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I used Windows for most of my adult life. From the clunky but oddly charming days of Windows 95, through XP’s golden era, Vista’s stumble, Windows 7’s redemption, and right up to Windows 10. My first job after Uni was working for Microsoft, supporting Windows 95 through beta into launch.
I wasn’t anti-Windows. I wasn’t ideological. Windows was just… what you used. It was the default. The sensible choice. The operating system of work, productivity, and getting things done.
And then I left.
I didn’t leave because I wanted to feel clever, creative, or different. I left because Windows, as a product and as a philosophy, stopped respecting me as a user. It stopped feeling stable. It stopped feeling predictable. It stopped feeling like it was working for me instead of against me.
I moved to Mac. And once I did, I realised something uncomfortable: Windows hadn’t just failed to improve — it had actively pushed me away.
This isn’t a fanboy rant. macOS has flaws. Apple makes questionable decisions. But the trajectory of Windows over the last decade, particularly since Windows 10, reveals a deeper problem: Microsoft stopped treating its operating system as a trusted tool and started treating it as a platform for control, monetisation, and experimentation — often at the expense of the people using it.
This is why I’ll never go back.
Windows Used to Be Boring — and That Was Its Strength
For a long time, Windows had one killer feature: reliability through predictability. You knew roughly what to expect when you upgraded. The Start menu was the Start menu. Control Panel was Control Panel. Drivers installed. Software ran. Businesses could standardise. Individuals could learn once and coast for years.
Windows XP wasn’t beautiful. Windows 7 wasn’t revolutionary. But both were stable, coherent, and respectful of muscle memory. You could sit someone down in front of a Windows PC and say, “Click Start,” and they’d know what that meant.
That boring consistency built trust.
Then Windows 8 happened.
Windows 8 wasn’t just a bad design choice — it was a signal that Microsoft was willing to throw users under the bus to chase trends. Touch-first tiles on non-touch desktops. A Start screen that hijacked your workflow. Hidden gestures instead of visible controls. It was a solution looking for a problem, and desktop users paid the price.
Windows 10 was supposed to fix that. In many ways, it did. But it also quietly introduced a new, more insidious shift: Windows stopped feeling like your computer.
Forced Updates: The Moment Control Slipped Away
Let’s start with the most obvious betrayal: forced updates.
Before Windows 10, updates were something you managed. You chose when to install them. You deferred them if you were busy. You avoided them if you were in the middle of something important. That wasn’t laziness — it was autonomy.
Windows 10 changed that relationship.
Suddenly, updates happened when Windows decided they should. Reboots arrived uninvited. Work was interrupted. Machines restarted overnight — or worse, during the day. And when updates went wrong, you were along for the ride.
Microsoft framed this as security. And yes, security matters. But treating all users as incapable children who must be protected from themselves is not respectful design. It’s paternalism masquerading as responsibility.
The irony is that forced updates didn’t even guarantee stability. Feature updates broke drivers. Audio stopped working. Printers vanished. Wi-Fi adapters disappeared. Entire machines entered reboot loops.
When your operating system can brick your productivity without asking, trust evaporates.
On macOS, updates are visible, explicit, and opt-in. You’re told what’s coming. You’re told when it will install. You’re not ambushed. That difference alone was enough to make me breathe easier.
Windows Became an Advertising Platform
At some point, Windows crossed a line that should never have been crossed: it started advertising to its own users.
Not third-party pop-ups. Not sketchy installers. Native ads. Suggestions. Promotions. Notifications nudging you toward Microsoft services you didn’t ask for.
Candy Crush appeared in the Start menu. OneDrive nags surfaced constantly. Edge was pushed aggressively, even when you’d clearly chosen another browser. Search results blended local files with web results and ads. The OS stopped being neutral.
This matters more than people admit.
An operating system is the foundation of trust between human and machine. When the OS itself becomes a sales channel, that trust erodes. You start wondering whose interests are being prioritised.
Apple, for all its faults, doesn’t inject third-party games into macOS. It doesn’t nag you daily to switch browsers. It doesn’t push app recommendations through system notifications. There’s a clear separation between OS and marketplace.
Windows blurred that boundary — and once you notice it, you can’t unsee it.
Telemetry and the Slow Death of Privacy
Microsoft will tell you that telemetry is anonymous, aggregated, and essential for improving the product. Some of that is true. But Windows 10 and onward took data collection to a level that felt fundamentally uncomfortable.
The problem wasn’t just what was collected. It was how difficult it was to opt out.
Settings were scattered. Options were buried. Some data collection simply couldn’t be disabled without enterprise tools or registry hacks. Even then, updates often re-enabled settings you’d explicitly turned off.
For many users, Windows became something that watched them as much as it served them.
On macOS, data collection exists, but it’s surfaced clearly. Permissions are explicit. Apps must ask. You can see what has access to what. You can revoke it easily. There’s a sense that the system is accountable to you.
Windows, by contrast, feels opaque. It collects because it can. And it tells you not to worry about it.
That’s not good enough anymore.
UI Inconsistency: Death by a Thousand Interfaces
One of Windows’ most baffling failures is its inability to commit to a single user interface vision.
Windows 10 and 11 are a patchwork of eras. You can open a modern Settings app that looks clean and flat — then click one link deeper and land in a Control Panel dialog that hasn’t changed since Windows XP. Fonts shift. Icons change. Layouts jump decades.
This isn’t just aesthetic nitpicking. Inconsistency increases cognitive load. It makes systems harder to learn, harder to troubleshoot, and harder to trust.
macOS has evolved visually, but it has done so coherently. Old components are either updated or retired. There’s a sense of intentionality. You rarely feel like you’ve fallen through time.
Windows feels like a museum where exhibits were bolted together by committee.
The Start Menu Identity Crisis
The Start menu used to be Windows’ crown jewel. It was logical, fast, and hierarchical. Over time, Microsoft couldn’t stop redesigning it.
Tiles came and went. Search behaviour changed. Pinned apps moved. Recommendations appeared. Ads crept in. Windows 11 centred it for aesthetic reasons, breaking decades of spatial memory.
None of these changes were catastrophic alone. But together, they communicated something unsettling: Microsoft didn’t value continuity.
Users weren’t asking for radical reinvention. They wanted refinement. Stability. Predictability. Instead, they got experiments imposed from above.
macOS doesn’t reinvent its dock every release. Finder behaves like Finder. Menu bars stay put. Muscle memory compounds instead of resets.
That respect for long-term users matters more than flashy redesigns.
Performance Bloat and the Feeling of Weight
Modern Windows feels heavy.
Even on powerful hardware, background processes accumulate. Services run constantly. Startup times creep. Fans spin. Battery life suffers. There’s a sense that the OS is doing far more than you asked it to do.
Some of this is inevitable with modern computing. But Windows feels particularly bloated because it tries to be everything to everyone: gaming platform, enterprise workstation, tablet OS, ad delivery system, cloud client.
macOS, running on tightly integrated hardware, feels leaner. Animations are smoother. Sleep works reliably. Battery life is predictable. The system gets out of the way.
This isn’t just optimisation — it’s philosophy.
Windows 11: Aesthetic Over Substance
Windows 11 doubled down on the wrong priorities.
Rounded corners. Translucency. Centred icons. These are cosmetic changes that look nice in screenshots but do little to improve daily work. Meanwhile, long-standing issues persisted: inconsistent settings, forced Microsoft accounts, aggressive Edge promotion, and confusing defaults.
The requirement for a Microsoft account, in particular, was a breaking point for many users. Logging into your own computer should not require cloud identity unless you explicitly want it to.
Apple offers iCloud integration. It does not force it.
That distinction matters.
macOS Isn’t Perfect — But It Respects the User
Switching to macOS didn’t feel like discovering paradise. It felt like returning to sanity.
Things worked when I expected them to. Updates asked before acting. The OS didn’t nag me. The interface was consistent. Shortcuts stayed put. My machine felt like mine again.
The Unix foundation meant better terminal tools. Package management made sense. Development workflows were smoother. Hardware and software felt designed together instead of grudgingly compatible.
Most importantly, macOS treated me as a competent adult.
I could choose. I could opt out. I could ignore services I didn’t want. The system trusted me.
That trust is the difference between tolerance and loyalty.
Microsoft Didn’t Lose Me Overnight — It Wore Me Down
This wasn’t a dramatic breakup. It was erosion.
Every forced reboot.
Every broken update.
Every ad in the Start menu.
Every setting reset.
Every “recommended” app.
Every privacy toggle re-enabled.
Individually minor. Collectively exhausting.
At some point, you stop fighting the OS and look for an exit.
macOS wasn’t perfect — it was just less hostile.
The Bigger Problem: Windows Forgot Who It Was For
Windows used to be for users. Then it became for enterprises. Then for developers. Then for cloud services. Then for shareholders. Somewhere along the way, individual users became secondary.
An operating system should be invisible. It should fade into the background and enable work, creativity, and play. When it starts demanding attention, consent, and patience, it has failed.
Microsoft isn’t incapable of fixing this. The company is full of smart engineers and designers. But the incentives are misaligned. Windows is no longer just an OS — it’s a strategic asset, a data pipeline, a service funnel.
macOS, by contrast, exists to sell hardware. That incentive structure keeps the OS focused on usability, stability, and experience.
Ironically, that makes it feel more respectful.
I’m Not Going Back
Could Windows improve? Yes.
Could Microsoft change course? Possibly.
Will I return? No.
Once you experience an operating system that doesn’t fight you, nag you, or undermine your choices, it’s hard to accept one that does.
Windows didn’t just lose market share. It lost goodwill. And goodwill, once gone, is incredibly hard to earn back.
For me, the decision is settled. Windows had decades of loyalty. It spent that trust carelessly.
I won’t be going back.
