queue, there is no story.

The political reading that creeps into the conversation

As with almost everything in Spain, the topic ends up drifting. One participant claims these buyers are "Sánchez voters," to which another responds that the generation calling young people "locusts" has no lessons to give. The discussion becomes heated, references to the USSR and Ukraine appear, and the thread loses focus for several stretches. It is the usual noise.

More interesting is the observation about employees: eighty workers coming out to greet in a circle before opening. One participant calls it pathetic and shameful; another reminds that many are hired precisely for that, for marketing. Both things can be true at once.

The alternative almost nobody considers

The most logical question in the thread is asked by one participant: "Why don't they go tomorrow and avoid the queue?". The answer is that tomorrow there is no opening, no circle, no photo. The last person in line also takes home a phone like the first, and without waiting. But they don't take home the story.

Against this, the low-consumption stance appears: a button phone for €40.66, without WhatsApp, without apps, without dependency. Its defenders present it as true freedom. Listeners warn them they will lose contact with old friends. The exchange, polite, leaves an uncomfortable conclusion: the freedom of some is the loneliness of others.

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In the end, the disorienting data is not the price or the queue. It is that the last person in line leaves with the same phone as the first, and probably uses it for the same thing. The difference between both is five and a half hours. That is all the added value purchased.