From the moment I slipped on my new Oura Ring, I felt uncomfortably monitored. Like being constantly judged by a tiny circular wellness narc that yells about my every body process. The yelling isn’t actual but rather passive aggressive. Reminds me of my mother letting me know I eat too much sodium.
“Your readiness is low today,” the Oura app notifies me nearly every morning. Oh, really? Thank you, but I possess the actual memory of watching “How To Survive Quicksand” YouTube videos at 4 a.m. I know I didn’t sleep well. And, knowing that my insomnia is being monitored does nothing to improve that particular problem!
The ring also insults me. It probably doesn’t mean to, but it occasionally logs my daily bike ride as “maybe: walking.” Granted, I don’t exactly Lance Armstrong the bike trail, but I’m not leisurely strolling through a mall food court eating a pretzel either.
The first night I wore it, the ring scared the bejesus out of me. Nobody warned me that the underside of my finger would glow green every five minutes. I woke up, saw an eerie light by my eye and thought: This is it, I’m being harvested. Turns out, that’s how it measures blood oxygenation. And nothing says “restful sleep” like the brief feeling that you’re starring in Age of Disclosure 2.
Ring of Half-Truth
My biggest beef with the Oura Ring is that it can’t tell me anything actually important about my health, which was its whole pitch! Instead of my real vitals, it gives me “wellness” vitals in a voice I can only read as Gwyneth Paltrow’s.
Because it must extrapolate to the whole body from the measurements of one finger, it can’t even tell whether its wearer has a fever. It can only read how much the finger temperature is, which can range anywhere from 10-20 degrees Fahrenheit lower than the person’s core body temperature, rising or falling from a baseline average.
I want a ring that alerts me the moment I run 101 degrees Fahrenheit or my blood pressure exceeds 140/80. But Oura also can’t measure blood pressure, and I know that because the app literally invited me to “participate in a study to help Oura detect signs of hypertension.”
No thank you. You work for me. That’s why I paid $400 plus $5.99 a month. I’m not onboarding as your unpaid intern.
In lieu of a blood pressure reading, it gives “daytime stress.” I can see being wheeled on a gurney into the ER on HBO’sThe Pitt based on this information.
“High daytime stress!” Dr. Robby (Noah Wyle) would yell. “He’s tanking! Get him on the board and clear a room. Let’s go!”
By the way, just writing that spiked my blood pressure 10 points.
Among the data that Oura can accurately measure are motion, heart and respiration rates, which is fine, except those metrics also track activities that are, let’s say, more private. Activities that Oura absolutely knows about but pretends not to—like your grandmother who once mistook the door to your bedroom in that ski cabin as the bathroom.
Honestly, Oura should just come out and review our sex …
“Last night, you showed well-coordinated motion with smooth transitions and exceptional rhythm and pacing. We can’t measure your partner’s cardiovascular intensity, but yours was excellent. Good job!
Unless you were alone again.”
One Job Well Done
My Oura does have one useful feature for me. Sometimes, I’ll wake up around 3 p.m., unsure of whether I’ve napped or for how long I was out. This is crucial marital information because my wife and I tend to fight only when I haven’t napped long enough.
So when she asks, “Did you sleep?” I usually reply, “Yes,” whether or not it’s true, so she doesn’t expect a fight. Now, though, I can just check my Oura app. If it says I napped, I can report, “Yes, honey, for 27 minutes and 14 seconds.” If it says I didn’t, then I have to make up the numbers.
But I don’t need a $400 ring to help me lie about my nap or track my nonexistent step count during a busy workday. (I have a chair and a mirror for that.) I basically bought a mood ring with a data plan. Yes, the Oura Ring is a smart device, but I’m smarter. Because I’m returning it.
Hang on—the app just buzzed. It says I’ve been sitting too long and should “take a break.”
I was only kidding about returning you, Oura! (Please send help.)
