Windows 11, Part 1: Things I Didn’t Like (at All)
Before we get to the lovely parts of Windows 11, let’s get the less pleasant aspects out of the way.
Size of Image and Default Installation
I hear what’s commonly called “Bloatware” (third–party tools no one asked for, but also Microsoft’s own “extras” that are supposed to make the average user’s experience more enjoyable or their daily tasks easier) has been vastly reduced since Windows 10. Well, I am not so sure about that, to be honest.
An image size of about 5.2 GB is ridonkulous, considering what’s actually available to the user by default:
- The operating system (Windows 11, Home Edition)
- A time–limited (self–expiring) trial version of a third–party security suite
- A time–limited (self–renewing) trial version of Microsoft 365, Family Edition (the office suite, which, upon first login, still lives entirely in the cloud)
- A wild mix of random applications that may or may not be useful to the average user
That’s it? Seriously? There are distros out there that make do with images of less than 1 GB to achieve as much (or more).
Yes, I was relieved to see that a lot of nonsense Windows 10 used to come with by default (personal assessment; I wouldn’t even have a concept as to how to put most of the applications forced upon me to good use) was gone in Windows 11.
Yet, I beg, what takes so long to install an operating system and some stray applications, even though all hardware requirements were met and a stable internet connection was provided? With bloatware allegedly vastly reduced, and an office suite living in the cloud, what accounts for the outrageous total size of software packages actually installed?
I did install Windows 10 earlier several times in a variety of settings. While it — without a single exception — came “last in class” (i.e., compared to other operating systems I used to test it against), it was always up and running inside of 30 minutes — and comfortably so.
Windows 11 took its sweet time to settle in and get cozy, even though there was not a single glitch during the process. The only Linux–based OS I have ever installed (on a considerably slower computer) that took almost as long was Arch Linux, when I set it up for the very first time — but that one has to be set up literally by hand (sans Graphical User Interface), as one has to make sound decisions as to which individual feature is to be part of the future system, and enter commands at prompt accordingly, during the installation.
Accompanying that animated ring (or whatever you want to call it), I used to complain about in Windows 10 already, with the statement “You’re x% there. Please keep your computer on” is neither particularly informative nor the least bit funny.
If you feel obliged to keep the grahics processing unit busy during the installation, then provide information as to what’s going on, while it’s going on. The average user is not likely to suffer irreversible brain damage or a mental meltdown, if you decide to inform them what in particular is installed, while they are forced to wait and hope for the best.
Naturally, I was expecting to be welcomed into a whole universe of productivity (i.e., software ready for all sorts of tasks across the board). Yet … none of that. (Yeah, I know … them spoiled Linux users.)
Keyboard Management
I’m afraid as both a writer and coder I have to insist that Microsoft’s keyboard management as regards both functions and special characters be thoroughly revised anytime soon. For this to happen in a sane manner, there is no way around a feature that affords the user easy access to available keyboard shortcuts and a way to manage them all in a single place.
How is that even an issue? Well, let me give you a real–world example that will (hopefully) suffice to illustrate my point: I decided to write this review in Windows 11, using Microsoft’s own text editor, “Visual Studio Code” — only to learn (halfway into the very first line) that Windows still doesn’t “know” any sort of special characters (which are an integral part of the majority of most widely used written languages worldwide) by default. Instead, I had the choice of resorting to either HTML character codes or the infamous Alt–Codes that appear to still be Microsoft’s standard. What’s that mean (for the benefit of those who have no clue what either code mentioned in the last sentence refers to)?
It means that instead of pressing two (or at most three) keys, that are in comfortable reach (and thus cause no delay) for anyone who is typing with 10 fingers, in quick succession, to have these glyphs properly displayed, I had to type on average five different keys scattered across the board or — if using Microsoft’s Alt–Codes — employ the numeric keypad (a feature that is not even available on all devices in the Windows ecosystem) to do so.
So, about 1500 words into this review, I’ve already lost two or three minutes, compared to writing it under Linux — at a conservative estimate. By the end of this part alone, I will have easily lost another two minutes.
Granted, five minutes, give or take, is small fry, really. Really? Is it? Then, let’s extrapolate these findings to an entire workday, week, month, year. And while we are at it, let’s include all your peers who (using the same system) do suffer the same impediment — not to forget all the other people around the globe who are in the same position as you are (with Windows being not quite the least common operating system in use and all).
Or, in other words, by the end of this part, I will have spent as long on this nonsense as it took you to read thus far. Just so we are all on the same page, I’m not using some exotic or customised device, but a so–called Windows keyboard, under the latest Windows operating system, employing a text editor manufactured by Microsoft, in a hardware environment that is perfectly compatible with this software.
In case you still don’t see my point, let’s take this example even a step further. It’s not much of a stretch to conclude that this issue also applies to the “Professional Edition”. That means, every company out there, whose employees use Windows 11, wastes a considerable amount of valuable resources per employee each day, week, month, and year. All of a sudden, those random coffee breaks Joe A. Verage keeps taking appear to be peanuts in comparison, don’t they?
File Explorer
Using computers is about efficiency and order. Everything has its proper place and use or it has to go. Using a computer is supposed to help you run a tight ship, if you will — lest you should end up with the digital version of a huge stack of shoe boxes in the attic, basement, or garage that contain all sorts of stray items, in the desperate attempt to keep potentially important stuff from getting lost.
When it comes to the file structure of Windows, and consequently its “shepherd”, the File Explorer, however, I may not be the only one who can still see that the concept was conceived in a garage. Inviting Marie Kondo over to help tidy up the mess already might be a great idea, because nothing I “explored” did actually “spark joy”. Perhaps I’m really only speaking for myself (but I honestly doubt it), when I tell you it is definitely time for a bit of tokimeku in that closet.
Microsoft developers seem to be still on the fence, when it comes to “exploring” new frontiers. On the one hand, they obviously try to mimic the “look and feel” of certain file managers, well known to practically all of us “penguins” for software generations. On the other, they stubbornly refuse (or perhaps they really don’t get it, I don’t know) to introduce the approach and logic behind those to their own software.
In Windows 11 —perhaps also in earlier versions, I honestly cannot remember — the File Explorer strives to appear like a modern file manager, but when it comes to the arduous task of locating any particular file, it becomes clear that its name is quite appropriate. What is that supposed to mean?
The point of a “file manager” is to enable the user to easily manage their files — as opposed to having to chase down a particular copy of a file — lest some important document should vanish in the vast and complex file structure the average operating system is built upon.
It’s not for the software to manage files “on the user’s behalf” (a task it can only fail miserably to accomplish). Yet that is what Windows appears to attempt. If such were the software’s purpose, then what would be the point of giving the user direct access to the file structure in the first place?
Upon launching the File Explorer for the first time after installation, I was presented with this list of “starting points” in the navigation pane (the narrow left–hand pane of the application):
- Quick access
- One Drive – Personal
- This PC
That I was facing a collapsed list (indicated by the “plus signs” left of the labels) gave me pause. What were these labels even supposed to mean? The point of the whole navigation pane is to give the user “quick access” to the file structure (as opposed to having them enter the absolute path to any one directory manually). Why was there an access point for ”One Drive“ (the cloud) on the local machine? And what exactly did the third label refer to?
Literally everything one might access, using the File Explorer, is part of “This PC”. Such is the purpose of this application: To “explore” (even though I’d prefer to “quickly navigate”) the (local) file structure. All of these labels were perfectly redundant (as well as heavily misleading).
The spoiled user I am had expected to see something similar to this in the navigation pane:
- Places
DocumentsDownloadsMusicPicturesVideos
- Devices
C:D:
There is no reason to collapse any part of this list, as neither is remotely long enough to sanctify an extra step. All directories listed under “Places” are the “usual suspects” when it comes to store the individual user’s personal files (these places are created by default — during the installation of the operating system, that is — no guesswork or customisation necessary). All partitions listed under “Devices” represent hardware storages (D: being one of the default partitions on the hard drive, in this case).
That, however, is not how Microsoft developers appear to define “efficiency and order”. Instead, upon expanding the above list, one is presented with the entire tree of directories located in the individual partition of the hard drive, represented by mentioned labels.
Just how illogical these labels are becomes instantly obvious (at the latest) as soon as one selects “This PC”. Of course, I was under the impression that this is merely a label representing C:\, which is Microsoft parlance for “root” — the lowest navigable point of drive C: (the computer’s main storage device) since DOS. Yet for some reason, they prefer to make it look as though C: were part of “This PC” (which would make it impossible to navigate to “This PC”, because it would then be located even below root).
Similarly lacking any common sense is the display of the “full path in the title bar” (that’s actually what they call this option in the application’s settings). Perhaps it’s just me, but their definition of “path” strikes me as quite a bit off.
If one selects “Quick access”, the title bar reads “File Explorer” (which is not only not a path, but also merely the label of an application rather than the directory where it may be found), while the address bar reads “Quick access”. Of course, they wouldn’t know what to display in this case, as “Quick access” is not part of the file structure (its a random label rather than an actual address), and displaying a valid path is therefore virtually impossible.
File Explorer, however, is an application. Therefore it has an executable file, which is located somewhere in the file structure. Consequently, there is also a path leading from root to this address, that may be displayed in the title bar (it would be C:\Windows, just in case you wondered whether the path might possibly exceed the limit of characters allowed or something).
Pretty much the same goes for “This PC”, only that this label is displayed in both the title and address bar. If, however, C:\ or D:\ (or any directory above these mounting points) is selected, the title bar reads the correct path (while the address bar still pretends “This PC” is the parent of C:).
The least logical of this bizarre triangle has to be “One Drive – Personal”, though. Contrary to what name and presentation imply, it is a (local) directory. In other words, it is a physical, navigable place on the hard drive, located above the user’s personal account — hence there is a path that could be displayed (it would be C:\Users\UserName\OneDrive) — yet neither the title nor address bar would show it (they merely read “One Drive – Personal”). Instead of being another list item of “Quick access”, it is displayed as though it were a device in its own right. The very least they could do were to label that directory “One Drive – Local” (to clearly distinguish it from its mirror, the cloud, which is a remote directory that is definitely not part of “This PC”).
Cluttered Hard Drive
Windows has had a reputation for cluttering up the user’s hard drive with orphaned or simply redundant copies of files and even directories without number for much longer than I have used computers. Now, I won’t go as far as to allege that nothing has changed in that respect. No doubt, a four–day test is not remotely sufficient to return a sound and fair verdict. Yet, even in this short amount of time I happened upon an instance of space hogging of not quite irrelevant proportions.
Of course, I saw to get rid of the third–party security suite. Why would I agree to being constantly subjected to ridiculous attempts at kitchen sink psychology by some software I had not even chosen to employ — “please do ‘sign up before the trial period expires’, lest some unspeakable fate shall await you”.
So I decided to uninstall it, using Windows’ own routine, fully expecting that this step would be understood by the system as, “this user doesn’t want to be bothered anymore”. For, as I see it, it is by no means unreasonable to expect a commercial operating system with a price tag of €140 to take good care of its own affairs (and its user) — especially so, as this one ships with its own, fully fledged security suite.
Yet that’s not exactly what went down. After (supposedly) uninstalling the third–party security suite, following Microsoft’s routine, and rebooting the system, there was still a seemingly orphaned directory left on D:.
The manufacturer of mentioned security suite offers a tool to remove their software from Windows PCs. Yet this application couldn’t be bothered to take care of this particular directory, either. After rebooting the system, Microsoft’s own security suite had not kicked in, which would have been the very least one may expect, seeing that there was no other watchdog roaming the yard at the time.
I got curious and checked that mysterious directory on drive D:. Its content looked no bit like some orphaned files but rather like an entire application. That it was stored on drive D: seemed to imply that it was meant to be some backup or repair application. Perhaps, I would have let it sit there (I really didn’t need the space), but having a look at its properties, I nearly fainted. The directory’s content took up 2 GB of the hard drive. Even for an entire security suite with all bells and whistles, that is outrageous (not to mention that both Microsoft and the third party had actually promised to remove it from the system).
Since I couldn’t care less whether or not it would bring down the system — it all was just a test and I had nothing to lose — I simply shred the entire directory — and nothing much happened. Like, literally nothing. I actually had to enter the settings and rouse Windows Security from its peaceful slumber. Way to go, you best Windows of all time, you.