Is A Screen Protector Worth The Tactile Sacrifice? Not For Me

Aamir Siddiqui / Android Authority

I’m one of those overly cautious people. If I’m going on a trip, I’ll overpack to cover every scenario, however unlikely it may be. I’ll then set off for the airport an hour or so before I realistically need to. Some friends find this ludicrous, but I’m all about avoiding unnecessary risks. It’s just the way I’m wired.

So when I picked up the Samsung Galaxy S24 Plus in the Black Friday sales, I obviously ordered a screen protector and a case at the same time. It was a no-brainer for me, and I assumed everyone would be the same — why wouldn’t you protect a $1,000 smartphone with an $8 protector? I’ve had phones with cracked screens before, and it sucks. Plus, a screen protector is much cheaper than insurance.

Had I put it on the phone straight away, I wouldn’t have known what I was missing later. But it was a couple of weeks until I got around to it, and I’d enjoyed my Android phone in the manner that it was built to be experienced by the time the protector went on. You might use a screen protector on your device without noticing it’s there. I didn’t either at first. After all, there’s a toggle in the display settings menu to increase the touch sensitivity specifically to accommodate screen protector users.

But then I noticed the impact it had on the touch sensitivity of the screen. It was almost imperceptible initially — the occasional failure to register a light tap that I attributed to absent-minded use. But it quickly became clear that there was a difference. The touches needed to be just a little firmer, which affected some things that I do with the device. One is a game where you have to match words quickly. Another was double-tapping the screen when the phone was lying flat on the desk beside me to check the time or a notification. It was hard to call it a problem, but it was certainly a niggle.

Having a screen protector on my phone feels equivalent to wearing a crash helmet whenever I go out.

My first instinct was that this was just the trade-off you accept if you want to keep your screen in one piece, but then I started actually considering it. I almost never drop my phone. I don’t have kids or an excitable dog that might imperil it when my back is turned. Unlike my case-skeptic colleague Mitja, I have a solid case that has a slightly raised lip around the screen, so any drop face down or on the corners probably wouldn’t even touch it. I’d somehow have to spill the device onto the corner of a curb or a similarly pointed edge to impact the display. And these screens aren’t as delicate as they used to be. The Gorilla Glass Victus 2 on this phone can apparently survive a one-meter drop onto concrete.

It seems even an ultra-cautious person like me can eventually recognize overkill. Having a screen protector on my phone started feeling like wearing a crash helmet whenever I go out at the expense of my peripheral vision, just in case. Maybe there’s still a 1% chance I’ll crack my screen eventually, but I’ll risk that to regain the 2% of functionality I feel I’ve lost. I removed the screen protector.

This isn’t a philosophical treatise on how a screen protector on my phone is a metaphor for my life. If it were, it would be the dullest and least inspirational Carpe Diem story ever. I’m still cautious with my phone, but I also accept that it’s not a collectible item to be displayed on the wall or kept in a box in bubble wrap. These flagship devices are precisely engineered and offer extraordinary functionality. Let’s throw off the plastic shackles and enjoy them.

Anyway, keep an eye out for my forthcoming article, titled “Display fail: Why I should have stuck with the screen protector.” But I won’t have regrets — I’ll have lived a little.