Like 70% of the first world, I got a Fitbit for Christmas. I have worn it almost every day since, taking it off only for showers or occasions that call for a watch, like rainforest benefits. It’s almost permanently attached to my wrist now. But it’s probably more decorative than anything.
If you’re already a decently active human being, a Fitbit will just confirm for you that you’re a decently active human being. You’ll discover, though you probably knew this already, that you take a decent amount of steps, covering a decent distance. You also climb a decent amount of stairs. You tend to burn a decent amount of calories.
Anyone who wants a Fitbit (and isn’t gifted one by quietly concerned friends or family) is already the type of person who finds data about their fitness routine interesting, who has already carved out brain space to think about the number of steps they walk in a day. What do “steps” even mean as an exercise metric?! Not even scientists know!
Point being the Fitbit — and by extension the whole world of wearable health tech, or whatever you want to call it — is inherently conflicted: a worthwhile device for people who will probably never wear it, and a silly “already knew that!” counter for anyone who cared enough to want one in the first place. In Simpsons parlance: “Too much of a boy for crazy town; too much of a crazy for boys town.”