Apple’s worst ever design: how is this even possible?

While the ill-fated Hockey Puck Mouse of 1998 is a historical contender, the title for Apple’s most baffling modern design flaw belongs to a product they continue to sell today, a design that actively fights against basic functionality: The Magic Mouse (and its charging port).

The Unforgivable Flaw: A Mouse That Cannot Work While Charging

The Magic Mouse is, in most respects, a beautiful piece of hardware. Its seamless, multi-touch surface allows for intuitive gestures that integrate perfectly with macOS. It embodies the minimalist “less is more” philosophy Apple champions.

The problem, however, lies underneath. To charge the mouse’s internal battery, you must connect a cable (Lightning, or in the latest model, USB-C) to a port located on the very bottom surface of the mouse.

The result is absurd:

1. Immobilization: When the battery dies—even if you’re in the middle of crucial work—you must flip the mouse onto its back, rendering it completely useless while it charges. The device is transformed from an elegant tool into a helpless, immobilized white shell.

2. Anti-Ergonomics: For a company obsessed with user experience, forcing a professional to stop working entirely for several minutes—or even an hour—to charge a basic input device is an astonishing failure of common sense.

3. Aesthetics Over Function: This design is the purest example of Apple’s often-criticized priority: preserving the uninterrupted visual aesthetic of the mouse’s top surface at the cost of its fundamental utility. Apple apparently believes the sight of a charging port on the front edge is more offensive than the user experience interruption.

Honorable Mention: The Apple Pencil (1st Gen) Charging Fiasco

The Magic Mouse’s cousin in charging absurdity is the original Apple Pencil. To charge it, the user was required to pull off the rear cap and plug the Pencil’s exposed Lightning connector directly into the iPad’s charging port.

This created a six-inch rigid stick projecting precariously from the side of the iPad, creating an instant lever that was ripe for snapping and utterly impractical to use or even rest on a table. Although Apple provided a small adapter to charge the Pencil with a separate cable (an accessory that was easy to lose), the primary, on-the-go charging method was an alarming display of form dictating an incredibly fragile function.

These examples stand as bizarre monuments in Apple’s history, forcing critics to wonder: when design becomes an end unto itself, does the pursuit of absolute visual purity inevitably lead to a total breakdown of common-sense usability? For the Magic Mouse, the answer is a resounding yes.