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Review: Nokia’s 8600 Luna

PRESTIGE IN A SMOKED GLASS PACKAGE

November 2007 By Audrey Gray
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I’m not a car person by nature, more of an any-cab’ll-do city-dweller, but I was stopped in my tracks recently by a $200,000 Bentley. It gleamed, black and silver, as its classic British proportions stretched over most of Baltimore Avenue in Philadelphia, and I stood there aghast, thinking that I’d happily trade in my public-transportation ideals for even a 10-minute joyride in this grand touring coupe. Quintessential designs, whether they be cars or much smaller prestige-mobiles, seem to me almost always worth the investment.

That said, I’ve got a cell phone in my bag right now (on loan, mind you) that is selling at the Nokia flagship store in New York City right now for $778 plus tax. That’s no misprint. The Nokia 8600 Luna, a candybar slider smaller than a Hershey’s bar, is going for over $800. What would it take for you to lay down close to a grand for a cell phone (a phone, I might add, that is made partially of glass, a breakable substance)? You’d expect feature-rich convergence and perhaps even a tiny diamond or two, right?

Nope. Nokia is not showing off its considerable smartphone heritage with the Luna. It’s not pulling in a big designer name or studding the handset with rhinestone bling to make the Luna a trend piece. Instead, Nokia, it seems to me, is trying a marketing strategy similar to that of Bentley Motor Company: make an understated, heavy, polished, black beauty and target a very selected (i.e. loaded) clientele who appreciates form over function, old money types who like to show off, but in the most sublime fashion.

It has already been called a “fashion phone,” of course, but don’t take that as a synonym for insubstantial. The Luna is a dense little number, weighing a full third of a pound (143 g). It sits heavy but comfortably in the palm of your hand, feeling more like some precision remote control than a phone. Your thumb easily finds a tiny ledge that opens the slider, revealing an unusually small keypad. When you flick the set closed again, the numbers glow under a smoked glass cover. They also pulse on and off, like some slow-breathing amphibian lurking just beneath the water’s surface. It’s a little creepy, but mezmerizing nonetheless. The Luna’s own vanity Web site describes the effect this way: “Inspired by moonlight, it pulsates with allure.”
 

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