I love the weight and gravity of an old lightswitch. Feeling that *chock* as it snaps into place restores a feeling of wonder about the use of electricity. It means something more when light requires the extra effort, and it commands more attention when the switchplate protrudes from the wall. It’s not a seamless, hidden, color-matched plastic convenience, but an honest-to-god appliance. And rather than being the means to an end, use of the switch is an end in and of itself.

That, and I can’t help but love the pressed steel body and stubby brown switch.